Page 34 of The Treasure House

“All right. I’m going to start a button collection too. I’ll get the button dish from the kitchen and bring it up here.” She zipped down the stairs, patting me on the head as she passed.

“One of my new neighbors, the guy at the hardware store, said he could recommend someone to come help us cut back the garden,” I told Wayne. “But I hate to think what it will cost.”

“Needs must, kiddo.” He jammed his cap back on. “Come on, we’ll go talk to him and pick up some supplies.”

“What supplies?” Suni asked. “You’re bound to have everything you need here in the house… somewhere.”

“I was thinking some heavy-duty gloves and face masks for the dust,” Wayne said. “And we’ll get some other bits and pieces too. I brought my toolkit but it’s not quite up to a challenge like this.”

“Okay, well, pick up the keys to the cabins while you’re there,” Suni called after us. “The booking confirmation says we have to get them from the man down at the hardware store anyway. I think his name’s Jake.”

“Yeah, we know him,” Flo told her, as she dashed back up the stairs with the button dish. “Mom liked his muscles.”

“Flo!”

“She did. She kept looking at them. Ali, you’d probably like him too. He’s ripped.”

“I’ve sworn off men,” Ali was saying flatly as Wayne and I disappeared into the kitchen and out the back.

It was the dog days of summer and Tinker Street was somnolent in the morning heat. The summer houses were quiet and the sound of a motorboat was a low lazy undercurrent in the distance.

“Well, you picked a winner of a spot, no doubt about that,” Wayne said admiringly. “Look at that view.”

We gazed down to the glittering of Penobscot Bay and the hazy horizon beyond, where gulls wheeled against its vast canvas. This was where we lived now, I marveled. In this pine- and salt-scented town, with that view on our doorstep.

As we approached the hardware store, we could hear the Red Sox game on the radio, and the sound of excited barking followed by a low pleading whine.

Jake was standing by the picnic tables in front of the store, barefoot and without his shirt again, his body just as bronzed and just as muscled as I remembered. He was holding a red plastic basket full of bread and lobster bits. Tied to one of the porch posts was a speckled brown and white hound puppy, with long floppy ears and awkwardly large paws, whining as Jake threw lobster pieces and breadcrumbs to the gulls. “Dogs don’t eat lobster,” Jake told it irritably.

“Seems to me a Maine dog might eat lobster,” Wayne observed amiably as we approached. He reached down and gave the dog a scratch.

“This is yesterday’s lobster,” he said shortly. “It’s liable to make her sick.” He threw another piece to the crowding, noisy gulls. “These guys, on the other hand, have iron constitutions.” He nodded hello to me. “Saw you drive in this morning. I was going to pop over and say howdy, but I thought you might need some time to settle.”

“Not much settling to be done for a while with the condition of that place.” Wayne laughed. He was still pulling gently on the dog’s ears. Wayne loved dogs. He’d been heartbroken when his corgi Arthur had died.

“Jake, this is Wayne.” I never knew how to introduce Wayne and Suni, so I kept it simple. I didn’t like saying he was my foster father—it told people too much, and too little.

“I’d shake your hand but…” Jake held up his fishy hand.

“I’ll consider it shook.”

“I assume you’ve come for the cabin keys?”

“That and supplies,” said Wayne, giving the dog a thorough cuddle. “What’s this little guy’s name?”

Jake watched him, disgruntled. “She doesn’t have a name.”

“She wasn’t here last time we came,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Wayne and the dog and not on Jake’s naked torso. But from the corner of my eye, I could see his muscular arm flex as he upended the plastic basket of scraps. The gulls exploded in a hungry frenzy, fighting for the best of the lobster. The puppy also exploded, barking at the birds. Wayne laughed.

“You tell ’em, girl.”

“Did you just get her?” I asked Jake.

He grunted. “Kind of.” He headed into the store, leaving the puppy tied up, straining on her leash and barking at the birds. Wayne and I followed him in. “My sister gave her to me as a present. But I’m not keeping her.” He sounded disgusted. “Who gives someone an animal as a gift?”

Wayne appeared to be very taken with Jake’s store. He made a delighted noise and disappeared into the clutter.

“Let me just wash my hands and I’ll get the cabin keys,” Jake grumbled.