“Jefferson, Mr. O’Byrne is going to be the new bank manager here at Fisher’s Bank and Trust, isn’t that wonderful?”
I shrug as Mr. O’Byrne looks down at me. “Just think, Jefferson, some day YOU’RE going to own this bank and then YOU’LL be my boss!”
Mr. O’Byrne and my father share a laugh. I don’t like how the two of them are staring at me. I don’t like being cooped up in this building and I don’t want to talk about getting older anymore. I like being eight just fine.
“Can I go outside now, sir?” I beg.
My father shakes his head at me while Mr. O’Byrne laughs again.
“Go on, go play. Mr. O’Byrne and I have some business to discuss. Why don’t you take Beverly with you?”
I knew it was coming, but it still makes me angry. Why do I have to take her with me everywhere I go? Doesn’t she have her own friends? She needs to go play with dolls all day, not hang out with us guys while we do guy stuff. My friends aren’t going to want to play with a girl.
I start to argue, but I hold back, not wanting to be sent to bed without supper tonight. My mom is making meatloaf and I’m not about to miss that because of some stupid girl.
Turning away from the adults, I stomp towards the door, not even caring whether or not she’s following me. As soon as I get outside, the sun hits my face and I take a deep breath of the salty ocean air.
I hear a sigh next to me and I look over to find Beverly standing on the sidewalk with her eyes closed and her face turned towards the sun.
“TRIP! Come on! We’re going to climb the trees behind Barney’s!” Billy shouts from the other side of the street.
“Climb trees? I love to climb trees!” Beverly states excitedly. “Why did he call you Trip?”
I stare longingly at Billy as he races off down Main Street. “It’s my nickname. It’s dumb. YOU like to climb trees? But you’re a girl. And you’re wearing a dress.”
She shrugs. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t do the same things boys can do. Why is your nickname Trip?”
I don’t want to talk about my stupid nickname. I want to know more about the boy-things she thinks she can do, but she’s staring at me with these big blue eyes like a little puppy, so I give in.
“We were running races a few weeks ago and I fell a couple of times. The guys started calling me Trip and it just sort of stuck,” I tell her.
“Well, I think it’s neat. I don’t have a nickname. How come you’ve never given me a nickname?” she asks.
I roll my eyes and crane my neck to see Billy and the guys disappear around the corner down the street.
“Fine, I’ll give you a nickname if you’ll stop bugging me. We call my friend Billy, Kid because he wants to be a gun-toting outlaw like Billy the Kid,” I tell her. “Since your name is Beverly, how about Bevy?”
Her eyes widen and a smile lights up her face. She looks at me like I’m the best person in the entire world and it makes my heart beat almost as fast as when Billy and I race.
She clasps her hands together under her chin and sighs. “I love it. I love it so much. Bevy is a great nickname! Will you call me that all the time?”
I shrug distractedly. “Sure, Bevy. Whatever you want.”
She giggles and then takes off running across the street, shouting over her shoulder as she goes. “My brother taught me how to be the best tree climber in the entire world. He also taught me how to be the best rock skipper, kick the canner and hide and seeker.”
I run to catch up with her as she makes it across the street and starts skipping, not believing a word she says. She’s never climbed one tree in all the years I’ve known her. She plays with dolls and has tea parties and other stupid, boring things. Her brother Benjamin is A LOT older than us, so old that he has facial hair and everything. I heard my mom say that Bevy was an “oops baby,” whatever that means. I think it means that when she was born, her parents said, “Oops! We’d rather have a boy, not a girl, because girls are dumb!”
Benjamin just turned twenty-one, which is really old, and because of that, he had to go be a sailor in the Navy. I still don’t think he taught her how to do any of those things she said, even if he is the coolest guy in the world and showed me how to whittle wood last summer.
“There’s no way you’re the best tree climber,” I inform her.
Even if she runs faster than all the boys on the island, I’ve been climbing trees since I could walk, and I consider myself an expert on the subject.
She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, puts her hands on her hips and glares at me.
