I finally worked up the nerve to leave the bedroom. My grandfather was sitting at the table. He didn’t seem to notice me. He had a pad and was sketching with a piece of charcoal. I looked over his shoulder at his drawing. It was a scene of an otter sliding down a muddy bank. It was very good—but why wouldn’t it be? He was a famous artist. He still hadn’t noticed me standing there. I figured I could ignore him too.
I pulled out my phone—still no signal. I walked over to the window. There had to be a signal there. Nothing. I might have to get out of the house or higher up or closer to the shore to find a signal.
“I’m going out,” I said.
He didn’t answer. I didn’t think he had heard me. Fine.
I noticed his rain jacket hanging on a peg by the door. There was a second one—bright red—right beside it. I grabbed that one.
I pulled it on. It was a bit tight, but at least it would keep me dry.
I looked back at my grandfather. He still had his head down, sketching. I thought of saying something, but that would defeat my plan to ignore him. I went out onto the porch and closed the door behind me.
It was still raining but not as hard. As I stepped off the porch, I almost tumbled to the bottom. I’d forgotten about the missing board.
I followed a path that ran along the side of the cabin and then up the slope. Going uphill might be better for cell service, but this was also the way to the outhouse. An outhouse! Had I traveled back in time?
I saw a little building just up the path, but it looked too big to be the outhouse. The door wasn’t completely closed. I could see it had a busted hinge. I grabbed the door with both hands, lifted and opened it up. This was a toolshed. There were lots of tools—shovels, spades, saws and hammers. A stack of wood stood in the corner. I pushed the door closed again—at least, as closed as I could get it with the broken hinge.
Through the trees I saw another little building. That had to be the toilet. I pulled out my phone as I walked, shielding it from the rain.
“Come on, give me some bars.”
There were none. No service.
I decided I’d use the toilet and then go back inside and finish unpacking. And then I thought of something I could do first. I stopped by the toolshed on the way back to the cabin.
I snugged the board into place. It fit perfectly. The nails and hammer I had grabbed from the shed had seen better days, but they would get the job done. I hammered the first nail in with two hits and then banged it two more times to make sure it was really down flat. I put a nail in the other end. Three hits this time. I pushed against it. It felt solid, but I was going to add two more at each end just to be safe.
“What are you doing?”
My grandfather was standing at the open door. He didn’t look happy.
“I’m fixing the broken step.”
“Oh…yeah…I was going to do that, but you know what they say. ‘There’s always time tomorrow.’”
I almost gasped. “What?”
“ ‘There’s always time tomorrow.’ My father used to say that,” he said.
My mother always said it too.
“Your grandmother used to trip on that step all the time.”
“But she’s been…gone…for a long time.”
“Nine years next month.”
“This step has been broken for nine years?”
“Closer to eleven. I guess sometimes there isn’t a tomorrow for steps.” He paused. “Or for people.”
He looked like he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and went back inside.
I was going to hammer in the remaining nails, but it started to rain harder again. I stood up and tested the stair with my weight. There was a little give, but that was probably because the beams underneath were a little soft. A wooden porch in a rainforest was going to rot eventually no matter how well it was built.
I went inside. My grandfather was back at the table, but he wasn’t working yet. I laid the tools down on the floor.
“The jacket,” he said.
“Yeah, it was by the door—I just put it on.”
“I put it out there for you. I hoped it would fit. It belonged to your grandmother.”
I removed the jacket. “It’s a little tight, but it worked.” I hung it back up on the peg.
I turned around. My grandfather was looking at me. I pulled out my cell phone so I could avoid a staring contest.
“That won’t work,” my grandfather said.
He was still looking directly at me.
“You won’t be able to get a signal here.”
“Yeah, I can’t seem to get a signal anywhere in the house.”
“You won’t get a signal anywhere on this side of the island.”
“What?”
“There’s no reception on this side of the island.”
“But…but…how is that possible?”
“There are no cell-phone towers. I’m glad too. Those things are a blight on the landscape. There are some on the far side, where there are some year-round houses and cabins.”
“So you don’t have a cell phone?” I really had gone back in time!
He laughed. “I wouldn’t have one even if it did work out here.”
“But you do have email, right?”
He laughed. “Do you really think I have that internet thing out here?”
“But how do you communicate?”
“I have a shortwave radio. I call in to the harbor when I need groceries and supplies. It works.”
I was going to say something more about cell phones, but then I thought of something else.
“Do you have a TV?”
“Nope. Same as the phones. No signal. Didn’t those people tell you any of this?”
I shook my head. “They just told me I had a choice of coming here or, well, a foster home.”
“I guess this is better than that then.”
I almost said “Not much” or “At least they’d have a TV” but thought better of it.
“Looks like we’re stuck with each other for a while, kid. Maybe we should have supper and talk about the elephant in the room,” he said.
What elephant? “I don’t know what that means,” I said.
“It means we should talk about why you’re here. About your mother and about your mother and me. Does that seem right?”
I nodded. Finally I was going to get some answers.