Background
Eleven year-old, Heddy, can talk to her deceased grandmother, Nonni.
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Eleven year-old Heddy, lives on a small island off the coast of North Carolina. Sheltered from the real world, she wanders around the beach by herself. But lots of things are different now. World War 2 is changing families and people. Without the guidance of her grandmother, Nonni's spirit, Heddy wouldn't know what to do.
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Momma fixes my lunch then spends the afternoon going through some boxes of Willis's old clothes. She pulls out several things that she says might fit Lester.
Lester, even the name sounds funny. I'll have to nice to him, my momma will be watching me, but I don't have to like him. I've already decided I don't like him, and I don't care what my momma says, I don't have to like him.
"Can I go check on the beach?" I say, as she folds the chosen clothes, and places them on the bed before sliding the box back under Willis's bed.
The room doesn't feel like Willis anymore. It doesn't feel like Nonni either, for that matter. It feels, well, lonely, like nothing has been there for a long time.
"Be back by dinner time. I'm going to need your help shucking the corn."
I scramble towards the door, eager to run through the yard and jump into the warm sand.
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The beach looks untouched. The sand has been wiped clean overnight. All that's left of the fire is charred pieces, cold and black.
I head south, towards Dr. Morgan's. I wonder if Artie is still there. It's not been cold enough at night for a fire. I've been thinking about Artie. I'm pretty sure he's only borrowing the house. But why?
I pick up a handful of shells on my walk. I find a big conch. It's so pink on the inside, beautiful, really. There are a few holes in it, but it's nearly perfect. Momma will love this for her garden.
"You're heading to check on that man, aren't you?" Nonni says, falling into step beside me. "What fascinates you so about him?"
"I don't think he's handsome, if that's what you're thinking," I grumble without meeting her eyes.
"Heavens no. That's just plain silly." Nonni's laugh settles on me like a warm hug. I miss her laugh. I miss everything about my Nonni.
"Why does everyone think I need a boyfriend?"
"Who thinks you need a boyfriend?"
I let a heavy sigh escape. "I have to spend the day with a boy tomorrow. I don't want to, Nonni. Momma says it'll be fun. But I know she's gonna want me to be all nice and sweet. I don't want to."
"Well, Heddy, there's nothing wrong with being nice or sweet."
"But I gotta do it for him. I don't want to be nice and sweet for him."
"Tell me about this dreadful boy who's going to make you act all sweet and nice when you clearly don't want to."
"He's not dreadful, just odd. He was wearing wool pants today. Nonni, it's June. Nobody but a crazy loon wears wool in June."
"Did you tell him to put on shorts?"
I look at the sand, focusing on changing the grains around with my toes. "Mrs. Collette said he only had those pants. I guess he couldn't help it."
"Heddy, maybe you could help him get through the next couple of months, just as a friend."
"I suppose."
Nonni looks past me up towards the dune line. "I think your friend, Mr. Artie is outside. I'll bet he'd like that pretty shell."
I shrug. "It's just a shell. Grownups don't care about stuff like that. They like fancy presents."
"A gift can come from two places, Heddy. It can come from a place of expectation or it can come from the heart."
I start up the dune, turning to wave at Nonni, but she's gone.
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"Mr. Artie," I call as I push through the sea oats.
His back is to me. He's nailing a few shakes to the side of the house. The wind must have torn them free.
"Mr. Artie, it's me, Heddy," I say, louder this time. "What are you doing? "
Glancing over his shoulder, he nods but continues to work. I don't think he's used to doing work like this. My daddy always says work smart not hard. And, Mr. Artie is working awful hard.
"That's not how my daddy does it."
Artie stops, turns around and puts the hammer on the window sill. "How does your daddy do it?"
I point at the jar of nails. "He puts three or four nails in between his lips, then he doesn't have to dig in the jar with one hand while keeping the wood in place with the other."
Artie's mouth twitches. "Okay. Any other helpful hints?"
"Start with the lower pieces so the the ones above can overlap. Otherwise, you're gonna get a bunch of splinters trying to slide one piece under the other."
He nods, wiping the sweat from his brow. His shoulders are pink from working outside all morning.
"Thank you, Heddy. I'll try it your daddy's way to see if that helps."
I smile at him. "Oh, it will. My daddy is really smart. He can figure out damn near anything." My hand flies to my mouth. "I shouldn't have said that. Please don't tell my parents I said that word."
Artie comes closer and leans down to look me in the eye. "I guess we're both secret keepers now."
I release the breath I didn't even realize I was holding. "Why don't you want anyone to know you're here?"
"Because they want me to hurt people and I don't want to."
"Who wants you hurt someone?"
He gently reaches over, his thumb pushing my hair from my cheek. "My country."
I step back. "Are you American?"
Artie nods. "Yes, Heddy. You thought I might be a spy? Look at me. Do Germans have red hair? Do they read Charles Dickens? Do their hearts burst with pride every July fourth?"
"No."
"Then that is your answer." He stands up, glancing at the shell in my hand. "That's a very nice shell."
"It's a present ... for you."
Artie's eyes dance with excitement as I place it in his outstretched hand. "Thank you, Heddy. I have nothing for you. I'm sorry."
I shrug. "It's okay."
After a few minutes, Artie goes back to hammering, three nails sticking out between his teeth.
I walk a ways back towards my house, then climb up into the cover of a tall dune. Mr. Artie said our country wanted him to hurt people. Nobody nice would want to do that. Willis could be mean sometimes, but I don't believe he wants to hurt anyone.
A rumble sounds in the distance. I look from one end of the horizon to the other. Dark gray clouds tinge the northern end. We're going to get a storm.
I should hurry home but I don't. There's no war here tucked behind this dune. War is in the houses, it's across the Atlantic. But here is the one place the stupid war can't touch me.
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