“I’ll bet you my marble collection that I’m a better tree climber than you.”
I laugh right in her face and take off running. She immediately follows, her feet pounding on the sidewalk, and I’m not surprised when she catches right up to me.
“Don’t you laugh at me, Trip Fisher! I’ll show you just how much better I am at ALL of those things!” she argues as I push my legs harder and faster and we race our way through town.
“You can’t call me Trip! Only my friends can call me Trip!” I shout back in irritation.
By the time we get to the cropping of trees behind Barney’s, my lungs feel like they’re going to explode and sweat is dripping down my face. Beverly beats me by a few inches and I’m a little surprised she doesn’t make fun of me. If I were the winner, I would have rubbed it in her face, just like I do whenever I beat her at something, which I’m sad to say, isn’t very often. For some reason, I’m not angry that a girl ran faster than me and all my friends saw it. I’m proud. Billy and the rest of my friends watch in awe as she immediately starts climbing one of the biggest trees, crawling up into the branches with ease and leaving us standing around the base with our mouths open.
“Well, come on! Are you just going to stand there all day staring?!” she shouts down to us.
Everyone looks at me and I just shrug before grabbing onto the lowest branch and hauling myself up to follow her.
It was the first of MANY times that I would follow Bevy O’Byrne. There was something about her that made me want to follow her anywhere.
Chapter 4
Bevy climbed those damn trees with us all day, moving faster and going higher than any of us cocky little boys. My buddies took to her immediately and, after a while, didn’t even realize she was a girl showing us all up. She wasn’t afraid to play rough and she didn’t shy away from doing scary and exciting things. She thrived on that crap and it made us all love her and want to be her friend.
Before that day, I ignored Bevy when my friends were around because I didn’t want them to know I hung out with a girl all the time, even if I was forced to do it. After that day, I was proud to call her my friend and told her she could call me Trip just like the rest of my buddies. Bevy just had a way about her that made everyone want to be close to her. She made you laugh and she challenged you every step of the way. From that day on, Bevy and I did everything together. I was closer to her than almost anyone and she fit in with my group of guy friends like she had always been there.
Don’t get me wrong, I still teased her all the time about the fancy dresses her mother made her wear and how her long, curly hair always looked like a complete disaster because of all the running and climbing she did. I remember making gagging noises every time my father told me that you tease the ones you love the most. At eight years old, girls were still gross–even Bevy.
Our families still did everything together at that point, but I didn’t mind it so much any more, even if Bevy WAS better than me at everything. It wasn’t until the following year that life as we knew it came to a crashing halt. Things changed for both of our families on that sad day, and nothing was ever the same.
As a child, you don’t really grasp the magnitude of grief or know what it’s like to have your whole world torn apart, but Beverly and her family made me understand. When tragedy struck, I immediately stopped teasing her and trying to get her in trouble all the time. I knew from
that moment on, I would stick by her side and do whatever I could to make her smile.
Pulling the next photo out of the album, I run the tips of my fingers over the young faces of Bevy at seven and myself at nine. I’m wearing a suit with my hair combed neatly to the side and Bevy is surprisingly clean in her dark dress with a bow in her hair. We’re sitting on chairs in the corner of my parent’s home and while I look bored out of my mind, Bevy’s face is clearly filled with grief. I can recall that day like it was yesterday. I remember feeling bad later on because I’d complained to my mother about being bored. I remember sitting on the beach, listening to Bevy tell me how her family was falling apart and how scared she was. I remember being so incredibly angry for the way Mr. and Mrs. O’Byrne treated the little girl that they should have loved more than anything, but pushed to the side.
My poor Bevy. I wish I could go back in time and wrap my arms around that little girl all over again and tell her everything would be okay.
Chapter 5
December 1941
“PLEASE can we go outside, Mom? Please?” I beg, tugging on the bow tie I was forced to wear, wondering if I would be the first nine-year-old to die from strangulation after wearing this dumb thing all day.
