Caterpillar Summer, page 10
When she heard her door open, Cat’s brain was buzzing, but she pretended to be asleep. At first, she thought it was Chicken, but the footsteps were too careful. It was Lily. She tucked Cat in, kissed her on the forehead, and was gone again in a flash.
PART THREE
Gather & Hunt
Together is my very favorite place to be.
—Caterpillar in Caterpillar & Chicken: Friends for Infinity
Sandpipers dashed in and out of the waves, gobbling unlucky fish. Cat wasn’t sure she’d be welcome on the morning walk, but Macon had been waiting for her like normal.
“I didn’t like the way we left things last night,” said Macon.
She leaned over to pick up a plastic cup.
“And now you’re awful quiet,” he said.
Cat shrugged. It was easier to be quiet.
Finally, Macon cleared his throat. “Are you . . . ah . . . disappointed about your mom?”
“I’m not supposed to be, right? Just proud,” said Cat.
Macon scratched the back of his neck. “You should be proud. It’s not easy to support a family. She works hard.”
Cat dug her toes in the sand. He didn’t get it. “I’m tired of work coming first.”
“I’ll take the blame for that one,” Macon said.
Cat glanced at him. He squinted at the water like he saw something far away. “Surgeons don’t have dependable schedules. Lots of times I broke promises. I guess that’s why it was hard to see you disappointed.”
That must have been what Mom meant when she said Macon was never around.
“Did you fix it?” she asked. “Did you change your schedule?”
Macon pushed his ball cap lower. “Mostly I stopped making promises.”
Cat frowned. “I thought you said half of life is showing up. What does it mean if you weren’t around?”
When she saw his face, she felt like she’d gone too far. He looked like a half-empty balloon.
“If I could go back, I’d do it differently,” he said.
They turned and walked to the house.
It was fifteen steps before Cat reached for his hand.
It was rough and scratchy. It fit okay.
Lily called it pimento cheese, but Cat was suspicious.
She prodded the orange mound. “Doesn’t look like any cheese I’ve ever seen.”
Chicken patted it with his spoon. “It’s a glob,” he announced. “It’s glob-cheese.”
Lily shook her head, but she was smiling. “Some things look good and some things taste good. I’d pick taste every time.”
“More for me,” said Macon, smiling, and reached toward Chicken’s plate as if he was going to take it.
This worked. Chicken shoveled it in. His eyes widened, and he scooped again.
“It’s better than it looks,” he said around a mouthful.
Cat tried it. Smooth, with a sharp kick at the end. She had another bite. Lily’s kitchen was a delicious place to be.
They were still eating when there was a knock at the door—Harriet. In one hand she held three fishing nets and in the other, a bucket with a jumble of mini flashlights.
Cat raised her eyebrows. There was no way those nets would work from the pier.
“You sounded sorta blue about your mom, so I came up with a plan.” Harriet looked past Cat. “You all having supper?”
“Good evening, Harriet,” said Lily. “Join us, won’t you?”
“Hey, Ms. Lily,” said Harriet. “I already ate, thanks.” But she pulled out a chair, eyeing the food.
“Nonsense,” said Lily, placing a plate in front of her.
“Well, maybe I’ve got room.” Harriet dug in.
Lily grinned. “Tell me about all this stuff.”
Harriet wiped her mouth. “Yesterday was a bad day fishing, and today Cat’s having a bad day, period. We need something to change our luck,” said Harriet.
Lily looked puzzled. “Night fishing?”
“Not fishing,” said Harriet, grinning. “Hunting.”
A grin spread over Macon’s tanned face, transforming it into a map of creases and wrinkles.
“Think it’s warm enough?” he asked Harriet.
“I reckon so, it’s practically July.”
“What are y’all talking about?” said Lily.
At the same time, Harriet and Macon said, “Ghost crabbing!”
“Ghost crabbing?” asked Cat. “What’s that?”
“You don’t know ghost crabs?” asked Harriet between bites. “They mostly hide during the day, but sometimes they pop out for a spell. They’re the same color as the sand—with little eyeballs that stick up.” Harriet scuttled her hand across the table.
