Friday, September 6, 1935

Nat and my parents are supposed to be on the 4:00 ferry. Theresa, Jimmy, and I are all down waiting for her. Theresa has made a sign. Welkum hom Nadalee, it says in pencil with glued-on buttons. My mom got a store-bought lemon cake and I borrowed some of Jimmy’s fly harness thread and made Natalie a bracelet.

“Scout be over this weekend?” Jimmy asks as we watch a large fishing boat scoot across the calm water, making a perfect wake, two white lines in the blue.

“Nope.”

“You going to Scout’s?” Jimmy freezes, waiting for my answer.

“Nope,” I say.

Jimmy’s head dips down. I don’t see him smile, but his dimple is showing. “You should see how many flies I have now. Maybe fifty thousand.”

“Fifty thousand flies? No kidding?” I ask, scratching my leg, which is driving me crazy. I hope the hives aren’t coming back.

Jimmy nods. “They move around so much it’s hard to count. Think Natalie could do it.”

“If anyone can count fifty thousand flies, it’s Natalie.”

Jim’s brown eyes are full of excitement. “That’s what I figured.”

“You find out any more about who got our dads on probation?” I ask.

“My mom thinks it’s Piper,” Jimmy says.

“Everybody thinks it’s Piper,” Theresa chimes in.

“Piper wouldn’t do anything that bad.”

Theresa and Jimmy look at each other.

“You got to go talk to her,” Jimmy says.

“Why me? You’re the one who told her about the secret crawlspace.”

Jimmy scoffs. “From what I heard, you didn’t seem to mind too much.”

I look at Theresa. “You weren’t going to tell anyone, remember?”

“Jimmy isn’t anyone,” Theresa informs me.

Jimmy snorts. “Thanks, Theresa,” he says.

“Oh look, Natalie’s coming!” Theresa points at the ferry, which is headed toward us, a flock of birds flying above it.

The boat is streaming across the water. The sun is shining through the clouds, making the wake sparkle. My dad is handsome in his officer’s uniform. My mom is wearing her good green coat. Nat is sitting with her head down like she’s reading. From a distance they look normal.

“Your dad talk to the warden?” Jimmy asks as Mr. Mattaman, who is acting buck sergeant, jumps on the dock. He still has the same duties when he’s on probation; they just check on him all the time, like he’s a junior officer again.

“I dunno, but he’s not worried. He thinks it was only a mistake.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “You’re just like your dad, you know that?” he snips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as my father carries Natalie’s suitcase with Natalie Flanagan written on all sides. He’s kidding around with her, pretending to drop her suitcase in the bay. My mother doesn’t like this. I can tell by the way her hands are on her hips that she’s bawling him out.

Natalie says something to my dad that makes him laugh all the more. He hands her back her suitcase.

“Hey kids.” Mr. Mattaman comes up behind us.

Trixle is up in the guard tower. Natalie and my dad come across the gangplank. Natalie is not looking down at her feet like she usually does. She’s focused out to the left, her shoulders slumped as she toe-walks across the gangplank. Nat has just crossed through the metal detector when it buzzes loud as an air raid siren.

My mother’s back gets stiff as a wheel rod. Her face looks feverish. She stares at Natalie.

Nat’s completely quiet-almost like she doesn’t hear. She digs her chin in her collarbone.

“ Cam,” Trixle bellows through the bullhorn from the guard tower. “Mattaman will need to search the suitcase.” I know Trixle is itching to do it himself, but he’s not allowed to leave the guard tower.

My dad waves to Trixle. “Of course,” he says, but when he tries to take Nat’s suitcase from her, she won’t let go. Probably afraid he’ll drop it in the bay.

My mom whispers to her.

“Must have some metal buttons in that button box of hers,” my dad tells Mr. Mattaman.

Riv Mattaman smiles kindly. He whispers something in Natalie’s other ear. Natalie doesn’t look back at him, but I can tell by the angle of her head that she’s listening.

When he’s finished, her shoulders relax down an inch or two. She hands Mr. Mattaman the suitcase and my mother smiles big enough to cover three or four faces.

I can’t help feeling proud of Natalie. First she didn’t scream when the snitch box went off and now she hands over her suitcase without a problem. I know she knows her buttons are in there. But still, she lets go.

Mr. Mattaman seems to be explaining something to her. She cocks her head as if she’s thinking about this, nods, and then plunks herself down on the wooden dock right where she is. He kneels on one leg, clicks open the suitcase, and he and Natalie lean over to look inside.

Mr. Mattaman puts his hand on Nat’s button box. He is clearly asking her if it’s okay for him to look inside. My father and Mr. Mattaman confer. Mr. Mattaman nods and holds the button box out to Natalie. Natalie picks out a half dozen buttons, and Mr. Mattaman waves the all-clear to Trixle in the guard tower.

“We’re all set here, Darby. A handful of metal buttons is all.” He leans down to help Natalie buckle her suitcase shut.

My father rubs his hands together. “All righty then, back in business, Nat.”

“Natalie is coming home,” Nat says. A tiny smile flashes across her face, bright as a falling star.

“Yes, you are, sweet pea,” my dad says. “Yes, you are.”

Same day-Friday, September 6, 1935

At home Nat wants no part of Mom or Dad. She heads straight for her closet, opens the door, and counts the dresses and blouses hanging there. She skims her hand over the bedcovers. She puts her fingers inside the folds as if she is measuring the depth of each one. She runs her hand, fingers splayed out, along the wall to see if every bump in the plaster is still there. She turns the doorknob and opens and closes, opens and closes the door. She moves on to the bathroom, running her hand along the wall until it hits the towel.

When she’s done she comes out to the living room and sits on the couch, her hands deep underneath her legs as if she is protecting them. For a second, she looks right at me, which is spooky, like having a teddy bear all your life and one day you see his eyes move. Then she’s back to her solid focus on the floor.

“Natalie, it’s so nice to have you back,” my mom says, her voice choking. But Natalie does not look up. It’s as if holding her hands beneath her legs requires all her concentration. “Do you want to unpack your suitcase?”

“Yoo-hoo, Helen! Cam! Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Caconi knocks on the door. “It’s your turn.”

“Our turn for what?” my mom whispers to my dad.

“Her new icebox. Got one that runs on DC. We have to go see it,” my father explains.

“Doesn’t she know Nat’s here?” my mother asks.

“We have all weekend with Natalie. Moose will keep an eye on her. Mrs. Caconi doesn’t have much in her life these days,” my dad whispers to my mom.

“Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Caconi is huffing and puffing from her climb up the stairs. “You’ll never guess what Bea said.”

Mrs. Caconi is standing in our living room. She is big, like her limbs were blown up with a bicycle pump. She has on her good blue flowered apron-the one she wears for entertaining-and her face glows with pride.

“She said she thinks mine is even larger than the warden’s. Can you imagine? Of course I didn’t get out my measuring tape, but you see what you think.”

“Moose, you keep an eye on Natalie while we run down to Mrs. Caconi’s. Maybe you and Theresa can help her unpack,” my father says before he and my mom follow Mrs. Caconi outside.