“Pretty please, Mrs. Fisher? We promise we won’t get dirty,” Bevy adds, batting her eyelashes and smiling up at my mother.
That’s all it takes for my mom to smile down at the two of us and shake her head in defeat. It’s the first real smile Bevy has shown us in days and I know my mother would say yes to anything at this point. Maybe I should have Bevy ask her about that puppy I’ve been wanting…
“Bevy, did you ask your father if you could go outside?” My mother questions softly as she smiles and waves at someone behind us.
Bevy’s older brother, Benjamin, was killed a few weeks ago. Bevy’s parents were always so proud of him for joining the Navy. They talked about him all the time and when Benjamin wrote letters, we’d all gather around their dining room table so Mrs. O’Byrne could read them out loud. Benjamin had gotten a job on the mainland after he graduated high school, so he wasn’t around that much before he joined the Navy, but he came home as often as he could to hang out with Bevy and me. He’d tell us stories about being older and how much fun he was having being out on his own. He was the neatest guy in the world, and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.
He’d only been home once in the year since he’d left for the Navy, but seeing him in his crisp, white uniform and listening to him talk about his adventures at sea were the highlights of my young life.
A few weeks ago, we were having a late lunch at Bevy’s house after church when the ballgame we were listening to on the radio was interrupted by an emergency broadcast. Navy ships stationed at Pearl Harbor were under attack. It was the start of a war. My mom cried and my dad held his head in his hands. Bevy’s mom started screaming and crying while her dad raced around the house, making phone calls and trying to calm his wife. Bevy and I sat in shock at the table, not really understanding what was going on. It wasn’t until a few days later that we found out Benjamin was aboard the USS Arizona, one of the ships that went down, and he would no longer be writing letters or coming home to tell us all about the exciting things he got to do as a sailor.
My parents had everyone from the memorial service come to our house afterwards so that Bevy’s mom could rest. Bevy’s dad had to practically carry her into the church before the service and again to the car afterwards. I didn’t like how loudly she cried and wailed; it made me feel uncomfortable. Bevy sat quietly in the front pew all by herself through the entire memorial while her dad tended to her mom. I tried to make funny faces at her to get her to laugh, but it didn’t work.
“My dad told me he was busy and not to bother him,” Bevy says quietly as she stares down at her shoes.
My mom looks sadly at Bevy and runs her hand over her brown curls.
“Go on, get out of here, you two. Trip, if you ruin that new suit, you will be hanging up the laundry outside for the next month,” she warns.
Bevy and I look at each other and smile before thanking my mom quickly and escaping out the door.
“Race you down Main Street! Last one to the lighthouse is a rotten egg!” Bevy shouts as she takes off faster, her laughter trailing behind her as I follow. It’s so nice to hear her laugh that I don’t even care if she beats me. We run as fast as we can through town, the streets nearly deserted because most of the island is huddled in my living room, paying their respects to the O’Byrne’s. The streets are usually bustling with happy islanders making last minute Christmas purchases this time of year, but everyone has been in a panic since all the talk of war started. Instead of celebrating the holiday season, people are always crying and in place of the Christmas party my father throws for the residents of Fisher’s Island, he’s hosted a bunch of town meetings at the bank so that the mayor can calm them down. All of a sudden, Fisher’s Island is a sad place to live and I hate it. I want to have fun and laugh and talk to people on the street, but everyone is always in a hurry and no one has anything nice to say. They argue and cry and they’re all so scared. I don’t really understand what they’re afraid of, but my friends and I have been whittling guns out of tree branches so that we can do our part. We patrol the beach every day just in case the bad guys try to come here. I tried telling Mr. Geyser, the grocer, that my friends and I will keep everyone safe, but he just told me to scram. It feels good to be having fun and racing through town without the weight of the islanders’ sadness and worry coming down on us.
We make it to the other end of the island in record time and, as usual, Bevy beats me. We collapse in a heap on the sand at the base of the lighthouse, staring up at the cloudless sky while we catch our breath.
