Summer at Forsaken Lake (12 page)

“Unbelievable. Why would
anyone
want to live in a place like that?”

“Because it’s
New York
. It’s cool,” Nicholas said.

“Uh, yeah. Sounds
fantastic
. Well, you’re just going to have to learn. How are we even supposed to go look at the boat if we can’t ride bikes?”

“Walk?”

“It’s, like, ten miles! Okay, maybe not ten, but it’s
more than five. We’re not walking when we have two perfectly good bikes just sitting here doing nothing. You can ride my mom’s.”

“A
girl’s
bike?”

“Boy, you have a lot of attitude for somebody who doesn’t even know how to ride one,” Charlie said, pushing a navy blue bike toward him. “Here. It’s a mountain bike—it doesn’t have daisies painted on it or anything like that.”

“Have you ever taught anyone before?” He glanced nervously at the array of brake and gear levers on the handlebars.

“No, but I think I can handle it.”

“Yeah, it’s not your face that’s going to be hitting the gravel.”

“That’s what this is for,” said Charlie, smiling broadly and setting a helmet on Nicholas’s head. “C’mon, follow me. We’ll start on the grass, like I did. That way, when you fall, it won’t hurt so much.”

“
When
I fall? I thought you said you could teach me.” He placed his hands on the handlebars, both feet still firmly rooted to the ground.

“I never said you weren’t going to fall, though. Falling is part of the deal.
Everybody
falls at first. Are you ready? I’m going to hold the bike steady for you, and you’re going to put your feet on the pedals, okay?”

Nicholas lifted his right foot and set it on the pedal, and then s-l-o-w-l-y picked up his left and moved it into
place. He took a deep breath. “Okay. So far. Now, what about all this stuff?” he asked, pointing at all the levers on the handlebars.

“Don’t worry about shifting gears yet. I put it into a nice easy gear for starting out. You just need to know about the brakes. The one on the right is the back; the left is for the front. For now, just use the back brake. Later on, I’ll teach you when you’ll need to use both. Got it?”

Nicholas nodded. “Right, back. Got it.”

“Okay, here we go then.” Charlie, with one hand on the handlebars and one on the back of the seat, began pushing Nicholas across the yard. “Start pedaling!”

Together, they did a lap of the yard like that, and then, without warning, she let go.

“Hey! What are you—” He never finished his question. The bike tilted one way, and when he tried to straighten it, he overcompensated. For a few terrifying (for Nicholas, that is) seconds, the bike wobbled and wiggled along before the front wheel finally turned a little too sharply, and Nicholas and bicycle went flying in opposite directions.

To her credit, Charlie
tried
not to laugh, but she just didn’t have the willpower to resist the urge that overcame her as Nicholas lay sprawled across the lawn. “Are you okay?” she managed to ask between giggling fits. “I’m sorry—it was just, the look on your face …” More giggling. Much more.

Nicholas stood up, rubbing his shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact with the ground. Without
a word, he turned and started walking toward the road, and home.

At first, Charlie thought he was kidding around, but when she realized he was serious, she ran after him, stopping right in his path. “Come on, Nicholas. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He stepped around her without a sound and kept right on walking as she stood there dumbfounded.

“What about the boat?” she asked. “
Both
boats. The movie? Nicholas! Come back. I swear I’ll never laugh at you again.”

But Nicholas just kept walking.

N
icholas spent the rest of the afternoon alone in the tower room. He told himself that he was there to search for another of his father’s secret hiding places (which he didn’t find), but deep down, he knew that he was the one doing the hiding this time. Charlie had injured his pride, and that hurt a lot more than his banged-up shoulder. At dinner, he barely spoke, and when he finished picking at his food, he went right back upstairs.

He was staring out the window at
Goblin
when he heard a knock at the spiral staircase. “What?” he growled.

“Nothing,” said Nick. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Nicholas leaped out of bed, feeling guilty. “No, come
on up. I’m sorry, I thought it was Hayley and Hetty bugging me again.”

Nick chuckled. “Not this time. They’re on the phone with your mother. You know, these stairs are getting easier. Maybe I’ll move in here after you go back to New York.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think so. For one thing, Pistol won’t come up here, and in the winter he likes to sleep at the foot of my bed. Keeps my feet warm.” He sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for Nicholas to sit, too. “Awful quiet today. You seem like a young man with something on his mind. Everything okay?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You know, all this talk about your dad—is it making you miss him? Because that would be a pretty natural thing to happen, I think.”

“No, it’s not that. I mean, I do miss him, but that’s not why I’m …” His voice trailed off into silence.

“Okay—I don’t want to pry. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. When Charlie gets here in the morning, we’ll give that first coat of paint a light sanding, and then lay on the second. If it’s a nice dry day, we might even get another coat on later in the day.”

From the look on Nicholas’s face when he mentioned Charlie, Nick knew something had happened.

“Um, yeah, I don’t know if she’ll be coming over tomorrow,” Nicholas mumbled, mostly to himself.

“Oh?”

“Uncle Nick, do you know how to ride a bike?”

Nick was caught off guard by the question. “A bicycle? Sure. Boy, I didn’t see that one coming. Right out of left field. Can I ask why?”

“I can’t. Ride a bike. Nobody ever taught me. So today, Charlie was going to, but then I busted, and …” He stopped to compose himself. “Why do girls have to be like that?”

