There is an eerie quiet to the downtown. Maggie is pushing her bike along Water Street with her good arm. Water Street is nearly deserted, and the people who are out are moving with a purpose, looking at the sky or out in the water every now and then. Though there are people on the long white porch of the National Hotel, under the American flags, gathered as if for a movie that will be shown on the surface of the harbor. People love a weather event until it becomes an inconvenience or a catastrophe.
Maggie is close to the end of Water Street, near the post office, the bookstore, and the statue of Rebecca that stands at the intersection of the four Old Harbor roads. Like all the island kids, Maggie knows that Rebecca was erected in the late 1800s by a women’s Christian temperance group to remind people to limit their alcohol consumption. Like all the island kids, Maggie also knows that it’s really hard for Rebecca to do her job in the summertime. Whenever the Patriots win a Super Bowl (which is often) Rebecca wears a Pats jersey.
On her wrist (Maggie’s, not Rebecca’s) is a neon-green cast applied at the Block Island Medical Center by Olivia Rossi’s mother. It makes it difficult for Maggie to ride her bike. But not impossible. And it’s waterproof, at least.
Maggie checks her cell phone. She has three texts. One is from Riley, the first in several days. When she’d gotten her phone back, she’d given Maggie a good dose of the electronic silent treatment, but this text, even though it just says Hey, is a sign that the friendship is on the mend. There is another text from Olivia Rossi, confirming that Maggie will pick up one of Olivia’s shifts next week, and a third from her father, asking if they can switch her planned weekend visit to the weekend after.
Hey, she texts back to Riley. To Olivia she texts the thumbs-up emoji, and to her father she texts NP. In the summer she doesn’t like to leave the island any more than she has to, so the change in plans is fine with her, but she wonders what’s behind it. Most likely her stepmother, Sandy.
On Maggie’s last visit she overheard her father and Sandy talking about a potential move to Laguna Beach, California, where Sandy is from. Sandy has hated New England from the moment she married Maggie’s father and isn’t afraid to talk about it. Maggie hasn’t told her mother about the move—she isn’t sure if this is a legit plan or just one of those things that Sandy says when she gets mad. (Sandy has a temper, and gets mad a lot; Maggie’s father, whose temperament Maggie’s mother has always labeled artistic, adding theatrical air quotes, seems relaxed and even-keeled by comparison.)
If her father moves to California, Maggie will miss him, some, and she’ll miss her little sister, Tiki, a lot. Tiki is unbearably cute, even more so now that she has learned how to say Maggie’s name. When she says it, and puts her chubby little arms up to Maggie, Maggie feels a definite melting sensation. It’s lucky Maggie’s name doesn’t contain the letter s because Tiki has a lisp and she says s like th. Sandy has already contacted a speech therapist, who told her that Tiki is too young to begin receiving services.
Maggie won’t miss Sandy (Thandy) if her father moves to California. Sandy often looks at Maggie the way someone looks at an exotic but possibly dangerous zoo animal—you know it can’t hurt you, because it’s behind glass, but you’re going to keep a close eye on it anyway. Sandy doesn’t like it when Maggie cooks in her kitchen. She won’t let her use the sharp knives (Maggie is thirteen! And knows how to fillet a fish!) and she won’t let Tiki try anything spicy because she thinks it might offend her young palate. Tiki eats mostly carrot sticks and chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. Dinner by Mom, Sandy is not.
While Maggie is answering the first three texts, a fourth one comes in. Her mother, asking her again to please report to the store. This text Maggie ignores again because she is still angry with her mother: for the grounding, for probing the sore spot that Maggie’s humiliation in front of Olivia and Hugo has left on her soul. Possibly her mother wants to make sure Maggie is safe, but it’s more likely that she wants to put Maggie to work, like some sort of child laborer.
Maggie wonders if Pickles, who is terrified of storms, has taken up her spot in the center of the bathtub—she’s better than a barometer at responding to changes in weather. She almost feels bad enough for Pickles to go home, but an angry part of her wants her mother to sweat it out a little longer. She wonders, if she went home, if her mother would be there making her coconut-oil stovetop popcorn, which is miles better than the microwaved crap that Riley’s mother makes. By then Maggie realizes that she’s actually missed hanging out with her mother this summer.
Lately Maggie has been considering packing up all of her T-shirts and replacing them with some plainer but stylish tops from American Eagle and Hollister. Once she has decided to forgive her mother all the way, maybe they can take a trip to the mainland for some shopping before the beginning of the school year, which, hard to believe, is now just less than three weeks away. This summer has been the fastest of Maggie’s life.
“Excuse me!”
Maggie looks up. A very pretty blond woman is heading toward her at a trot, waving her arms frantically. “Excuse me!” she calls. “Excuse me! Have you seen a little boy with a red shirt? Four years old, dark hair?”
“No,” says Maggie, looking around. “No, I haven’t.”
“I was on the phone for just a minute,” the woman says. “Not even a minute, for a second. And he was gone . . .”
The woman’s phone rings. She answers it. “Not now, Glen,” she says sharply. She listens for half a second and barks, “Now you want to talk about it? I can’t. I’m in the middle of an emergency. I can’t find Max. What? Well, yes, again, but the first time wasn’t my . . . Oh, never mind! I have to go.” She ends the call and emits a little puff of anger or frustration. She scans the horizon frantically.
Maggie says, “I can help you look for him.” When she was little, her mother taught her never to help a strange man who told you he’d lost his dog, because he might actually be trying to kidnap you. This woman, besides being female, is clearly legitimately distressed—most likely not a kidnapper. Also, she is even skinnier than Maggie, and Maggie figures she can take her physically if necessary.
The woman says, “I wonder if he wandered off down the road . . . though I don’t think he would do that . . .”
“You never know,” says Maggie. Before she started working for Lu, Sebastian had walked himself right down to the beach; if Anthony hadn’t rescued him, who knows what might have happened? “Here,” she says suddenly. “Why don’t you take my bike and do a loop? I can stay here and look around for him. You should call the police too.” Two summers ago a seven-year-old girl had drowned in the ocean. Bad things happen, even here. You could lose someone in the blink of an eye.
“Okay,” says the woman slowly. “Yes, okay.” She looks at Maggie’s bike like it might bite her. She is wearing a spaghetti-strap sundress and her hair is beautifully curled just at the ends—the kind of hair Maggie and Riley used to call princess hair—and for a second Maggie thinks she is going to turn down the offer. But then she says, “Thank you,” and reaches out for the bike. She mounts it steadily enough and off she goes, cycling up Water Street, calling out, “Max! Max! Max!”
The wind picks up. The gray clouds that were on the horizon are now scudding across the sky. The scene reminds Maggie of The Wizard of Oz, with Miss Gulch riding her bike in the cyclone. And what happens in that movie? Miss Gulch, of course, turns into a witch.