“Hey, Bevy, can I ask you something?”
She pushes up from her back and spreads the skirt of her dress around her knees while I fold my hands behind my head and breathe in the salty ocean air.
“If you’re going to ask me to let you win one of our races, the answer is still no.”
I laugh at the stern look in her face and shake my head. “Well, that’s not what I was gonna ask, but since you brought it up….”
Bevy grabs a handful of sand and tosses it at my chest. I sit up quickly, laughing as I brush the sand off of my new dress shirt.
“I’m just kidding!” I tell her with another laugh. “I wanted to ask you something serious.”
She raises her eyebrows and waits for me to continue.
“How come you don’t want to talk about Benjamin anymore?”
I know she’s sad that her brother is gone, but she hasn’t said one word about him all week. She doesn’t even want to talk about the funny stories he used to tell us, even though I’m sure those would make her smile again. Whenever I say his name, she looks around all worried-like and tells me to be quiet.
Bevy immediately looks away from me and stares out at the ocean. She’s quiet for so long that I think she’s not going to answer me.
“Benjamin was the best big brother. When he came to the island every weekend, he taught me how to run fast and how to climb trees. Benjamin taught me everything I know,” she tells me softly.
Her voice sounds so sad and I don’t like it. I like it when Bevy smiles and when Bevy laughs because you can’t help but join her. She’s got the biggest smile and the greatest laugh. The only times I’ve ever seen her sad are the few times we’ve had to go to her house the past few weeks and I don’t like it. I make sure to let her choose which game we play after that and I always take her to the candy store on Main Street and use my allowance to let her pick a piece of penny candy just so she’ll be happy again, but it never works.
Bevy picks up a stick lying next to her and starts writing out letters with the end of it in the hard, packed sand. I watch her quietly for a few minutes until she finishes and notice she spelled out Benjamin.
“I’m never allowed to talk about Benjamin. If I say his name, it
makes my dad angry and my mom cry, so I don’t talk about him to anyone,” she tells me as she stares at his name in the sand. “My parents loved him a lot. I think they loved him more than me. Remember when I skinned my knee the other day and it was bleeding?”
I nod my head quietly. Bevy and I climbed to the very top of the biggest tree behind Barney’s and she slipped on the way down. She cried the whole way home.
“I went right into my parents’ room and my mom yelled at me. She told me my crying gave her a headache. My dad heard her yelling and came running in. He told me to leave her alone and stop bothering her. My leg was bleeding really bad and they didn’t care. They don’t care about anything anymore but Benjamin being gone.”
She sniffles and rubs the back of her hand under her nose.
“It’s okay, Bevy. I still care. I’ll fix you up the next time your leg is bleeding and you can talk about Benjamin whenever you want with me,” I tell her quietly.
She cranes her neck and looks behind us at the lighthouse.
“Benjamin told me in his letters how much he missed the island. He said that sometimes, he’d be on his ship and look out over the water and imagine that he could see the light from the lighthouse and that he knew it would guide him home when it was time.”
I turn around with her and we both stare at the revolving light at the top of the structure.
“I don’t think we’re even going to celebrate Christmas this year,” she tells me sadly, looking away from the light and back out at the water. “I asked my dad yesterday if we could go get a Christmas tree and he told me to stop being so selfish. I just want my mom to see the sparkling lights on the tree because maybe it will make her happy again. Maybe she’ll want to come out of her room and it will get her to stop crying all the time.”
Today is the first time Mrs. O’Byrne has been out of her room in two weeks. I overheard my parents saying she’s got something wrong with her heart, that it got broken or something. I don’t know how someone breaks their heart. Maybe she was climbing too many trees and she fell. I’ve never had anyone I know die before. My grandparents and all my aunts and cousins are alive. Mrs. O’Byrne doesn’t eat, she doesn’t come to our house for dinner anymore and she doesn’t talk to anyone. I’m really sad that I’ll never hear Benjamin tell us great stories anymore, but I don’t want to lock myself in my room forever. That would be boring.