Free Lucy: Daughters of the Sea #3 by Kathryn Lasky Page A

not playing.”
    “You’re right.” She laughed.
    “Hey, listen. Don’t take up golf, all right?”
    “You can count on it,” Lucy replied as she began to walk away.
    “Uh … hey.” His voice seemed to break. She turned around and saw him looking down and scuffing the floor with the toes of his sea boots. “Can I count on seeing you again?” He didn’t look up.
    Lucy inhaled sharply. “You mean it?”
    “Ayuh. Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” He was still looking down, dragging the toe of a boot in small circles.
    “I would be really happy to see you again.”
    He lifted his head now and a smile broke across his face. “You’re welcome anytime.”

     
    Lucy was nearly giddy by the time she came up the path to the cottage.
    But then she heard her mother’s voice. It was high pitched, as if she were in a nervous state about something. The words floating out of the open windows of the cottage were quite distinct.
    “Oh, Stephen — the Bellamys’ summer ball! You know I was so worried when we went on that sail, because Lucy and Gus barely exchanged a word. He was so absorbed with his photography. But then he came up to me at the club to deliver the invitation. It’s for all of us, of course. And it’s white tie! It’s in celebration of — oh, what do they call it — the longest day —”
    “The solstice.”
    “Yes, that’s the word. Oh, dear, sometimes I really wish you could put your clerics aside. You’d look so handsome in white tie, but Lucy will look stunning in that green faille that Mrs. Simpson made up for her. You know, with her eyes.”
    Lucy couldn’t stand to hear another word. Balls, gowns — it was the exact opposite of the boatyard she had just visited — that honest place. The thought of having to make forced conversation with those superficial people made her ill.
    She had until now confined her visits to the cave to nighttime. It was late afternoon, but it seemed even later, as if a premature twilight had thickened the air and cast a bluish light through the woods. Her parents would expect her home soon. But she simply could not stand talking about the Bellamy ball.

     
    The tide was coming in when she got to the small crescent of beach. She knew she could not stay long. She only needed to stay a bit, just long enough to collect her wits. The cave always seemed to soothe her.
    However, on this late afternoon, it would not calm her. At least not at first. There had seemed to be such a presence there, and yet at the same time a haunting emptiness.
    It was not always possible for Lucy to come at the same time, for the tides were constantly changing. It had now been two weeks since their arrival on the island, and low tide was pushed back to the late morning hours. To come in the secret of the night had been impossible because that was high tide. She had missed the place dearly, and now, as she walked the beach, she had to pull up the hem of her dress to step carefully from rock to rock.
    The green shadows of the cave stretched out to welcome her. She loved how the moss grew on the granite walls. Like delicate embroidery it fanned out across the pinkish stone, and she had tried to capture its fineness in her painting. On her last visit she had brought two bottles of colored ink, a small tablet of drawing paper, and two brushes, and had made a watercolor sketch of the cave. Then, after it dried, she had carefully rolled it into the oilskin with the note. She always checked the little cleft in the rock where she had found the note and was anxious to see if there was any sign that her painting had been discovered. A little glimmering crystal flake drifted to the ground as she unrolled the oilskin. But there was nothing new and the drawing was still in place, perhaps a little crumpled at its edge. She felt a deep twinge of disappointment. Outside she heard the shuddering hoot of an owl that seemed to echo her own chagrin.
    She tried to imagine Phineas’s face from earlier in