I didn’t want to be late, so I jumped off the rock and raced past Soloville without stopping. Luckily no one seemed to be around when I slipped through the house and hurried upstairs to change into my brown sweatshirt and old jeans, which seemed like the best things to wear to a bonfire at an abandoned campground. I knew I should probably leave Mr. Little behind, but I needed his support.
As soon as I sat down on the dock to wait for Solo, I started thinking about who else would be at the roast. A kid like him probably hung around the toughest boys in all of Maine. The longer I waited, the more I became convinced the whole night would be a disaster—that I wouldn’t be able to do anything the other boys did and that I’d completely humiliate myself.
I lay on my stomach with my head in my arms to try to calm down. Every time the water rippled I expected to see Solo’s canoe glide around the corner, and my pulse would beat faster. But after lots and lots of repeated rippling, it slowly became clear that Solo wasn’t showing up. The sun had dipped well below the trees, which meant it had to be close to dinnertime.
Part of me was immensely relieved, but another part felt ashamed. I knew exactly why he hadn’t come. I was nothing like him or any of his friends. Or my father. I didn’t fit in anywhere.
I pulled Mr. Little from my pocket and studied his frozen face. It seemed the only place I belonged was in my imaginary world, one that would never exist.
As I stood and wandered back to the house to see if dinner was ready, my whole body felt sore from stacking wood, but there was a deeper ache somewhere in my chest that got worse the more I thought about Solo.
“There you are,” said Tess. A large pot was steaming on top of the stove. “Wash your hands and go ahead to the dining room for July Dinner.”
“What’s July Dinner?”
“First Saturday of the month, the family’s required to eat together in the dining room.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. It’s just the way it’s always been here. To celebrate the month ahead, I suppose. Ned’s off the island, so it will be just the two of you.”
“The two of who?”
“You and Lenore.”
“What?! What about you?”
“I’m not part of the family, Martin. I work for the family.”
The thought of eating alone with Aunt Lenore in that dusty dining room immediately ruined my appetite.
“But we’re barely related! And she doesn’t even recognize me most of the time!”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s in a good mood this evening,” said Tess, shooing me away. “Now go on.”
Aunt Lenore sat at the head of the table wearing yet another weird old dress. This one had pale purple ruffles strangling her neck.
“Aren’t you the summer guest who’s come to paint the house?” she croaked.
I nodded cautiously from the doorway, deciding it was best to agree with whatever she said. She pointed at a shelf as I entered the room.
“Well, you might as well take a place setting and have a seat.”
I reluctantly picked up silverware, then turned and examined the long table. I didn’t want to sit at the opposite end, directly across from her, so I chose the chair farthest to her left, where the bird had been standing the day before. I avoided looking directly at her, staring down at my lap instead like I was praying to survive the meal.
“Ding-dong!” she cawed and rang a small bell next to her fork. “We’re famished!”
“Coming,” replied Tess, bursting through the door carrying two plates of food. “I hope you like trout chowder, Martin,” she said as she placed one of the plates in front of me. It held a bowl of chunky white soup, a roll, and two slices of tomato. This was a celebration?
“Where’s the clotted cream?” Aunt Lenore demanded.
Tess handed her a tiny pot with a small knife and said, “I’ll be right back with ice water.”
The old lady lifted the tiny pot with her wobbly, spotty, wrinkly claw and stretched her arm toward me. “Clotted cream?”
Whatever that was sounded awful. I shook my head.
“Can’t you speak?” she squawked.
I nodded.
“Well then, say something! If I have to share the table with another human being, at the very least, I expect a conversation.”
I racked my brain trying to think of something to talk about while she cut her roll in half and greased it with heaps of that clotted goop. Then I remembered.
“How was your party?”
She glared at me suspiciously from the corners of her eyes. “What party?”
“Um, your garden party?”
At that moment Tess returned with a pitcher of water and filled Aunt Lenore’s glass. After taking a long sip, she turned to Tess.
“What is that boy talking about? He asked me about a garden party.”
“He must be confused,” Tess replied, suddenly frowning at me. “Will you have your tea now, or later in front of the fire?”
“Later,” said Aunt Lenore as she dipped her roll into her soup and took a large, sloppy bite.
“But it was yesterday morning?” I persisted. “You helped her with—”
Tess cut me off. “Ring the bell if you need me, you two. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I couldn’t understand why it was so wrong to ask about a party. What was I allowed to talk about?
As soon as Tess was gone, Aunt Lenore leaned across the table and squinted. “You’re Samuel’s friend, aren’t you?”
I was startled by this question, but I nodded.
“Thought so. I’ve seen you boys down at the dock.”
I couldn’t help blurting, “You have?”
Everyone seemed to be watching everyone else on this island, as if they were all spying on each other.
She nodded. “And by the way,” she whispered, “there was no garden party.”
