Chapter Forty-Eight

Three Little Coins

Jack got up late the next morning. He filled the whole house. His steps were loud, and his voice was loud, and he kept banging things down or crashing into them. The louder he got, the quieter Maggie got. She was shrinking away.

He was walking through the living room when he knocked against the round table by Maggie’s chair. Everything went skidding off. He picked up the box of Kleenex, the small bowl . . .

“What’s this?” he said. In his palm were two of the doubloons. He stood and turned one over. He ran a finger across the raised marks.

Maggie came to the kitchen door, wiping her hands with a towel. “That’s just Aran’s pirate gold. Toy gold. He brought them when he came.” She walked over and held out her hand. “Here, I’ll put them back.”

She’d kept them close by her chair since the second full Moon.

He was weighing the coins. “Where’d you say they come from?”

“His mom gave them to him,” said Maggie.

Jack held one up to the window. “Maggie, that looks like real gold to me.”

She snorted. “And I’m the queen of England.”

He picked up the third doubloon from the floor. “Are there more?”

“No, that’s it,” said Maggie. “Come on, I’ll put them back.”

But Jack put them in his pocket. They clinked against the stone selkie, and I winced.

“I’m going to find Harry,” he said, walking to the kitchen. He came back with the ring of metal shards. “Might take a boat to the big island and have someone take a look at those coins. Just in case.” He opened the door. “Don’t wait dinner.”

As soon as the truck rumbled away, I dashed outside. I had to swim off some tension, or I wouldn’t be able to think or sleep or figure out what to do. I was clambering down—and then stopped, staring at the stone selkie’s empty cave.

Tommy’s seal.

Maggie’s story churned around inside me. Was the stone selkie still mine? Had she ever been mine? My face was burning hot. Clenching my teeth, I climbed down to the rocks and dove. And then I swam fast and hard for a long, long time, trying to wash the thoughts away.

I was climbing back up the cliff when the truck growled into earshot. It skidded to a stop. I reached the top in time to see Jack striding to the door. “Maggie!” he called, pulling it open. “Maggie, guess what!”

I shook myself dry. Through the window, I saw him standing over Maggie’s big chair. He reached into his pocket.

“Look, Maggie, look!” he crowed. “We’re rich!”

I walked up to the house and stood quietly by the open door, where I could see better. He was thrusting out a handful of green paper.

“All that for three little coins!” Jack said.

Maggie looked at the wad of green paper in her lap, her eyes widening. “You mean they were real?”

“Gen-u-ine, finest quality, treasure-chest gold! So old it’s worth a bundle.”

She picked up the green paper and started leafing through, staring at the numbers in the corners. Her mouth fell open.

Jack looked taller, his eyes brighter. “Maggie, listen, I got a plan. That’s enough right there for a down payment on a fishing boat. Not anything fancy, something used—I’ll need to do a lot of work on it—but a boat, Maggie. A boat of my own.”

Her hands had stilled in her lap.

“I’ll be my own boss,” said Jack. “No more getting fired, no more worrying about a paycheck. I’ll work hard and make the payments and there’ll be enough left over. There’ll be money for doctors, Maggie. It’ll take awhile, but—”

“No,” said Maggie. It was her determined voice, the one that said she wasn’t going to budge.

Jack jerked back. The air bristled around him. “What?”

Maggie stood up. “That money belongs to Aran.”

What was she doing? She needed to stop before he got angry. I took another step into the room. “Maggie . . .” I said.

Maggie kept talking. “His mom gave it to him. If she doesn’t come back, he’ll need it. To have a stake. Make something of his life. Maybe go to college.”

Didn’t she see the tension coiling in Jack’s arms? Now I was really getting worried. “I don’t need it,” I said, but no one seemed to hear me.

Jack’s mouth had narrowed to a thin slash. “What about us, Maggie?” He was breathing hard. “What about our life?”

Maggie shook her head. Her voice was as clear as it was sad. “It’s too late for us, Jack.”

His hands clenched into huge fists at his sides, tight as rocks. And his eyes—I knew the feeling behind that look. It was red rage, about to spark and set him on fire. If he stopped thinking, if he let loose, what would he do? And Maggie just stood there, unbowed.

The next thing I knew, I was standing between her and Jack.

His chest was heaving up and down. He stared at her, at me—and then he threw back his head and roared, shaking the walls of the room. He raised his fist and my heart stopped—

He turned and slammed his fist right through the wall. Bits of wall exploded everywhere. A picture tumbled down and glass shattered across the floor. Maggie gasped and pulled me close.

Jack yanked his fist back through and stood there panting. We all stared at the jagged, gaping hole. There was nothing but the sound of his rough breath, and Maggie’s, and mine.

Without another word, Jack turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.