By the time Milton left the Morris house, it was late enough that the mosquitoes had dispersed. “They’re crepuscular,” Fig had assured him before he walked through the sunshine door. “So they mostly feed at dawn and dusk.”
Milton highly respected Fig’s opinion on scientific matters, but he still ran as fast as he possibly could down the beach road and up to Uncle Evan’s front porch.
Uncle Evan was apparently of the same mind as Fig because he was there on the porch, perched on a camping chair, gazing out to sea with no heavy-duty flyswatter in sight.
“Missed you at dinner,” he said, patting the chair next to him.
“I was at Fig’s,” Milton said. He sank down as the now-familiar, end-of-the-day tiredness spread through him. “Dr. Morris said you should come over sometime.”
“I know I should,” Uncle Evan replied with a sigh. “I haven’t been over to the Morrises’ or the Alvarezes’ in months. I haven’t sat outside like this in a long time either.”
He resumed his ocean-gazing. The wind was calmer than usual, and the waves were gentler, their breaking a whisper rather than a shout. With no artificial lights to interfere, thousands and millions and billions of stars were visible, both above and reflected in the surface of the sea.
It was incredibly stunning, and Milton understood that his uncle was basking in the beauty and serenity and that he should keep quiet. “Let’s have ten seconds of silence” was something his mother was fond of saying. So he started to count to ten.
He made it to six.
“I say, Uncle Evan,” he began, trying not to sound overly interested, “did you happen to hear those Incredible Symphonic Cicadas?”
“I did,” Uncle Evan said. “Aren’t they something?”
“They are … something,” Milton replied, suppressing a shudder. “But hearing them got me thinking—you told me you hadn’t found any never-before-seen creatures, but that’s not entirely true. The Truth-Will-Out Vine and the cicadas are brand-new species, aren’t they?”
“You’re right about that,” Uncle Evan said, nodding without taking his eyes from the starry night. “But I didn’t find them myself. When I was in grad school, I wrote Dr. Paradis dozens of letters begging her to let me do research here. I thought this island was my chance to do something great … and to be someone great. When she finally said yes nine years ago and I showed up here, the vine and the cicadas were the first things she showed me.”
“She told you about the other wildlife though, right?” Milton pressed. “The pachyderm that lives underground and the tree that shoots poison arrows and the bird with stars in its tail feathers?”
Uncle Evan shifted in his chair, like he wasn’t quite comfortable. “She did. She said that she’d found hundreds of species and that there were hundreds more out there, but I’d have to find them myself. And, well, as you know, I never have.”
“But they’re here, aren’t they?” Milton asked, gripping the arms of his chair. “Don’t you think they’re somewhere on the island?”
“I don’t know anymore, Sea Hawk. I’ve been working and researching and trying—” Uncle Evan turned toward Milton and found a pair of bespectacled eyes a few inches from his face (so much for looking not-too-interested).
“Dr. Paradis wouldn’t have made them up!” Milton cried, still very close to his uncle.
Uncle Evan scooted his lawn chair back a few inches and considered his intense-faced nephew. “No, I don’t think she made them up,” he said. “Dr. Paradis was known to be a brilliant, eccentric person, but not a liar. But I’ve—if I haven’t found those creatures by now, I don’t think I ever will.”
Uncle Evan sagged into his chair, and Milton felt a tad guilty. He had wanted more information, but instead he’d reminded his uncle yet again of how he’d failed. The way his uncle was sitting there reminded Milton so much of his father that it made his heart squeeze and his stomach ache to look at him.
“Uncle Evan, why did you mention the cicadas to my father?” he asked. “In your letter. You said they’d be coming out soon, and this might be his last chance to hear them.”
Uncle Evan straightened up. “So your dad spent some time on the Lone Island once,” he said. “Maybe he didn’t mention it? It was a few years ago. He’d been asking and asking me to come visit again, but I wasn’t … I wasn’t making any progress here on the island, and I didn’t want to leave. So finally, he came here.”
Milton pressed his explorer hat to his head. “My father? On the Lone Island? He barely even likes the great outdoors!”
Uncle Evan laughed his out-of-practice, choky laugh. “Maybe not now, but when he was younger, your dad and I were always outside. In fact, by the end of the visit, he was even talking about getting a degree in biology and moving you all here.”
“Great flapping falcons!” Milton said. “We could’ve become Lone Islanders? Why didn’t we?” He paused. “And why didn’t he bring me?”
“I think he needed some time on his own, time to figure a few things out,” Uncle Evan said slowly. “Even back then, he and your mom weren’t doing so great. She was working more, and he was unhappy with his job, and they weren’t—I don’t know, it’s hard to say what went wrong, especially from thousands of miles away. He had the idea that moving here would fix things, give everyone a chance to sort of start over.”
“Like a Restart,” Milton said.
“Yeah, like that,” Uncle Evan agreed. “But then he realized that bringing you all halfway around the world to live on a remote island might not be the most realistic plan.” He shrugged one shoulder. “As for this being his last chance to hear the cicadas, well, I wrote that because I was worried the Lone Island was going to be sold, and it looks like I was right.”