Chapter 17
Seventeen
A walk in nature walks the soul back home.
—Mary Davis, author
Well, this was FUN. Maisie leaned against the back side of the boat, arms crossed, doing all she could to look disinterested while trying not to stare, not to eavesdrop—but nothing could peel her away from this!
Scout’s parents were locked in some kind of intense drama. Even more fascinating was that the dad looked positively delighted to be sparring with the mom. Scout’s mom, on the other hand, kept losing her cool with him. Her Southern drawl sliced through the ocean breeze like a knife.
“James Henry Johnson,” she said, her sun hat tilted just so. “You had no business showing up uninvited. None. Magnolia Pearl has a life of her own, and it doesn’t include you.”
Magnolia Pearl. Maisie had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. Worst name ever. No wonder Scout never used it.
“She is my daughter too.” Scout’s dad seemed completely unaffected by the scolding. In fact, he sounded amused. “And, may I just say, Lucille, you haven’t aged a day. Truly radiant.”
Maisie gave up pretending to not watch them and just stared, eyes wide. This was fascinating.
“Flattery won’t work on me, James Henry,” Scout’s mom said in a low growl. “You have a lot of nerve thinking you can pop back into Magnolia Pearl’s life after all these years.”
Okay. Now Maisie was starting to piece it all together. Scout’s dad had been out of the picture for a long time—that much was clear. The way Scout’s mom glared at him, like he’d gone out for coffee and never returned, said everything.
Watching them bicker, Maisie was mesmerized.
How did these two people ever fall in love and get married?
They couldn’t be more different. Scout’s mother looked like she was heading to a fancy tea party—big hat, flowery dress, high-heeled shoes, and crimson fingernail polish.
Even though she was old, probably forty, she was beautiful.
Like one of those older models in Talbots ads.
Scout’s dad wasn’t bad looking for a guy his age.
He gave off an Indiana Jones vibe in his scuffed boots and adventurer hat.
As Frankie would say, this man definitely had his cool on.
And somehow, those two had produced Ranger Scout. Baffling! Maisie had to bite her lip to stop from giggling.
At the front of the boat, Scout stood ramrod straight, pointing out an osprey nest on a tiny island like she hadn’t caught a word of the commotion at the back of the boat.
But seriously—how could she not? Her mom’s voice could probably carry across the water to Mount Desert Island.
A few of the tourists on the benches kept sneaking curious glances at the squabbling couple in the back.
Once, when they got really loud, Maisie noticed Scout glance toward the back of the boat, a slightly panicky look in her eyes, and then she turned up the volume on her ranger spiel.
Maisie was impressed. If she were in Scout’s boots, she didn’t think she could tune out her own mom quite so effectively. Moms had a way of getting to you.
“This stretch of water,” Scout said, throwing her arms wide to keep everyone’s attention focused on her, “between Baker Island and Mount Desert Island can be deadly for ships. Jagged rocks lurk just beneath the surface at high tide, there are shiftin’ currents and surprise swells that can yank a vessel off course, and then you’ve got hidden reefs and granite formations lyin’ in wait near Baker Island.
That’s why they built the lighthouse—to save lives on one of the busiest shippin’ routes along the Maine coast.”
Interesting! But the back of the boat was where the action was.
Maisie watched Naki sidle in close to the bickering Johnsons, and as he drew near, Scout’s mom saw him and froze, her angry expression morphing into surprise—and something close to intimidation.
Yep. Maisie got that. Naki’s superpower was intimidation.
His crazy height, his fierce facial features.
“Dr. Johnson,” Naki said quietly, stepping closer. “We’re nearing the location.”
Scout’s dad turned to him, suddenly serious. “Thanks, Naki.” But in the next breath, he was all charm again, flashing that grin back at Mrs. Johnson. “We’ll have to finish this conversation later, my dear. Work calls.”
Scout’s mom threw her hands up in exasperation, her hat wobbling precariously but somehow staying put. “Well, isn’t that just like old times? Always runnin’ off to your work.”
Scout’s dad gave her a small bow before following Naki to the opposite side of the boat.
Maisie watched Scout’s mom mutter something under her breath about men and their priorities as she adjusted her hat with sharp, jerky movements.
Then, with the poise of a queen who’d just lost a battle but not the war, she marched to the front and sat near Scout, who carefully avoided looking her way.
“Uh . . . translate, please,” Frankie said, suddenly appearing beside Maisie. “What just happened?”
