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Show Fair Forever 12 The old man notices I'm holding the oars ready. "A hard pull," he says, nodding his head toward the light. Then he whittles on his driftwood like he's unconcerned with my plans. My oars are cocked. I'm still trying to decide. The distance is vast. 1 don't have the strength. Not yet. Not so soon. "Tell me about the girl," he says finally, peeking from under his hat, "Tell me about Amanda." The mention of Amanda's name is like a passing rain on the bay. I feel my shoulders relax, my heart slow. I loosen my grip, allowing the ends of the oars to float in the water. The lighthouse blinks and Beacon 9 blinks in return. The man stops carving like he's waiting for me to begin. But I don't "I have to be getting back," I say calmly. "Mom wants to take me shopping this morning. She's been threatening since Saturday." "School stuff?" "Yeah. Paper, pencils . . . junk like that. And clothes." I roll my eyes. "Shoes, too. It's like she's been waiting a year for me to get well enough to be dragged to the stores. A person wouldn't need all that junk if he home schooled." "True enough," he nods. "Scrap paper and chewed-up pencils would work." "Exactly!" He opens, a new blade on his knife and places it at the base of his carving, turning and cutting like he's spinning a lathe. When the carving falls free, he holds it to the light between his thumb and middle finger. Then, without comment, he tosses it to me across |