Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [91]
The girls climbed into Clems old Impala and Rhonda followed, squeezing into the front seat beside them.
Where are we going? Rhonda asked. Suzy was at the wheel in her dark funeral dress, her hair held back with a ribbon.
To see the octopus, Suzy said, matter-of-factly.
Rhonda looked to her right. The disarranged pile of wood that had once been their stage was black and sickly green with decay and moss. The police had pulled boards aside to expose the hole beneath. Rhonda turned away, unable to make herself look down into the hole they had once all taken turns hiding in. The hole where they changed costumes and which they used to make the most dramatic entrances and exits. Rhonda remembered falling in her dreams, how she thought she might never stop. She thought of her old retainer, pulled from that hole, held in an evidence bag now, packed away beside the remnants of Daniels T-shirt and jeans. She scanned the ground, wondering where theyd buried the bogeyman, struggled to remember what shed written on her piece of paper. Whathad she been afraid of then? Peter not loving her? That she would grow old and forget things? Had she written something as simple asspiders ? Or something far more sinister?
Under a few boards off to the side, Rhonda spotted a torn bit of cloth and recognized a piece of the painted scene from the play. Blue waves, a bit of palm tree, now blotchy with mildew. Their Neverland, was, Rhonda realized then, a lot like Ernies Rabbit Island.
SUZY BROUGHT THEsub gently to rest on the ocean floor. She, Kim, and Rhonda got out and sat in the bed of pine needles, which was actually soft sand. They sipped tea and ate small cakes. Rhonda looked around at the ruined stage, at the trees that enclosed the clearing. She thought, for a moment, that she had seen the flash of Tocks flaming arrow pass in the corner of her eye. A bird squawked, and in its squawk Rhonda heard Peter Pans crow.
The octopus was a fine host and said many things that sent Suzy and Kim into fits of giggles. Silly octopus, they said. Then, all at once, Suzy got serious.
The octopus says you can tell us about Grandpa Daniel now, she said.
Rhonda froze, imaginary cake in her mouth, the invisible cup of tea spilled onto her lap.
What about him? she asked, her voice as calm as she could make it.
Tell us a story about him, the little girl asked.
Im sure your father could tell you lots of stories, she said to Suzy. And your mother, Kimberly, she could tell you what you want to know.
But we wantyour story, Kim whined. You knew him too.
Rhonda thought about it. About these little girls, who had just watched a man they never met be buried. A man whose body the police had found bludgeoned to death in the woods. Their grandfather. Of course they were curious.
Well, lets see, began Rhonda with some hesitation. Once upon a time, your Grandpa Daniel decided that his son Peterthats your daddy, Suzshould be able to fly, so he made him a pair of wings
So Rhonda told the story, leaving out the part about Peter alone on the workshop roof, about Aggie coming at Daniel with a shovel. She found herself stretching the truth a little to say that yes, maybe Peter had flown that day, just a little bit, just enough. And, as Rhonda told the story, she thought: this is how the past gets passed down. This is how memories are made. Half-invented, embellished, given a touch of whimsy. Daniel would be a saint now that he was dead. A beautiful man who made his child wings.
RHONDA AND THEgirls got back in the sub and began moving toward the future, somewhere off at the edge of the horizon. They rose up out of the sea that was the past, out of the swell and surge of memory. Suzy was pulling at the gear shift, turning the steering wheel. Rhonda worked imaginary