Wait, she did remember talking about it? What was I supposed to say now?
“Um . . . yeah. I kind of noticed that you didn’t have any guests.”
Aunt Lenore grinned. It was the first time I’d seen her smile, and it changed her whole face. She almost looked . . . nice.
“Good. I like it when young people are observant.”
It felt weird to be complimented for saying something obvious. “Then you must not know many young people,” I said before I realized I was saying it.
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh? You don’t think you’re observant?”
“I—I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to see that people don’t really come to this house for parties. Or for anything.”
For a second I panicked, wondering if I sounded rude. But she just chuckled.
“I guess I’ve scared everyone off, more or less.”
“Good guess,” I blurted again, then stuffed a piece of bread in my mouth to keep quiet.
“Are you scared of me, young man?”
“Um . . .” I couldn’t say yes, could I? But I had a feeling Aunt Lenore would know if I was lying. I finished chewing and swallowed hard. “It kind of depends?”
“Hmm.” She nodded as if this was a very reasonable answer. All at once she seemed a lot more normal. Except not normal at all. Better than normal, if that was possible. Maybe this was what she was like before she started losing her memory. In a way I felt like I was meeting her for the first time.
“So, my name is Martin Hart,” I said. “I don’t know if you remember meeting me a few—”
“Of course I remember you!” she interrupted, then leaned toward me across the table. In a hushed voice, she continued, “Someday, when you grow old and feeble, Martin, and every bone in your body aches, remember this golden nugget. People will do and say all kinds of things around you if they think you’re bonkers.”
My mouth dropped open. She was faking her memory loss? On purpose?
She leaned in even closer and pointed at my face.
“It’s true. Take your father, for instance. He’s planning to pull one over on me, isn’t he? He wants to inherit this island when I’m dead, and he thinks I’m senile enough to leave it to him in my will.”
“What? No. He . . .” Then I trailed off. Dad had said he wanted to inherit the island. And he hadn’t been too surprised that Aunt Lenore seemed to be losing her memory—even though he hadn’t said anything to me about that beforehand. “He said he just wants to make you happy,” I stammered.
Aunt Lenore snorted. “If he had my happiness in mind, he wouldn’t have dropped you off here with so little warning, and without asking for permission.”
“He said you invited me . . .”
“Invited you? Why would I do that? I haven’t heard a word from your father for, well, it must be at least fifteen years. In fact, the last time I saw him, I told him not to bother coming back again unless he drastically adjusted his worldview.”
“His what?” As soon as I said it, I felt stupid. I knew what a worldview was, at least I thought I did. Embarrassed, I slipped a whole tomato slice in my mouth.
“It’s the way Jonathan treats people. The way he thinks of certain people. Oh, I gave him quite a talking-to. Sent him off with his tail between his legs.”
My mouth dropped open again, and this time the tomato slice almost fell out. I was so confused. Dad had said they were close! He hadn’t said anything about Aunt Lenore chasing him away.
But it was true that he hadn’t been here in ages.
“I think it’s safe to say he hasn’t changed a bit,” Aunt Lenore went on. “He definitely wants this island for himself—probably so he can sell it for a pile of money and retire early.”
“But—Dad loves this island,” was all I could think to say. After all, he’d spent a gazillion years talking about how great this place was and how much he missed it . . .
“Is that what he told you? Well, I’m sure it’s what he’d like everyone to believe. But he doesn’t realize that I can see through him. Notice how he showed up here with you and tried to convince me the whole thing was my idea. Didn’t even blink, did he? Believe me, he would’ve been a lot more careful if he knew I had my wits about me. It’s a powerful weapon, the mind. Or lack of it.”
At this point, I had no idea what to believe. I wasn’t even sure Aunt Lenore actually had a clue what she was talking about. She might say her forgetfulness was just an act, but for all I knew, she really was losing her grip on reality.
Aunt Lenore raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, as if waiting for me to respond. Something about the way she looked at me convinced me that she was telling the truth. At least about her own sanity.
“You’re not as scary as you seem,” I said.
She smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Now raise your glass, Martin, and let’s make a toast.”
I lifted my water a few inches above the table.
“Here’s to secrets between friends, imaginary gatherings, and of course, the Great and Beautiful Beyond.”
What a weird toast. But I liked it. Though I wondered if she knew her Great and Beautiful Beyond sign had broken a long time ago.
Aunt Lenore stretched her arm as far as it would go and clanked her cup against mine, spilling water from both of our glasses.
“Your turn,” she said.
I was at a loss for words. Then I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Happy July?”
Aunt Lenore beamed as if I’d said something brilliant. “To July, the magical month when dreams come true!” she cried.
We clinked glasses again, this time meeting in the middle. Then I finally took a sip of the thick white gloppy chowder. To my surprise, it was delicious.