Free Island by Peter Lerangis Page B

looks more like a battleship. It has two levels and two engines and two foghorns. When I passed the bulkhead, Nesconset Bay stretched out before me, vast and deeply blue against the clear sky.
    On the horizon, the cloud patch had swelled. It looked like a big head of whipped cream. A few sailboats dotted the bay, lazily tacking against the wind.
    My mind sailed out there, too. Away from Mom and Dad and Mr. Havershaw. I felt free.
    That was when I saw Grandpa Childers.
    He was walking out onto the deck, slowly. Silently.
    He’s mad at me, too.
    “I — I’m sorry, Grandpa,” I said softly.
    He looked at me, but his eyes were a thousand miles away. “Sorry about what?”
    “Screaming. About your knife.”
    “Yes.” He nodded.
    “I didn’t know it was yours. I never saw it before. I just thought you were in trouble — ”
    “No trouble. I straightened it all out.”
    He was squinting now, out to the horizon.
    I gazed in the same direction.
    And suddenly I knew.
    His strange behavior made perfect sense.
    It wasn’t me at all.
    The clouds.
    They worried him.
    They reminded him.
    Of course.
    Sixty years ago.
    The weather must have seemed okay, too, like today — otherwise his granddad wouldn’t have taken the kids on that cruise.
    Then …
    I leaned over the railing next to him. “You don’t want to go, do you?”
    “The thing is, I did ,” Grandpa Childers replied. “I really did. But I told him no.”
    “Told who no? Captain Neil?”
    Grandpa Childers suddenly turned to face me. It was as if he’d just noticed me for the first time. “What?” he asked.
    “You told Captain Neil you didn’t want to go?”
    “I didn’t speak to Captain Neil.”
    I clammed up. I’d never seen Grandpa Childers so rattled.
    Of course he’s rattled. Mom and Dad are pushing him, too. Forcing him to take this cruise. Not bothering to find out what he wants. And why? So they can impress all their clients. So they can show me off to Mr. Havershaw.
    This wasn’t about Grandpa Childers at all. This was about them.
    It was always about them.
    Well, not this time.
    Not if I can help it.
    “Don’t worry, Grandpa,” I said.
    I headed back into the room.
    Dad was standing by the buffet table, plate in hand, talking with some bald, flabby guy.
    “We have to cancel,” I announced.
    “Uh, Rachel — ” Dad began. “I’m in the middle of — ”
    “Captain Neil says we’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes, and Grandpa doesn’t want to go, and it’s his party.”
    “Excuse me,” Dad said to his friend. He took my arm and walked me to a secluded corner of the room. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
    “To you — ?”
    “Mr. Havershaw’s not in the business of recruiting troublemakers.”
    “You saw what happened.”
    “You overreacted — ”
    “Okay, sorry. But did you hear what I said, Dad? The clouds — they bring back memories for Grandpa. Of his accident. And he’s not telling you how he feels because he’s too polite — ”
    “Rachel, he is my father ! Don’t you think he’d tell me if something were wrong? Besides, I’m not going to forfeit my deposit and disappoint all my guests, all my business clients who came clear from Boston, to — ”
    “Oh. So it’s about money.”
    “RACHEL, HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING TO ME? Your grandfather has been looking forward to this for ages. He deserves this trip. He doesn’t have much longer to go, you know.”
    “I know that — ”
    “NO YOU DON’T! YOU haven’t been talking to his doctor!”
    “What? What are you talking about?”
    Dad looked away suddenly. “Nothing, Rachel. You get me so flustered — ”
    Oh my god.
    “Is something wrong, Dad? Is Grandpa dying?”
    “No! I mean, not right now! — I mean …” Dad exhaled. “Rachel, your grandfather has a weak heart. It’s congenital. The doctors say he’s lucky to have lived this long, and his signs aren’t good. Okay?”
    Okay?
    “He’s going to die?”
    “No! I mean, yes, eventually,