Page 29 of The California Dreamers

28

All blown out

2002

The island

Day 3, morning

“Are we ready?” Griff asked.

No one answered.

The four of us sat on a wide steppe of gray rock overlooking the wooden west-side dock, in the shade of an ancient manzanita. It was the biggest I’d seen in my life, and one of the few trees on this side of the island. Rocky and wind battered, the west oval felt like another world from the lush east oval where I’d arrived only a couple days ago.

Mama and Pauline and Charlie waited on the boat below, under a blue awning Charlie had set up on the Kai ’s deck so we’d be comfortable for the interview. We’d told them we were gathering wild mint for Mama’s sun tea, and though they surely guessed it was a pretext for a final sibling conference, no one questioned our story.

“How old is this tree, Dyl?” I asked.

“At least a hundred years.” He reached up to caress the trunk.

Drawing my index finger across warm stone, I traced the outline of the thick manzanita branch shading me. The wind’s constant pressure had made every tree limb point east, as if they grasped for the mainland. As if the tree was saying, That’s where you’ll end up, in the end . Back in civilization.

But I wasn’t ready. Not to return, not for the interview. And I could tell from my brothers’ tense expressions that none of them were, either.

Mag gazed down at the blue awning, then, smiling wryly to himself, pulled a length of balsa wood from his pack. “Look what I made last night.” It was a model surfboard. A foot long, beautifully sanded. “I thought it would be helpful to demonstrate turns, since she’s a noob. I had nothing else to do.” But he also sounded a little embarrassed, seeing the thing in broad daylight.

“It’s terrific, Mag. May I?” I asked, and he passed it to me. It was perfectly shaped, even had a fin and a miniature leash of braided reed strands. We had a prop. Our list of safe topics. We couldn’t stall any longer. “Charlie thinks it means something, our elaborate preparations for the interview. She says it could be healthy to talk openly. Even about the less-perfect parts of the life Cap made.”

Griff asked, “Is that what you three think?”

I waited for Dyl or Mag to jump in. To say, No way. It doesn’t mean anything. We give her our scripted answers and nothing more. But they remained silent.

“I don’t know,” I eventually said. “I just wish Cap had told us what the rules were, for the interview.”

“Well, he didn’t, so we stick to the plan.” Griff reached for the little board and examined it. “We could have a signal. If anyone says something they shouldn’t, put your hand over the board like this.” He clamped the nose of the board between his thumb and forefingers like a jaw snapping down.

“Shark chomp,” Mag said.

“Bear trap,” I murmured, remembering the night I’d learned that anyone could submit a photo to the Triton . That had started it all. Our troubles, my flight from the Gull. “Remember that party where Jaws showed up? Remember how the UC San Diego kids used their school newspapers as tinder for the fire in the empty pool?”

Guess. Please, just guess. Right now, while I have a scrap of courage left.

Instead Dyl said, “Maybe you would have stayed and taught me to skateboard, if the photo hadn’t made things so hard on us that year. I heard how good you were.”

“And what really happened to our boards,” Mag said.

“You stuck together, but you could’ve trusted me, too,” Dyl said playfully.

“We did,” Griff told him with a smile. “You were just so young.”

They would never guess. Their trust in me, their acceptance that I was still one of them, was pure. And overwhelming.

Dyl stood and came over to Griff, reaching for the little board. He handed it to him, and all of us watched Dyl walk a few steps away, toward the open ocean, and stretch his right arm out, holding the surfboard against the expanse of blue sea from a distance so it looked like a real board.

He turned to face us. “I think with the four of us together again, we can get through the interview, no matter what she asks. We got through a lot, the four of us.”

“That’s right, brother,” Griff said, his voice thick.

Mag nodded. “And in an hour we’ll have the money to fix up the Gull and clear our debts.”

“My debts,” Dyl said firmly.

I shook my head. “All of ours.”

It was time.