EVA WAS SO SURPRISED she didn’t even notice that the sunscreen had slipped out of her hand and bounced down the last two steps onto the floor. The dog, who’d accompanied the girl into the house and parked himself at the door, growled menacingly.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just my silly old dog. He’s Bruno,” the girl said airily, favoring Eva with a casual wave of her small hand. “He’s ’bout as scary as a fruit fly, that’s what Auntie Aggie says. Who’re you? Are you the old lady? You’re old but you don’t look that old—”
“I-I’m Eva,” Eva said, bending down to pick up the sunscreen. The dog, apparently a Newfoundland, now that she saw him up close, rumbled again and Eva gave him a hard look. He flopped onto the floor, stretched his massive black head over his paws and sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Fanny. Do you live here?” Fanny gazed admiringly around the kitchen, although Eva couldn’t see what there was to admire. “I thought somebody named Doris lived here. She’s the old lady, I guess. That’s a nice mirror.” She pointed to the spidery, cracked, unframed mirror over the dry sink. “I always wanted to go in this house but I’m not allowed.” She leaned toward Eva and covered her small mouth with her hand for a few seconds, then whispered loudly, “I’m not sup-posed-ta be here so don’t tell anybody, okay?” She frowned at her dog, too, but the Newfoundland ignored them both.
“Would you like some lemonade?” The girl and her dog were her first visitors.
“Got any pop?” The girl looked hopeful. Her skin was a pale mocha, not from the sun. She was obviously of mixed racial heritage—Caucasian? Caribbean? Hawaiian?—fine-boned and fragile-looking, but judging from the way she talked, probably older than she seemed. Her eyes were big and honey-brown, her hair a riot of ringlets and curls. “I like pop!”
“Sorry,” Eva said, opening the refrigerator. “Just lemonade.” She reached for the pitcher, then realized the girl had moved deftly under her arm and was standing in front of her, gazing at the refrigerator’s contents.
“Too bad,” the child said, glancing up. “I like lemonade, all right, but I really like pop and I’m not allowed to have any. It’s nice in here! I like fridges. What’s that? Is that wine? My dad likes wine.”
She pointed to a large green bottle of Perrier.
So does my dad, Eva thought. “No, it’s water. Fizzy water. Do you want some with your lemonade?”
The girl considered, one finger on her lower lip. “Sure!” she said, brightly, then added, “I mean, yes, please!”
Eva poured two glasses, three-quarters lemonade, the rest Perrier, leaving the refrigerator door open. Who’d have dreamed the contents of an ordinary fridge could be so entertaining? Then she returned the bottle and pitcher to the fridge, shut the door and handed the child a glass.
“Cheers!” Fanny held up her drink, then laughed. It was a magical sound, sheer delight, and Eva couldn’t help responding with a smile of her own. “Now we can be friends! People friends,” the child added mysteriously. She sniffed at her drink cautiously and wrinkled her nose before taking a sip.
“To people friends.” Eva clinked her glass gently against the child’s. She supposed that was in contrast to dog friends. “Are you visiting the island with your family?”
“Oh, no. I live here.” The girl gestured with one hand. “It’s really my island. Mine and my dad’s. You’re the one who’s the visitor, right, Bruno?” The dog opened one eye briefly and shut it again.
“You live here?” Eva stared. “Where?” If the child was staying on this island, if her parents were squatters or summer campers, that might account for the feeling Eva’d had of being watched for the past week. This child, who seemed to pop up out of nowhere, had probably been observing her from various hiding places. Or her parents or caregivers had. Eva felt a shiver trickle down her spine.
“Over there,” Fanny said, waving vaguely in the direction of the creek. She marched to the cabinet beneath the mirror and wrenched open a drawer. “Boy, it’s fun talking to you! Is that your lipstick?” She smiled and held up a tube, then pulled the top off. “Auntie Aggie has lipstick but she never puts it on unless she’s going to the store or the doctor or something. Can I put some on?”
Before Eva could stop her, the girl had drawn a big red arc across her mouth. “That’s not my lipstick, it belongs to the old lady who owns this house. But,” Eva finished lamely, “I guess she wouldn’t mind if you tried it out.” The drawer still held an assortment of Doris’s cosmetics, brooches and hairpins, most destined for the trash when Eva got around to cleaning it out. Anything of a personal nature that Doris wanted had already been taken to her new home at Seaview Lodge.
“Lift me up.” Fanny held her arms out to Eva. “I want to see how I look.”
Eva obliged, feeling the thin warmth, the litheness of the squirming child in her arms as she held her up to the mirror. A small brown face gazed back at them both, the small, pursed mouth ribaldly framed in what Eva had always thought of as an old lady color—not orange, not red, not coral. Something useful that “went” with everything.
“Oh! It’s funny!” Fanny laughed and drew the back of her hand across her lips, smearing the lipstick. Eva laughed and briefly hugged her tight before putting her down.
Whoever this child was, wherever she’d come from, Eva was utterly charmed.
“I suppose you’ve got jewels and beads and earrings and all kinds of pretty things. Maybe you could let me play with them some—hey, is this your piano?” Fanny had headed into the small parlor. “We have a piano. Dad’s teaching me to play.” She sat on the wobbly stool and plunked out “Old Macdonald Had a Farm.” Eva clapped and the girl’s eyes shone.
“Let’s go into your yard now,” Fanny suggested. “We could have a picnic for the birds with stuff out of your fridge.”
“Hold on.” Eva decided it was time to get some answers. Someone would—should—be looking for Fanny soon. “Do you live with your mom and dad?”
“Just my dad,” the girl said, shooting a look Eva’s way as she examined the covers on several magazines piled on the sofa. “And Auntie Aggie and Uncle Matthew and Bruno and the squirrels and George the big black bird that lives in our tree and—”
“Are you camping? Do you live in a tent or a boat?”
“A boat?” She giggled. “We have a big house and I have my own room and a playhouse in a tree and everything.” Fanny frowned at Eva as though she was particularly dense. “I told you, this is my island. Mine and my dad’s.”
“But where is everyone? Who’s looking after you now?”
“Bruno.” Fanny was obviously surprised by the question. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere without Bruno. He’s my good old dog, aren’t you, Bruny?” The Newfoundland had accompanied her to the parlor; he glanced adoringly at the girl as she patted his broad head. “And Auntie Aggie looks after me, too. She looked after my dad when he was little. And sometimes Uncle Matthew and my dad look after me, too, but my dad works a lot and I’m not supposed to ’sturb him—”
The sudden sound of a mechanical doorbell clanging, a horrible rusted sound that blended with a loud series of barks from Bruno, made Eva jump. Doorbell? She didn’t even know there was one.
“Yikes!” The child’s eyes were huge. “I bet that’s Uncle Matthew.” She tore through the French doors that stood open to the back garden. Her dog bounded after her.
“Anybody here?” An angry male voice preceded another insistent buzz, followed by the hammering of fists on the door. “Open up!”
Fanny—
Eva ran to the door, putting her hand on the knob just as it burst open.
“You