Fox Island by Stephen Bly Page A

they never used it. Didn’t employ
enough of their appropriations.” The roar from the motorcycle
deafened the air.
    “Did some biker just appear at our house and
fix my computer?” Tony asked when the noise subsided.
    “How in the world did we not hear him drive
up?”
    “Next summer, we definitely need a house
with more privacy.”
    “I don’t know. If we get too remote, who
will fix your computer?” Price’s blue eyes danced, a teasing,
well-aimed dance, a dance learned through nearly thirty years of
learning each other’s rhythms.
     
     
    Sunset splashed with washed orange and
bright pink from the Olympics to McNeil Island when Tony lugged the
research papers and computer into the house. Price leaned over the
sink, peeling crisp, small cucumbers. “You going to call our oldest
child tonight?”
    “Yeah, I’ll ask him to drive down next
weekend and help Kit find a home for that calf. Kathy said the
flowerbed’s about eaten up and the backyard’s drawing
horseflies.”
    Price lowered her voice. “I think I hear
Melody. Shall I invite her in for supper?”
    “Depends. Is she alone, or is Goliath with
her?”
    “She’s alone.”
    “Sure, invite her. I’ll call Mark from the
bedroom.”
     
     
    Tony returned to find Price and Melody
huddled at the kitchen counter. Their faces glowed like sisters
sharing a secret.
    “I hear you met Kenny,” Melody blurted
out.
    “Who?”
    “The Stud? That’s Kenny Mallard.”
    “So you do know him?”
    “He’s a jerk. He’s only got one thing on his
mind.”
    Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
    “Yeah, computers. What a bore.”
    “He helped me out,” Tony admitted.
    “How were Mark and Amanda?” Price
inquired.
    “The internship’s going good, but Amanda was
a little sick last week. She had to miss work and take some IV
fluids. Everything’s OK now. Mark said they’d drive down Saturday
and check on the girls.”
    “Good. We’d better let Kathy know her
brother’s coming.” Tony piled a clear glass dinner plate high with
shrimp salad and Roquefort dressing and sat down next to Price.
“How’s your grandmother, Melody?”
    “Still out in La-La Land. See, it all
started the other day when I told her about this Bennington guy
stopping by to look for Auntie Jill.”
    “I didn’t know you told her about that. Did
she get angry, like he said she would?”
    “No, she just sort of froze up. She didn’t
want to talk about it. She mumbled something about it being ‘too
late now,’ and has hardly said a word since. The psychologist
wanted to know all about Bennington. She thinks it might be helpful
for Grandma Jessie to face him.”
    “We’re about a week late for that. I’m sure
he’s back home in Chestertown, Maryland, by now.”
    “Is that where he lives?”
    “That’s what he said.”
    “Maybe we could call him up?” Melody
suggested.
    “We?”
    “I mean, maybe I could call him. Perhaps
he’ll be out this way again. I sure hate seeing Grandma Jessie the
way she is now.”
    Price spread poppy-seed dressing on her
salad and buttered a croissant, then sliced it in half and handed
it to Melody. “I don’t think it would hurt to call. The worst that
can happen is you get some more material for your story.”
    “Oh, man, this new story is so cool. You two
are really going to love this one. No fooling. It will knock your
socks off. Wait until you read the opening line. But Pm not going
to tell you any more. It’s a surprise.”
    Tony glanced at Price and rolled his
eyes.
     
     
     
     

Chapter 5
     
     
    In the late nineteenth century, the
isolation of Fox Island forced the residents to live
self-sufficiently. They cleared the land of evergreen trees and
stumps that blanketed every knoll, plain, and draw. This
back-breaking task readied the soil for fruit trees, berry patches,
and vegetable gardens. To supplement the diet of salmon and clams
dug at low tide, most every family raised chickens, milk cows, or
rabbits. Diversity was the key