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A few months ago, Brian was pretty sure that Coco would have ducked her head and said no problem. Now she looked Phil in the eye. “You made me cry,” she said.
“I—” Phil turned bright red. “I know. I’m sorry. It wasn’t right.”
“Why did you
do it?” she asked.
Phil said, “To make myself look cooler. I’m sorry again. Look, you don’t have to forgive me or anything. You don’t, um, owe me anything. I just wanted to say it.” He started to turn away.
“I don’t know if I want to be friends,” said Coco honestly. Phil stopped. “But I’m not mad at you anymore. I’m not good at staying mad at people.” Coco was watching Phil like a cat at a mousehole. “You can’t be mad at someone after the amnesia thing that happened to all of us.”
Phil’s face changed. He ducked his head. “Right,” he muttered. “Right, the amnesia thing.”
“Yeah,” said Coco. “So weird that no one remembers anything.”
“Yup,” said Phil, paler than ever. “Really weird. Hey, um, yeah, I’ll be right back.”
He hurried down the ladder into the hold again, like he was trying to get away from them all. Coco turned to Ollie and Brian. “Doesn’t remember anything?” she said. “Yeah, right.”
“He sure looks like he remembers something,” said Ollie reluctantly. “But I don’t know—”
“Hey!” said Mr. Dimmonds. “Hey, let’s sail the boat here! This lady won’t steer herself. Gotta hoist the sail!”
Their conversation broke up. With Mr. Dimmonds’s help, the sail whizzed up the mast, filling like a cup with the quick May wind. “Hey, Brian,” called Mr. Dimmonds, “come and take the wheel. Show me what you got, son.”
Coco, who had no interest in sailing boats, went over to the bench seat in front. Ollie’s dad was already sitting there, staring out at the water. His hair was sticking up with the wind. Coco sat down next to him and got out her sketchbook. Mr. Adler grinned at her. Ollie wandered over and sat down on her dad’s other side. They looked like a family. Brian was glad to see it. He knew it hadn’t been easy for Ollie, letting new people in. She loved Coco, and she even liked Coco’s mom now, but she still missed her own mom and the way her family used to be. Who wouldn’t?
Ms. Zintner was standing by the wheel with Brian and Mr. Dimmonds. She had her notebook out. Brian only vaguely heard her ask, “So, how many guests do you take on the lake every year?” He didn’t catch Mr. Dimmonds’s reply at all. Brian’s eyes streamed with tears from the sun on the water and from the cold wind blowing in his face.
In the bow, Ollie and her dad started unpacking a late lunch. They laid the sandwiches out neatly on the padded bench. Brian realized that he was hungry. After a few more minutes, he left off steering and went to join the girls. He snagged a ham and Swiss sandwich. Ollie’s dad, chewing his egg salad sandwich, smiled at Brian, got up, and went toward the back of the boat to join the grown-ups. Coco was still sketching. She hadn’t taken a sandwich. She wouldn’t let anyone see her drawing.
Phil came over. “Can I have a sandwich?” he asked, a little uncertainly.
“Sure,” said Brian. “Ollie’s dad always overpacks. The ham and Swiss is really good.”
Phil leaned over to grab a sandwich, hovering between the PB&J and the ham and Swiss. But before he could choose, he frowned, his hand not quite touching either. “Who is that?” he asked.
Brian followed the line of Phil’s gaze. Phil was staring down at Coco’s open notebook. Brian craned his neck and bit his lip. Coco’s sketch took up the whole page. Brian recognized the face she’d drawn. It was a face that had stuck tight in his memory. A narrow face, sharp-nosed and big-eyed, with a wide grin. A grin that could look friendly or terrifying, or amused, or kind. Fair hair falling over the forehead.
The smiling man . . .
Coco was better at drawing than Phil. Brian had recognized the scarecrow Jonathan when Phil drew it. But it felt like Coco had done a tiny magic trick, to lure some essence of the smiling man, laughing and charming, mean and old, onto their boat with them. Like the face would start talking.
Ollie had seen it too. “Cover it up,” she said flatly, gone pale.
Phil said, settling on a PB&J, “Weird, you know that guy too? He’s cool, huh?” He unwrapped the sandwich and took a large bite.
Ollie, Brian, and Coco all swiveled around to stare at him.
“You remember him?” said Coco. “The smiling man? From the farm?”
Phil just looked puzzled. “I—no,” he said. “I met him this week, actually. In town. Um, just in the general store. He wasn’t weird or anything. He was nice . . .” Phil broke off. “Why are you asking? How do you know him?”
“Phil,” said Brian. He heard his voice shake, just a little. “Phil, listen carefully. When you met him this week—what did he say to you?”
Instantly, Phil’s face, which had been interested and curious, shut down. “Why do you care?” he said.
“Because that man, the smiling man, is bad,” said Ollie.