“But why are they called ghost crabs?” asked Chicken.
“It’s ’cause they come out at night!” Harriet stretched out the last word to make it sound spooky. “Or maybe because they’re pale. Who knows.” Chicken laughed.
Harriet continued. “When a flashlight shines on the sand, you see hundreds of eyes looking back at you.”
“Creepy,” said Cat.
“But not scary,” said Harriet.
“Can I come along?” asked Chicken.
“But you don’t like lots of eyes looking at you,” said Cat, remembering his comment about Toy Boat’s action figures.
“I don’t mind crab eyes,” Chicken said. There was no understanding him sometimes.
“I’m in,” said Macon, surprising Cat. “Lily, what do you say?”
“Only if Chicken promises to hold my hand,” said Lily. “If we lose you in the dark we’ll never find you.”
“I promise,” said Chicken solemnly.
Harriet distributed the flashlights. The sand was cool and damp under Cat’s feet. At first there was nothing. But then, in a beam of light—
“There’s one!” called Harriet. She scurried after a crab the size of a quarter, which disappeared into its burrow before Harriet could reach it.
“There, Caterpillar, there!” called Chicken, pointing his flashlight.
The beam illuminated a group scurrying sideways across the sandy terrain. She raced after them. The one closest to her was the largest. She smacked her net down. “I got one!” she shouted.
Harriet was there in a flash. “Let’s see.”
“Turn it slowly over the bucket,” said Macon.
Harriet held the bucket steady. With a plop, the crab landed inside.
Chicken aimed his flashlight. “Get me another, Caterpillar, please!”
Cat and Harriet dashed along the shore, chasing the funny little ghost crabs. They brought their prisoners to Chicken, who proudly guarded the bucket. Finally, they counted them.
“Twenty-three!” said Chicken, in awe.
“Time to call it a night,” said Lily. Chicken handed the bucket to the girls and went back to the house with Lily. Cat found herself wishing he’d fall asleep in the guest room bed again.
“Ready to let go?” Harriet asked.
“Later, ghost crabs,” said Cat. They tipped the bucket slowly. Crabs scuttled in all directions.
“May you never eat a baby sea turtle,” added Harriet.
“The unlucky streak is officially broken,” said Cat. “Next up, catching an actual fish!”
They walked Harriet to the corner. She crashed the screen door open and disappeared into the house. There was no way to miss Harriet coming or going.
“What do you think?” asked Macon. “Will that do the trick?”
Cat didn’t know, but she could hope. She would find out tomorrow.
Chicken was a creative sleeper. He had fallen asleep in the guest room, just as she’d hoped, and in the morning she checked on him. This time he had turned sideways so his feet hung off the side of the bed. He made a whistling sound when he breathed out. Two nights of Chicken in his own bed was a major victory. Maybe it was all the delicious food. Maybe it was the ocean air.
When Cat came downstairs, Lily looked at her, eyebrows arched.
“Did he go on a walk without you?”
“I told him to go ahead,” said Cat. She picked up the mug of hot chocolate he’d left for her. “I’m meeting Harriet early because it’s supposed to rain later.”
“Let me make you a sandwich,” said Lily. She built a biscuit stuffed with ham and eggs.
Cat gave her a quick hug. “Thanks.”
When she opened the door, Macon was coming upstairs.
“Howdy,” said Macon.
“Hey,” said Cat. She was already down the steps and three houses down the path when he called after her.
“Good luck!” he shouted.
“Thank you!” Cat called back. She saw Harriet and broke into a careful run. When she caught up, she handed Harriet half her sandwich. At the pier, John Harvey had claimed his lucky spot at the end. Just to annoy them, he announced every catch he made, each one seemingly bigger than the last.
“Silent treatment,” Harriet whispered. “Let’s freeze him out.”