Nice! For once, he was seeking out Maisie. But then she remembered her new policy, in which she didn’t need to try to impress him. She shrugged.
“Is Scout’s dad a wreck rat?”
“A what?”
“You know. Someone who hunts for shipwrecks.”
“Is that a real thing?”
“Uh, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “So what’s up with her parents?”
“What makes you think I would know?”
He scoffed a laugh. “Because you’re the nosiest person on this boat.”
Maisie frowned as Frankie wandered off toward Naki and Dr. Johnson. Her frown turned into a grin when Scout intercepted him, handed him a bucket of fresh lobsters to show off to the tourists, and reminded him that he was on duty.
Scout sighed, tugging her hat lower to block the sun as she strolled along the path to the old dance floor on Baker Island.
Somehow, she’d made it through the welcome talk on the boat; she’d recited the script word for word when the tourists gathered on the island after getting ferried over in the skiff; and she’d given everyone time to wander around the lighthouse and the Gilley house, with a clear directive to return to the skiff at a certain time.
For now, she had a few minutes alone—just her, the salty sea breeze, and a brain overloaded with thoughts.
Her parents. Together. On an island.
At fifteen, this would’ve been her dream scenario, the stuff of miracle prayers whispered before bed. A version of The Parent Trap. Now? It felt like a nightmare in hiking boots—or in her mother’s case, the wrong shoes entirely.
She’d ordered Maisie to stick like Velcro to her mother, who’d shown up looking utterly fabulous and completely unprepared for a rugged island tour, tottering around in high heels like she was heading to a cocktail party. Typical Lucille Johnson. She always looked glamorous, but practical? Never.
Scout’s dad, on the other hand, had wandered off in the opposite direction with Naki, the two deep in conversation.
Earlier, Naki had asked if he and Dad could go up in the lighthouse.
Not possible, she told him. Even for her.
It was locked up tight. She wasn’t sure why they wanted to go up, but before she could ask, he was back at her dad’s side.
Somehow, her father had sweet-talked the tourist boat operator into stopping over the shipwreck so he could “take measurements.” Then again, Mother always said Dad’s charm could sing the birds right out of the trees.
Too soon, Scout returned to the shore to supervise Frankie as he ferried tourists back and forth to the boat in the skiff. He’d made a couple of runs and was returning to the shore for the last few tourists when the radio on her hip crackled. “Uh, Scout?”
She shielded her eyes and saw him in the skiff, halfway between the boat and the shore, stalled. “What’s wrong?”
“Engine keeps conking out.” Frankie’s voice came through, tight with panic. “Better tell the skipper to send another skiff.”
Scout’s eyebrows shot up. “Frankie, there is no other skiff.”
Silence. Then, “Oh. Well, let him know it’s gonna be a while, then.”
“How many tourists left on the island?”
“Uh, let me see. Five, counting you.”
She clicked the button. “Skipper, we’ve got a skiff engine issue. Frankie’s going to need a walk-through on repairs.”
“Copy that,” came the reply.
When she turned around to count the remaining tourists, her heart sank. She had assumed that her parents were already on the boat. Her mother was tiptoeing toward her while Maisie clutched her arm like an overly enthusiastic bridesmaid.
Her father and Naki appeared from a different path, strolling toward the shore as if there wasn’t a care in the world. Oh boy.
Rowing, Frankie beached the skiff, and the engine coughed out noises that sounded like a barking dog.
Naki came to stand beside her. “Perhaps I can help with the repair.”
Scout could have hugged him. “I would appreciate that very much.” Frankie fixing the engine without supervision was a recipe for disaster. They could be here all night. “Where did you two go?”
“Since we couldn’t go into the lighthouse, we went to the highest point of the island.”
“Why?”
“Because your father has a theory that the gold caches were hidden in spots that could’ve been seen from the top of the lighthouse. Most of them, anyway.”
“SHUT MY MOUTH!” As soon as the words flew out, Scout covered her mouth with her hands.
Did she really just say that to Naki? His eyes danced with amusement.
“Sorry. Southern thing. But that’s amazin!
” And yet it made sense too. On a clear day, from the top of the lighthouse, you had a panoramic view.
That’s what she heard, anyway. She’d never been.
“What’s amazing?” Maisie was suddenly between them.
“Maisie,” Naki said, “come be my assistant. Frankie needs a little mechanical savvy.”
“Oh no,” Maisie said, “I’m really not any good with engines.”
Scout looked at her, surprised she didn’t jump at a chance to be near Frankie.