Call Me Amy (11 page)

“I do.” I admired my cheerful sleeve. “Although sometimes I wonder if we all see it the same way.”

“Here we go again. Why wouldn't we?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” I started to move towards Miss Cogshell's door.

“Hey, you can't leave me hanging. Whaddya mean?” Craig blocked my path. “Tell me about colors, Teach.”

“Well, maybe what I see as yellow, you see as blue.”

“Why? If that's yellow and that's blue and we both agree, then we see it the same.”

“But we'll never know if they're really the same. Not unless I crawled into your head and peered out through your eyes and compared it to how I see it.”

“No. That's where I draw the line. You're way too squirmy to be crawling around in my head. Hmm, you'd probably fit though.”

I gave him a whack and laughed.

Craig took a few sniffs. “Do you smell somethin'?”

My eyes widened. “Hmmm. It's ginger. It's what I smelled the first time I came here.”

“It worked out good, Amy,” Craig said with a big smile.

I stood as still as the pine trees, letting the sound of Craig saying my name seep through me. The very first time he had ever said it. I managed to blurt out, “What?”

“Coming to her house.”

I grinned. “I told you so.”

“No, I mean it. Things are gonna be much better now. It's weird how sometimes really bad things like losing Pup can happen at the same time as really good
things.” Craig faced the sun as he looked at me. His eyes were bright. “My mom's gonna go to a treatment center. Maybe she'll get well this time.”

“Get well? What's wrong?”

“Are you serious?” Craig asked with both eyebrows up. “You don't know?”

I tried to put the right expression on my face, but I had no clue as to what he was talking about.

“My old lady's a drunk. I thought the whole Port knew. Once, when Ma came looking for me, Miss C. chewed her out and gave her a book about alcoholism. Mom was furious, but I guess it eventually sank in.”

I wanted to say so many things to Craig right then except they got all jumbled in my throat, so I looked stupidly at my feet. By the time I came up with something, my chance was gone. Craig never talked serious for long.

“The smell of ginger also means,” Craig paused for effect, “that Miss C.'s up.” We raced to the door and gave two quick raps.

“Come in, come in,” called out Miss Cogshell, pulling the door open. “I'm just making sure my camera is working. Pup ate four fish this morning, so he's all set.”

“Did I really used to lug this lump of lard?” Craig looked at Pup with fondness. “He's put on a lot of weight.”

“He's a good little seal,” said Miss Cogshell as she placed a large carton nearby.

I couldn't say anything. My teeth started chattering foolishly.

Miss Cogshell propped open the screen door while we carried Pup through in the box. “Watch my lilac bush,” she cautioned as we squeezed past. “Now where did Clyde get off to?”

I peered back inside and spotted her cane. “There he is, on the table.”

“Okay then, kiddos. I guess we're ready.”

A clunk-clunk sound told me the Harbormaster's truck was rounding the bend. I scooched down in front of the box that held Pup, and Craig did the same. Howard slowed down and peered over at us. I gave him a cheery wave. He was probably thinking:
hmm, when did she get so friendly?
But no matter, it worked and he drove on down the road.

Craig and I pulled Pup in the cardboard box, over to the pier. Miss Cogshell came along behind us with her Kodak camera swinging from a strap about her neck. Her breathing seemed labored for such a short walk, and that poor little turtle was doing all it could to hold her up.

It was a bright, clear day and I could see faraway Wàwàckèchi Island easily. Why not rain today?

“Did you ever notice how in the movies it always rains during funerals?” said Craig.

I nodded. How did he know I was just thinking that?

We brought the box right to the little beach where Craig had found Pup many weeks ago. Craig ripped open one side, so Pup would be able to leave on his own. We both reached out for Pup at the same time, needing to keep him with us that extra minute. It was a sloppy hug, the three of us entwined. I could hear the click of Miss Cogshell's camera. Then, as if on cue, we both let go and Pup waddled out of the box. Without hesitation he bellied over to the shoreline.

“Go for a swim, Pup!” said Craig. Pup sniffed the water's edge, then flapped one flipper in.

“That's a good boy,” said Miss Cogshell, with a chuckle. “He's testing the temperature.”

One of the last slabs of ice rolled in and Pup crawled aboard and floated out on it. Then he turned towards us and cocked his head.

“You're on your own, Pup.” Craig's voice cracked on the last words.

Pup slid off the ice and swam in a few circles. He snorted and twitched his whiskers, clumsy until he reached deeper water. Pup dived.

I searched the waves. Was this it? Just dump him in and leave? I bit my lip to keep the tears from spilling out.

“There he is!” shouted Craig. He pointed at the small, shiny head poking up between two buoys.

“Bye, Pup,” I managed to call out.

Craig attempted to say goodbye too. His voice sounded like a hiccup. He covered it up by coughing, followed by an energetic wave of his hand.

Pup started to come towards us just under the surface, then breached with a great leap and slapped the water. Under he went again heading out to sea.

“I think he is happier already,” said Miss Cogshell. “I'm sure he will meet up with some new friends real soon.”

I figured she was just trying to make us feel better.

“He'll be fine,” added Craig. He didn't look as sure as he sounded. I began to understand what Miss Cogshell had said about him. He looked like a little lost boy standing there in the big army jacket with his wide blue eyes, the long, thin bruise spotlighted in the sun. Because of it being such an emotional day, I had this silly urge to hug him. I tore my eyes away, and concentrated on a piece of seaweed beneath my sneaker. I pressed hard on the slimy, seaweed bubbles, straining to hear the squishy popping sound.

We watched the empty water for a while longer, and then trudged back to the house in silence. This time Miss Cogshell led the way. She slowly paced herself over the dirt and rocks. I had the feeling we were sad about more than just losing Pup. At one point as we walked, Craig's hand caught mine for the briefest of moments. Then again, maybe his hand just bumped mine by accident.

