“My mistake,” Arthur said, tipping his head slightly. “I thought perhaps you were worried about what awaits us.”
“Ha,” David said, waving him off with a trembling hand. “I wasn’t even thinking about that.” He picked at a crack in the plastic armrest of the chair. “But if I was, it’s only because I was wondering what’s going to happen if the other kids don’t like me.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “A serious concern. What makes you think they won’t like you?”
“I don’t know,” David said. He looked down at himself. “I’m a little … me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” he added quickly, popping his knuckles again. It sounded like ice cracking.
“There isn’t,” Linus said firmly. “You’re exactly as you’re supposed to be.”
“Oh. That’s … that’s good. I thought so too.” He folded his hands in his lap. Arthur began to count in his head. One. Two. Three. Four. “What happens if they don’t like me?” David laughed as if he couldn’t believe something so ridiculous had come from his mouth. “I mean, that’d be … something, right?”
“Who?” Linus asked. Then, “The other children? My goodness, of all the things for you to worry about, that shouldn’t be one of them. They are just as excited to meet you as we were.”
David scoffed. “They don’t even know me.”
“They don’t,” Linus agreed. “But then we didn’t know you either and yet, here you are. If you go into a situation expecting the worst, it may cloud your ability to see what good can come from it.”
David nodded and looked back out the window. The rain had stopped, and for the first time in what felt like years, Arthur could see bits of blue behind all the gray.
“But what if— Holy crap, what’s that?” One moment he was in his seat, and the next, his face was plastered against the train window, looking out onto the passing landscape. Arthur leaned over with Linus to see what David had discovered.
A flock of birds flew next to the train, heading east. There had to be at least two dozen of them, white bodies with tanned heads and black-tipped wings. They coasted on the wind, their beaks open in cries that couldn’t be heard from inside the train.
“Northern gannets,” Linus said. “Usually don’t see them so far inland. They typically make their homes in cliffsides. You’ll get your fill of them soon enough. They’re in abundance on the island.”
“Oh,” David whispered, watching the birds climb higher and higher until they blotted out the sun.
A line of vehicles waited next to the train platform: a small bus for the hotel, a few shiny rental cars filled with vacationers picking up friends and family. Those who exited the train did so with unrestrained excitement, their sun hats large and colorful, removing their shoes and digging their toes in the white sand around the platform. Parents and grandparents helped children with their plastic buckets and shovels, trying to get them to hold still, You’ve got a spot of jam on your forehead, how on earth did you do that?
David, Arthur, and Linus were the last to exit the train, Arthur carrying David’s suitcase. He stepped off the train first into warm sunlight, looking for the familiar sight of Helen’s old truck. Linus followed, standing next to him, face turned up toward the sky. “Ah,” he said. “Much better. Now, David, if you’ll … David?”
They turned to find David still on the train, standing on the last step, hands gripping the railings on either side of him. One leg was raised as if he were about to take another step, but he didn’t lower it.
“All right?” Linus asked.
“I’m working my way up to it,” David muttered. “Give me a second.”
It took at least four minutes, but eventually, David lowered the ice-blocked foot to the ground.
It immediately began to sizzle, steam rising up around the ice.
“Uh-oh,” David said.
“It’s all right,” Linus said. “You don’t have to worry. We’re almost to—”
David jumped off the step, landing on the platform with a heavy thunk. The ice beneath his feet sizzled once again, beads of water forming a small puddle on the cement. “There,” he said proudly. “I knew I could do it. Also, I think I’m shrinking? It’s almost as if ice melts in heat. But that’s crazy, right? Almost like bringing a yeti to an island. At least my sunglasses make me look cool.” He went to the edge of the platform, crouching down and watching a small crab moving rocks from one pile to another.
“Quiet,” Linus murmured. “Shy. Barely talks at all.”
Arthur bumped Linus’s shoulder with his own. “Any regrets?”
“Oh, many, I expect. But none that have to do with him.”
“The children are going to adore him.”
Linus shivered despite the summer heat. “That’s what worries me. Lucy’s going to love him.” He sighed, undoubtedly imagining explosions or blood splatter on the walls. “I’m already losing my hair as it is.”
Before Arthur could respond, an old truck with whitewall tires pulled up next to the platform. The door creaked open, and the mayor of Marsyas grinned at them as she rounded the front of the truck. “Well, well, well,” she said cheerfully. “Look what we have here!”
David lifted his head, and a wide smile blossomed. “Helen!” he yelled, standing up and running toward her. He didn’t bother with the steps, launching himself off the platform. He hit the ground hard, the ice blocks shattering and dropping him half a foot in height. The coat tangled around him, but he managed to stay upright as Helen spread her arms wide. He jumped the last few feet, crashing into her. Spinning him in a circle, Helen laughed as David babbled about the train, the birds, the ocean. She set him down, winking at Linus and Arthur as they walked down the steps.
“—and then I got to give the man our tickets, and he used this little machine to punch a hole in them to show we were allowed on the train!” He beamed at Helen. “No one could tell me to get off because I had the right.”
“You absolutely did,” Helen said. “I’m so pleased to hear you enjoyed your trip. And just look at you. I swear you’ve grown since the last time I saw you.”
“Half an inch,” David said proudly, puffing out his little chest. “Maybe even three-quarters.”
“I’m impressed,” Helen said. She lifted her head. “Linus, Arthur. Welcome home. To say you were missed is an understatement.” She raised a hand as Linus started to speak. “And yes, the house still stands, and no one is missing any limbs. Or eyes.”
“Fingers?” Linus asked. “Toes?”
“All present and accounted for,” Helen said. “Talia did want me to remind you that if you did not, in fact, buy her a present, you should get back on the train and not come back until you have.”
Linus grinned. “I bet she did.”
Squeezing into the truck proved to be a tight fit, but they made it work: Helen behind the steering wheel, Arthur next to her, his long legs bent up almost to his chest. Linus sat beside him, and David took up the remainder of the bench seat, face plastered against the window, rattling off everything he saw, mixed with questions he didn’t seem to want the answers to.
“Look! There’s an umbrella. It’s so big. What’s that? Are they sledding on sand hills? I didn’t know you could do that. How do you— Why is the ocean so huge? Do you think there are monsters in it? I bet there are. With big teeth and glowing red eyes which glow when— Oh my freaking God, what are those heathens eating?”
