Three Little Words by Harvey Sarah N. Page B

me,” Wendy says. “Two things though. Wear a life jacket and take one for Wain. Megan would kill me if anything happened to you.”
    It seems like a small price to pay, even though the life jackets are ancient, bulky and moldy.
    â€œLand on that little beach at the southern tip; everywhere else is too rocky. And if you get into trouble, call me on my cell—the service is great here.” She pulls a pen out of her pants pocket and writes a number on the back of one of the chocolate bars. “If you can’t bring him back yourself, we can call for backup.”
    â€œIf he’s there at all,” Sid says.
    â€œWell, you won’t know if you don’t row.” Wendy unties the ropes holding the dinghy and steadies it while Sid climbs in. “Good luck,” she says as she pushes him away from the wharf.
    The water is calm and Sid is a strong rower; he is on the island in less than ten minutes. As he pulls the dinghy up onto the beach and secures it to a log, a flock of geese rises from the rocks and flies out across the bay, honking its displeasure at being disturbed. There is goose shit everywhere. And no sign of another dinghy.
    The shoreline is rocky and ringed with prickly bushes: gorse and wild rose. Just past the little beach is a path that leads around the tip of the island and through a tiny meadow, the size of a king-size quilt. He walks toward the center of the island, being careful to avoid the goose shit. He turns to look north, toward home, and stumbles over what he first thinks is a snake and then realizes is a coiled rope. A rope attached to a dinghy. A dinghy camouflaged with branches to form a small cave. Sid is crouching to peer inside when he is flattened from behind by what feels like a wild animal. A large dog, a wolf, a cougar. He knows this is crazy, especially since his assailant is swearing loudly as he flails at Sid. A few blows land on Sid’s back before he’s able to throw whoever it is off.
    â€œGet away from my boat!” his attacker screams, punching the air near Sid’s head.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Sid sees a black fist and arm. “Wain!” Sid yells. “Wain, stop it.” The flurry of blows slows down, and Sid is able to turn around.
    â€œHow do you know my name?” Wain snarls. “Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” He staggers away from Sid and collapses onto a lichen-covered rock, his chest heaving. He is way bigger than Sid, but his bulk seems soft, almost flabby, and he is sweating heavily. Sid is surprised he was able to land even a single blow.
    â€œDo you want something to eat?” Sid asks. “I’ve got chocolate. And Coke.” One thing he’s learned from watching Megan deal with sad, angry, uncommunicative kids is to offer food and drink first. Before anything else. Hunger and thirst are two demons that can be easily placated.
    Wain eyes him suspiciously as Sid tosses him a chocolate bar and the Coke. They sit in silence as Wain, who is still breathing hard, eats and drinks. When he is done, he throws the wrapper and the can into the bushes. Sid decides not to play park warden. He can pick up the trash later.
    â€œWho the fuck are you?” Wain repeats.
    Sid clears his throat. Now that the moment has come, he wants to lie and say, “I’m Phil’s nephew.” Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “My name’s Sid. I’m, uh, your brother. Half brother, actually.”
    â€œNo fuckin’ way.” Wain glares at him. “I don’t have a brother. Mom would have told me.”
    Sid shrugs. “You sure about that?”
    Wain’s eyes widen and then he looks away. “She took off,” he says. “She back yet?”
    Sid shakes his head. “I met Elizabeth though. She’s worried about you. So’s Phil.”
    â€œWhy aren’t they here then?” Wain asks. “I don’t even know you.”
    â€œAnd I