Chapter Four
I t was the Saltwater Winery’s annual scavenger hunt for prizes. The Running of the Ducks was created by Libby and Jessa to attract new customers and add a little competition to the usually demure wine scene. She had pulled Brooke from behind the tasting counter to help hide little yellow rubber ducks around the property. They balanced several in trees, floated some in the fountain, taped one to the bottom of every Adirondack chair on the beach, placed several in the gift shop, in Amelia’s flower garden, on every corner of the outdoor stage, and in all of the nooks and crannies they could find. It was like an Easter egg hunt for wine drinkers.
“You remember when we hunted for these at Camp Dogwood?” Jessa said. “I was as skinny as a bean pole, and your teeth were too big for your mouth.”
“At least I was the duck-hunting champ. Remember?” Brooke pointed at herself victoriously. “Nate and I found two of them.” Brooke still dreamed about those ducks sometimes, and each dream involved a little white one still hidden beneath the old creek bridge.
Jessa fiddled with a duck wearing a princess crown and smiled with nostalgia. “I should thank your parents again. If they hadn’t paid my fees, I’d never have gone. Some of my best memories are from that camp.”
“You know they only paid those because I refused to go without you.” Brooke placed a yellow duck in a tall planter that spilled over with pothos and sunpatiens. Truth was, she’d needed Jessa at camp with her. It was always a trade-off. Jessa got all of the attention for her ballerina figure, long white-blond hair, full pink lips, small nose, and perfect skin. So Brooke had to put up with being the uglier friend in order to have the positivity, loyalty, inside jokes, and unwavering support of her best friend. “What kind of prize is the winery giving to the folks who find these ducks?”
“Wine, wine, and more wine.”
“No pizza party? No movie night? No dance party?” At camp, there were three large teams and three ducks. When a team found a duck, they won the activity that corresponded with the number written on it in sharpie. Some teams won every prize, some teams got nothing. But all of them had a celebration at the end.
“Lame, right? I should tell Duke to step it up.” Jessa headed toward the vineyard.
Brooke carried her bag of plastic ducks to the chicken coop, her mind back at Camp Dogwood. Several of the girls got their first kisses during the Running of the Ducks. It was the perfect time to slip off on a hunt with whichever boy was making your heart bubble up like a sugary Nehi soda, and then follow it up that night with what had unofficially become known as date night .
Jessa should’ve been the best at finding things, seeing as her mother knew stuff she wasn’t supposed to, but Jessa couldn’t find a plastic duck if she woke up to it on her pillow. It was funny how things worked out. Jessa had wanted to be on the duck-hunting team with Gates, which, at the time, didn’t matter in the slightest to Brooke. Gates was the guy every girl wanted. Brooke wanted to be on Nathan Daugherty’s team. She’d been intrigued by him since he first showed up the summer after sixth grade with a noticeable limp, wearing a ratty old corduroy blazer and a tie. He’d rumbled up in a dented red pickup and jumped out from the passenger seat dressed for church and holding a Walmart bag.
“Bye, man. Thanks for the ride,” he said like he barely knew the bearded person at the wheel.
Brooke knew immediately that life wasn’t going to be good for him at camp. That boy was about to get messed with in the way that snakes mess with mice. He would get eaten up and spat out. His limp was pronounced. And his clothes were horrible. If he was smart, he would run after that old truck and climb back in.
She felt the old mix of pubescent angst and hopefulness like she was back at camp as she set a yellow plastic duck in a chicken’s nest. Carefully, she took all of the eggs she could find for the winery’s gift shop. They sold them by the dozen in the refrigerated case, and they could probably use some more. What she really wanted to do was find a private spot and search for Nate online again. No matter how many years passed, he still felt like a big part of her life.
So many events from her childhood were fuzzy, and most were completely forgotten, but she could always pull up memories of Nate like they’d happened just a week ago. The first time she caught his eye and smiled at him, he smiled back. Then she proceeded to observe how she was right—the giggling and pointing began immediately. He was given the nickname Zippy, which was meant to point out his limp. Some boys coughed loser , and one knocked into him while walking by. Libby, wide-eyed, loudly questioned why he chose to wear church clothes to summer camp, and then laughed at him before he could answer. But Nate never looked upset, he just sat alone like it didn’t bother him, ate his meals like he was happy for the good food, and sometimes, not often, but occasionally, he would catch her eye and smile at her.
Nate was only at camp for two years. That was just two years of him being sweet and tender toward Brooke. To everyone else he was as solid and emotionless as a wall. But when she was stung by a bee, it was Nate who scraped out the stinger and ran to The Doghouse to get the calamine lotion. When she got water up her nose, he was the one who jumped fully dressed into the lake to hold her up so she could breathe. And when she had her period all over her white shorts, he walked behind her like a shield, all the way to the girls’ cabins, without ever saying a word. There was something strong about him. Something that made her feel like whoever he allowed into his life would always, without fail, be safe. That second year, aside from being considerably taller, he had muscles and a normal short haircut instead of the grown-out bangs that he used to habitually wipe from his eyes. Plus, he smiled at her, not just sometimes, but every time she looked his way.
Jessa’s voice shocked Brooke from her reverie. “So, these aren’t camp rules. Here, the person with the most ducks wins,” she said. “There are 150 total, and we have fifty-three people signed up so far.”
“I’m almost done,” Brooke said, exiting the chicken coop that was made to look like an old swamp shack. “I got some eggs too.”
“Perfect.” Jessa opened her plastic bag and Brooke carefully placed the eggs inside one by one. “Save a few ducks for the bathrooms.”
Brooke half expected to see the number three drawn in thick black marker on the duck she placed next to the sink inside the slope-roofed wooden bathroom made to look like an old outhouse. It was the number she’d found when her team won movie night. That was two days before her fifteenth birthday, and movie night might possibly mean a first kiss.
She was stepping out of the men’s bathroom when a large wolflike dog nearly sideswiped her, running full out toward the sea. “Buttercup!” A woman in a sundress came hustling after it. “So sorry! She only listens to my boyfriend.” She stopped when she saw the duck in Brooke’s hand. “Do you work here?”
“Just started.”
“You must be Brooke. I’m Allie.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m one of the winemakers. Jessa said you were coming. Are you up front with the customers?”
Brooke shook Allie’s small, surprisingly cold hand. “For now.” She put the biggest, sweetest smile on her face that she could muster. “I just left a job in marketing.”
“You’re from here, right?”
“I’m not sure I should admit that.” Brooke laughed nervously. Allie’s energy was so happy, it felt overwhelming to try to match it.
“Sam and I just moved into a new house over on the south side of the island. We should have you over for dinner. Jessa too. You don’t mind big dogs, do you?”
“I’d love that. And, no.”
“As much as Goose Island has grown on me, one thing this place needs is a good sit-down restaurant.”
“I’m happy to bring something. No need to cook.”
“I’ll get your number from Jessa. I better go find Cuppie, he’s working with me today while Sam takes the MCAT.”
Brooke wasn’t surprised that a girl like Allie was dating a future doctor. “Tell him your coworker wishes him good luck.”
She kept glancing down the sloping lawn to the small beach where her dog looked like a wild wolf running in and out of the surf. “I better go. That rotten dog. She’s going to be such a mess.”
Brooke was both exhilarated at the prospect of having Allie as a friend and wary. Brooke might be a Warter, one of the wealthiest families on the island, but she felt like a pretender. She’d made no headway in her life. What had taken years to build was gone in the time it took to fill her car with her belongings and drive away. Her whole life felt like the empty bag she held in her hand.