We ended up in Miss Cogshell's kitchen, although none of us had the appetite to eat ginger cookies. Would there be any reason to ever come again and be in this kitchen, all of us together? I guessed I would come, but what about Craig?

It seemed to take forever for Miss Cogshell's labored breathing to settle down.

“That really wasn't much of a hike.” Craig gave a teasing poke in her big, bread dough arm.

“Oh, this is nothing. I'm just an old lady.”

“You look a little pale,” I said. “Have you had a check-up lately?”

Miss Cogshell chuckled. “I don't need any young whippersnapper to tell me what I already know. Years ago I had a check-up and the doctor said not enough blood gets to my brain, causing these little spells I sometimes get. They wanted to do all these fancy things to fix me up, and now I have probably outlasted them all. I'll leave this good life the way I lived it: fat and happy.”

Then it was Miss Cogshell's turn to poke Craig, who seemed to be agreeing with her philosophy. “That doesn't mean you give up your check-ups. The good Lord sent you two to me, to show you what not to do.”

After a while there was a knock on the door. Miss Cogshell positioned her plump hands apart on the table, and huffing, hoisted herself up to peek out the window.

“Why, it's that nice harbormaster again,” she said.

“Again?” said Craig. We exchanged puzzled looks.

Miss Cogshell opened the door wide. “Come in, Howard.”

He removed his hat, nodded at both Craig and I, and then looked back at Miss Cogshell. “I'm sorry to bother you. I've just had another report about there being a seal down this way.” Howard was not small, but Miss Cogshell made him look petite. We all stared at him with blank faces.

“Why don't you take a look around to ease your mind,” offered Miss Cogshell. “I am very certain there isn't a seal in my house.”

Howard seemed embarrassed, but managed to squeeze past us and into the hallway, to poke his head into each room. If it was Pamela who was reporting us, I was sure thankful she hadn't ruined our morning goodbye. I started wondering where I had left Pup's little ball. If only Howard really could find Pup, just so I could see him one more time. But the house was silent—no sniffs, snorts, or belly slapping coming down the hall.

A minute later, Howard came back satisfied that there weren't any illegal animals hidden in the house. “My apologies,” he said. “It won't happen again.”

“No, I can assure you it will not.” A smile tugged on Miss Cogshell's lips. “Take a cookie, Howard.”

As soon as Howard's truck pulled out of the yard, we all started laughing. It broke the tension and I was able to eat two ginger cookies after all.

“His face sure gets red,” said Craig.

“Oh, we go way back,” laughed Miss Cogshell. “Ever since Howie flunked my seventh grade English test, he hasn't been able to look me in the eye.”

“Did he really?” said Craig.

“I would have liked to have you for a teacher,” I said. Miss Cogshell reached over and patted my hand.

“I'm out of here,” announced Craig. “I'll let you two confiscate some verbs together.”

“It's
conjugate
, Craig.” Miss Cogshell's big shoulders shook with suppressed laughter as we said bye to Craig.

Miss Cogshell watched me peer through the door after him. “You like that boy, don't you?”

I felt myself turn about ten shades of red. “I'm just wondering when those lilacs are going to bloom.”

D
URING THE NEXT
week I kept busy. I popped into Miss Cogshell's every other day for quick visits. Sometimes I would borrow a book from her collection.

“Let's plant those lupines,” I said one day, glancing at the overflowing cups on her windowsill.

“Today?” she said.

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, yes. Yes, I suppose we could. Just give me a moment to get ready.”

I hunted around until I found an old shoebox. Eight little plant cups fit snuggly into the lid, while the leftovers filled the box. “What can we dig with?” I asked.

Miss Cogshell's voice trailed down the hall and I heard the word woodshed.

“Okey-dokey!” I gave the screen door a shove with my knee, carried the boxes of pots out, and placed them along the edge of the back step. Then I hurried over to one of my favorite places. I pushed up the bolt
and creaked open the heavy woodshed door. The smell of stale wood shavings filled my nose and I sneezed. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw tools of all sizes. Stuffed in a web-filled old pot was a small trowel. I poked at it, pulled it out quick and then carried it back between two fingers. Miss Cogshell was just letting the screen door slam behind her.

“Oh, my!” I covered my mouth quick, not meaning to speak aloud.

Like a walking picnic blanket, she wore a massive plaid shirt that must have been a man's size super extra-large. Her big rubber galoshes squeaked as she came down the steps. With Clyde securely under one arm, she paused and adjusted the ribbons of a flower-covered oversized straw hat, under her chins.

“Can't garden without my sun bonnet,” she said.

Smiling, I decided to stretch this little project out. It would probably take me all of ten minutes to pop the plants in the ground, which was hardly worth the entertainment of seeing Miss Cogshell in her garden gear. We planted a tidy row of lupines in a dirt strip along the back of the clothesline area.

Miss Cogshell instructed me on how deep and how far apart to plant them. “They'll get good sun here,” she said. I doubt she could have bent down far enough, so I was happy I could help her out. Besides, it ended up being a fun way to pass the afternoon.

I
STAYED DOWN
at the pier later than usual that night, just sitting and thinking. After so much excitement over the past few months, life seemed dull. A melon-sliced moon perched high in the sky, its shine catching the crests of never-ending waves.

Finally, I pulled myself up and began the trudge home. With such a narrow moon, it felt like the middle of the night as I crossed the field. The blue glow of televisions shone in several windows out on the road. I scooted across and ducked into the woods.

At first I didn't hear the shuffling noise, my thoughts were so deep. Then I stopped and listened.