Hank carefully drew his hand away.
“I’m sorry,” Theodore said, looking down. “I forgot. I almost used up my last wish, huh?”
Margaret put an arm around his small, hunched shoulders. “Theodore, you gave us your word that you would talk with us before you made another wish. I know you’ll work very hard to keep that promise.”
His small, freckled face turned serious. He nodded.
“And, in turn, we promised we wouldn’t ask you to wish us off the island again. That was our agreement.”
“I remember.”
She patted his shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t forget.”
“Is my song better?” He whipped the harmonica in his mouth and blew so hard his cheeks and face turned red.
Margaret shuddered, and Hank turned away. His shoulders were hunched and his head was down and resting in one hand.
“Does that sound good, Hank?”
Hank turned around slowly. His eyes took a minute to clear. He stared at Theodore.
“I’m wearing your cap backwards for luck and trying real hard. Does it sound better?”
“Yeah, kid.”
“Leedee got mad. She said I was playing so loud that I made the coconuts fall off the trees. And one just missed her head.”
After an awkward few seconds of blessed silence, Hank reached out and gave Theodore’s cap a tug. “We’ll work on it, okay?”
Theodore grinned up at him. “Good. ’Cause I thought I sounded awful!” He turned around and started to run, then stopped suddenly and turned back to Muddy this time. “You’re yawning.”
“Yes, master.”
“You wanna get back inside your bottle?”
“Yes, master.” It was quiet in the bottle. Peaceful. No arguing. No harmonicas.
Theodore dug the bottle out of his pants’ pocket and held it up.
“Leave the bottle here, Theodore,” Margaret said. “I’ll keep it safe.” Theodore looked at the bottle, then at Muddy, who nodded because he trusted the woman.
Theodore set the bottle on the rock next to Muddy. He grinned, waved, and took off down the beach, the harmonica in his mouth.
Muddy sighed and began to levitate toward the mouth of the bottle.
Home, he thought. Where peace and quiet and a good book all awaited him. His purple smoke began to billow and swirl. A heartbeat later he passed through the mouth of the bottle.
And the last thing he heard was a flat, dull note of a harmonica echoing in the distance.
* * *
Margaret saton the hard rock, staring at the white sand beneath her bare toes. The air had grown thicker and the sun higher, more intense. She felt the heat of it on the back of her neck. Thankfully, the air had also grown quieter.
“He’s not a kid,” Hank said.
She looked up.
He was staring down the beach at Theodore. “He’s a fifty-year-old midget.”
