Kyle's Island Read Online Free Page A

I added in a hurry, hoping to avoid any more questions about Dad.
    Clyde seemed to take the hint—at least he moved over to the refrigerator and took out an old dirt-filled cottage cheese carton. He came back and plopped it on the countertop. “Lucky you came early,” he told me. “I’m having trouble keeping up with the demand these days. You dig your own worms most of the time, don’t you?”
    â€œYeah, back behind the cottage the soil’s full of them.”
    â€œWell, if you want to make some spending money, I’ll be glad to buy some off you. Whatever you can provide. Boy who used to supply me is off to college this year, and his younger brother’s as lazy as an old sow.”
    â€œThat’d be great,” I said. “I could use a little money.”
    Tom Butler spoke up then. “Tell your momma I said hello, will you?” It must have been the first time in my life I ever heard Tom Butler speak. He was known for his silence, and if I’d ever heard his voice before, I sure would have remembered it. It was an announcer’s voice, deep and kind of husky.
    It was hard not to stare at him. He was the fattest man I’d ever seen. Not just fat, enormous. The pouches of fat under his jaws made whatever neck he had disappear. His stomach bulged out over his thighs. Even his hands were fat—his wedding ring cut into his finger like a rubber band wound around once too often. It was kind of disgusting. It wasn’t a Santa Claus kind of fat; there was too much of him for that. But his eyes were Santa Claus eyes. Blue, and crinkly around the edges.
    â€œYes, sir, Mr. Butler, I’ll tell her,” I said.
    I paid for my red worms and started to go, but then Clyde opened the door to the second refrigerator. “Here, have one on me,” he said, handing me a bottle of root beer. “In honor of our new partnership.”
    â€œThanks,” I said. I started back to the cottage all light-footed and excited. I wondered how much I could earn selling red worms. Anything would help, I thought. Momdidn’t talk a lot about money, but I had noticed the worry on her face whenever she went through the mail, pulling out the bills. I suppose by the time she paid the mortgage and bought food and stuff, there wasn’t much of her paycheck left. It wasn’t as if we’d had a lot extra even when Dad was with us. Schoolteachers, which is what Mom and Dad are, don’t earn very much money. What made him think it was fair to have an apartment all to himself? I’ll bet his rent cost him more than Josh’s soccer camp would have.
    There I went—Dad again. Think of something else, I scolded myself. I began planning the afternoon. As soon as I got back, I’d change into my swim trunks and start coaching Josh a little.
    I was almost at the cottage when I noticed it. A sign, stuck in the dirt of our parking space. What was a sign doing there? I drew closer, close enough to read the writing. “For Sale,” it said. “Dave Becker Realty.” And it had a telephone number and a Cassopolis address below that.
    Somebody had made a mistake. I’d better tell Mom. She’d want it moved right away. I ran into the cottage and set my bait carton on the kitchen table. Where was she? I found her on the porch in the old wicker rocker. “Mom?” I asked.
    She turned her face to me. “Back already?” She smiled,but there was something wrong with her smile. I didn’t take time to try figuring it out.
    â€œMom, some dope’s put a For Sale sign by our cottage. It’s out in back. You better tell the real estate people to move it—their telephone number’s on the sign.”
    â€œA sign?” she said. “Dave’s already put up a sign? Damn.” I saw the pity in her face then, and I knew. I knew before she said another word. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I was sitting here trying to think how to tell