But John Harvey didn’t care. Each time he announced another fish, Harriet got angrier. Finally, she was boiling. “I wish I knew what we were doing wrong!” She pointed at a small building adjacent to the pier. “I know we don’t have money, but let’s check out the bait shop. Dean should give us some advice. Or, even if he can’t, we’ll have a break from hearing John Harvey, and that’s worth something.”
They pushed open the shop door. A grizzled man sat behind the counter. “Morning, ladies,” he said, looking up from his copy of the Weekly Wave.
“Hey, Dean,” said Harriet. “This is my friend Cat.”
Dean folded the newspaper. “Hey there, Cat. Are you Amanda’s girl?”
Cat nodded, wondering how he knew.
“Miss her something fierce around here,” said Dean. “It’s a shame we haven’t seen her in so long. She was a right good fisherman, and a good girl, too.” He shook his head.
“We need advice,” said Harriet, plunking down at the counter. “We can’t catch a fish for the life of us.”
Dean rubbed his chin, seeming to understand this was a serious situation. “What y’all been using as bait?”
“Hot dogs mostly,” said Cat. “Also cornbread.”
Dean rubbed his chin, thinking. “Crumbly?”
The girls nodded.
“Let me see what I have in the back.” He dug in a freezer case, finally returning with a bag of silvery fish.
“Take these anchovies. Free sample to get you started.” Dean put them in another bag and knotted the top. “Should work better than hot dogs and cornbread.”
“That’s so nice,” said Cat as she took the bag. “Thank you.”
She wanted to ask more questions, about fishing or maybe about her mom, but when the door jangled, Dean went to talk with his customers.
Back on the pier, John Harvey and Dixie had gone. Good.
“All right.” Cat tried to sound confident. Her experience with anchovies was seeing them on Mom’s half of the pizza, where they lay there, smelly and shriveled.
These anchovies were torpedo-shaped and larger than she expected. They also had faces and tails.
“Ugh,” said Harriet. “Their dead eyes.”
Cat grimaced. She found a hook, then knotted it to the fishing line. She took a fish from the package and pushed the hook tentatively, but it didn’t go in. Harriet shrugged.
Again, Cat pushed and this time it sunk into the fish. She shuddered, dropping her line in so she didn’t have to look at it.
Harriet whistled. “Wow, Cat, you look like a real fisherman. A real fisherperson, I mean.”
Cat grinned. Today her luck might turn around. There was something about using real bait that felt official. Mom would be impressed if Cat figured out fishing on her own. Cat wouldn’t tell her beforehand, she would just bait her hook like it was no big thing.
Harriet crossed her arms and turned up the side of her mouth. “Hey, girls,” she drawled, sounding so much like John Harvey that Cat expected to see Harriet’s freckles disappear and her eyelashes turn blond. “Just wanted y’all to know that I caught a million fish today. Naw, make it a billion.”
“A trillion,” said Cat in her best Southern accent.
“A squillion.” Harriet stretched out her hands.
“A googolplex!”
“A googolplex . . . plus one!” said Harriet.
This was too much. Cat cracked up.
“John Harvey is the worst,” she said. “The only good thing about him is his dog.”
They leaned against the railing, laughing.
Behind them was a jingling sound. Cat hoped it was the door from Dean’s bait shop, or maybe the tags of some other dog. But when she glanced back, Dixie was trotting along behind John Harvey, who was returning to his lucky spot at the end of the pier.
Cat’s cheeks were hot. “Do you think he heard us?”
Harriet shrugged. “He says worse stuff than that each morning before breakfast.”
Cat and Harriet had been having fun. And he had been so nasty anyway, did it really matter if his feelings were hurt? She tried to push away that did-something-bad feeling, but it stuck like bubble gum. It had taken some of the fun out of the morning.
Cat checked her line, but when she reeled it in, her bait was gone. She brought it all the way in and rehooked a different fish, closer to the tail this time. But again, it disappeared from the hook without Cat feeling it. As the day got warmer, the bait got mushy and was harder to hook. She tried until the anchovies were gone, but they didn’t catch a single fish. They didn’t even get a nibble.
