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 nameever. 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 wasfascinating.
“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.