“I’m afraid you’ve stumbled onto one of the great mysteries of the universe, son. Ask me about bikes and boats, or what kind of oil to use in your car, or even how to stuff a turkey, and I’m fine. Women, though, that’s another story. But I think I can help you out with your bicycle problem. Come with me out to the barn.”

From a spot behind some ancient, rusted farm machinery, Nick wheeled out an old single-speed bicycle—the kind with fat tires, a sturdy frame, and heavy metal fenders. With the sleeve of a long-retired flannel shirt, he wiped away a thick layer of dust and grime, revealing the gleaming red paint with
SPEEDSTER
emblazoned in gold letters across the top bar of the curvy frame.

“Wow. Is this an antique?” Nicholas asked.

“Hmm. Never thought about it, but I suppose it qualifies. Picked it up for ten dollars at a yard sale a few years ago, when my knees were in a little better shape. Put new tires on it, and it was ready to go.” He found an air pump and filled the tires, squeezing them between his finger and
thumb until he was satisfied. “There you go. It’s a little late now, but tomorrow morning, we’ll get—” He stopped when he saw the disappointed look on Nicholas’s face. “Oh, right. Well, I suppose we have enough light to get started right now.”

Nicholas smiled for the first time since leaving Charlie’s yard as Nick wheeled the bike outside and leaned it against the long side of the barn, just a few feet from the painted-on strike zone. Pistol tagged along behind them, his tail wagging in anticipation of excitement and adventure.

“All right. Here’s what you do. Climb aboard, and let’s get you situated so you’re the right distance from the wall of the barn. When you reach out to your side, you should be able to
just
touch it.”

Nicholas lifted his leg over the frame and then stood with the bike between his legs, moving it a few inches farther from the barn. Then, with one hand on the wall and the other on the handlebars, he pushed himself up and onto the seat.

“Good, good. Now just sit there for a while—as long as you want—getting a feel for the balance.”

After a few rather shaky moments, Nicholas started to feel more confident. “Okay, now what?”

“Keep that one hand on the wall like you’ve been doing,” said Nick. “Be careful of splinters, but just start pedaling—nice and easy!—using that hand to help keep your balance. If you feel yourself starting to fall, just stop
pedaling. That’s perfect.… Oops!” Nick caught bike and rider before they toppled over onto the grass.

I can do this. Think of all the seven-year-olds out there who can do it
.

Nicholas took a deep breath and steadied himself for a second attempt. This time, he was determined to make it to the end of the barn. What would he do when he got there?

I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it
.

He pedaled away from Nick and Pistol, slowly “riding” down the length of the barn, occasionally reaching out to steady himself with his hand.

When he got near the end, Nick shouted at him, “Keep going! You’re doing great!”

Pistol joined in, running after Nicholas and barking his encouragement.

That was just what Nicholas needed. He grabbed the handlebars with both hands and kept right on pedaling across the front yard—aimed directly at a hundred-year-old oak tree!

“Turn! Turn!” shouted Nick.

“I’m trying!” said Nicholas. He jerked to the right, then left, then right again, finally flopping over onto his side just inches from the immense tree trunk.

Nick hurried over to him and was relieved to see Nicholas smiling. Laughing, even. “That was
cool
!” he said. “I want to do it again!” He jumped to his feet and pushed the bike back to the barn.

“This time, when you turn, take it nice and easy,” Nick advised.

“Got it.”

And he was off. He touched the wall only once after starting, sailing past the end of the barn and sweeping around the oak tree in a semi-controlled turn. “How do I stop?” he said, laughing.

“Stop pedaling and then push backward—gently!—on the pedals.”

Nicholas stopped pedaling and promptly fell over onto a rosebush with only a handful of pink roses, but countless prickly thorns.

“Or you can just fall over,” Nick teased. “You all right?”

But Nicholas was already on his feet, grinning as he wiped away the blood from a series of scratches on his arms and legs. “Fine. It’s just a couple of scratches.”

On his next attempt, he wobbled and wavered, but each time, he caught himself before falling, and then swept past the barn, the oak tree, and the rosebushes in a sweeping arc that was as wide as his smile.

“Bravo. My work here is done,” Nick said, applauding. “I’m going inside.”

“Is it okay if I stay out here for a while?” a beaming Nicholas asked. “Oh, and Uncle Nick—uh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Just don’t stay out too late. Don’t go out on the main road. Oh, and Nicholas?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch out for trees.”

Nicholas stayed outside for almost two hours, and when he raced up the stairs to the tower room that night, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He dug through the collection of postcards from the drugstore until he found one that pictured a boy riding a bicycle across Deming’s town square. With a fine-point marker, he drew an arrow pointing right at the rider and wrote across the front of the card:

After addressing the postcard to his father, he stared at the back for a few minutes before finally deciding not to add another word. As he set it on the bedside table and switched the light off, he wondered if his dad even knew that he couldn’t ride a bike.

Until now, that is
.

* * *

Nick made himself a breakfast of soft-boiled eggs, toast, and coffee and sat at the kitchen table, enjoying a few minutes of quiet before the three children would clamber down the stairs in search of orange juice and cereal. He had just turned to the sports section of the newspaper when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash
of red fly past the kitchen window. A cardinal? A low-flying airplane? Superman? He stood up to get a better look.