John Harvey, of course, caught a ton. He stopped announcing each one, but it was obvious how busy he was.
“I wish I knew what we were doing wrong,” said Cat.
“Yeah,” said Harriet. “Me too. We need our own lucky spot.”
A lucky spot. Lucky bait. Cat didn’t consider herself lucky. She wanted to surprise Mom with how much she had learned, but at this rate it would never happen. As much fun as Harriet was, Cat needed someone to show her what to do. Mom couldn’t help if she was never here. Somehow, Cat would have to figure it out on her own.
Thunder rumbled over the ocean and rain came in thick drops. Lily tapped at her laptop while Macon read the Weekly Wave. Chicken sat in the laundry basket, reading a book about shark researcher Eugenie Clark. Cat sighed.
Macon folded the newspaper. “Anyone want to go get an ice cream?”
“I’ll go,” said Cat.
Chicken didn’t look up. “No thanks, I’m at the good part. And I’ve got these.” He patted a stack of slick-jacketed library books.
Lily closed her laptop with a click. “I think Chicken’s got the right idea—it’s the perfect day for reading.”
Chicken pointed to the other end of the basket. “Come in my boat.”
Lily sat next to him on the floor with her paperback. “I think I’ll float in the ocean next to you instead, Captain.” Chicken giggled.
Cat was learning to trust Lily. She was good with Chicken, and paid attention to what he needed. Still, Cat double-checked that the sliding door was locked before she left. She didn’t want Chicken to get any ideas about conducting some shark research while she was gone.
Together she and Macon went down the white wooden staircase. He handed her an umbrella. It wasn’t very big. Before she could offer to share, Macon cinched the drawstrings on his hood. “That’s all right. I’ll walk behind so I don’t crowd you.”
“I don’t mind—”
But he gestured for her to go ahead. She felt silly walking that way, like they were a tiny parade of two people. Macon only made sense on their beach walks. Other than that he remained a mystery.
Rainwater flowed down the road. As they passed Willis General, Macon tapped her shoulder. “Your grandmother said we need hot sauce. I’ll duck in here.”
Cat turned to follow, but he stopped her.
“Go on ahead,” he said. “Have some samples and I’ll be right there.”
Before Cat could answer, he disappeared into the store. Sometimes he seemed like he wanted to spend time with her. Other times, he would disappear just like that.
She continued to the ice cream shop by herself. The letters spelling out “Miss Sunshine’s” looked like they were made of pink and yellow sprinkles. Cat shook the umbrella the best she could before pushing open the door.
A woman in a pink apron looked up, a smile ready. The place was empty, maybe because of the rain. When she saw Cat, her smile froze for a half second but then looked normal again. “Welcome to Miss Sunshine’s,” she called in a sugary sweet voice.
“Hi.” Cat looked around.
Everything was yellow or pink—the checkered floor, the pinstriped walls, the booths and counter stools. Even the topping jars had yellow and pink labels.
The woman, who was older than Mom but younger than Macon and Lily, squirted a cleaner on the counter and wiped it with a yellow cloth. Even the spray cleaner was pink. Miss Sunshine’s hair was yellow and her fingernails were pink. It was the most carefully color-coordinated place Cat had seen, and it made her kind of uncomfortable.
She walked to the case to see the flavors. Ever since she was small, her favorite had been mint chocolate chip, but she thought she might try their special flavors, which included Gingerbread Island and Turtle Egg. She examined each container and reread the labels three times, but still the woman didn’t come over to ask her what she’d like.
The door jangled open. Macon smiled, holding up a Willis General bag.
The woman at the counter put down the squirt bottle. “Why, hello Dr. Stone,” she said. The hello was all stretched out and sounded like “hey-low.” If her voice was sugary before, this sounded downright sticky. “Can’t believe we are so empty the one day you come in. I promise we usually have more customers.”
Cat tried not to stare. Miss Sunshine looked at Macon like he was a movie star. Gross.
Macon didn’t seem to notice. “Ah, yes. Well. My grandchildren are in town.”
