Blue World Read Free Page A

right around the bend.”
    Joe nodded, but his stomach was churning. He heard the boy give a low, weird whistle, so soft that his mother couldn’t possibly have heard; the yellowjacket flew off from between the boy’s fingers, and the awful waiting cloud of them began to break apart.
    “Just ‘bout lunchtime!” Toby announced. “Think I’ll walk thataway with ya’ll.”
    The sun burned down. A layer of yellow dust seemed to hang in the air. “It’s hot, Momma!” Trish complained before they’d walked ten yards away from the gas station, and Carla felt sweat creeping down her back under her pale blue blouse. Joe followed further behind, with the red-haired boy named Toby right on his heels.
    The road curved through the pine woods toward the town of Capshaw. It wasn’t much of a town, Carla saw in another couple of minutes; there were a few unkempt-looking wooden houses, a general store with a Closed Please Come Again sign in the front window, a small whitewashed church, and a white stone building with a rust-eaten sign that announced it as the Clayton Cafe. In the gravel parking lot were an old gray Buick, a pickup truck of many colors, and a little red sports car with the convertible top pulled down.
    The town was quiet except for the distant cawing of a crow. It amazed Carla that such a primitive-looking place should exist just seven or eight miles off the main highway. In an age of interstates and rapid travel, it was easy to forget that little hamlets like this still stood on the back roads-- and Carla felt like kicking herself in the butt for getting them into this mess. Now they were really going to be late getting to St. Simons Island!
    “Afternoon, Mr. Winslow!” Toby called, and waved to someone off to the left.
    Carla looked. On the front porch of a rundown old house sat a white-haired man in overalls. He sat without moving, and Carla thought he looked like a wax dummy. But then she saw a swirl of smoke rise from his corncob pipe, and he lifted a hand in greeting.
    “Hot day today!” Toby said. “It’s lunchtime! You comin‘?”
    “Directly,” the man answered.
    “Best fetch Miss Nancy, then. Got some tourists passin‘ through!”
    “I can see,” the white-haired man said.
    “Yeah.” Toby grinned at him. “They’re goin‘ to St. Simons Island. Long way from here, huh?”
    The man stood up from his chair and went into the house.
    “Mom?” Joe’s voice was tense. “I don’t think we ought to--”
    “Like your shirt,” Toby interrupted, plucking at it. “It’s nice and clean.”
    And then they were at the Clayton Cafe, and Carla was going inside, her hand holding Trish’s. A little sign said We’re Air-Conditioned! But if that was so, the air-conditioning was not functioning; it was as hot in the cafe as it was on the road.
    The place was small, with a floor of discolored linoleum and a counter colored mustard yellow. There were a few tables and chairs and a jukebox pushed back against the wall.
    “Lunchtime!” Toby called merrily as he followed Joe through the door and shut it behind them. “Brought some tourists today, Emma!”
    Something rattled back in the kitchen. “Come say hello, Emma!” Toby urged.
    The door to the kitchen opened, and a thin woman with gray hair, a deeply wrinkled face, and somber brown eyes came out. Her gaze went to Carla first, then to Joe, finally lingered on Trish.
    “What’s for lunch?” Toby asked her. Then he held up a finger. “Wait! I bet I know! Uh… alphabet soup, potato chips, and peanut-butter-and-grape-jelly sandwiches! Is that right?”
    “Yes,” Emma replied, and now she stared at the boy. “That’s right, Toby.”
    “I knew it! See, folks around here used to say I was special. Used to say I knew things that shouldn’t be known.” He tapped the side of his skull. “Used to say I had the beckonin‘ touch. Ain’t that right, Emma?”
    She nodded, her arms limp at her sides.
    Carla didn’t know what the boy was talking