Ryan and Bevan Taylor dropped their bikes against the wooden rails leading up to the private boat slips along the wharf. Bevan pulled off his sneakers and shook out the peppery shades of sand before clomping up the salt encrusted slats. Ryan unfastened his snorkeling mask and flippers from the handle bars and chained the bikes to a metal post before following his brother.
Ryan was five and a half feet tall. His height hadnt changed for the last two years, the marks on the inside of the laundry room door barely raised, yet he felt like he was growing out of himself. His arms didnt just seem like they were getting longer, they were really growing. Last year, he couldnt get to the top of the kitchen cupboards without climbing on a chair and now he could reach them by barely lifting to his tip toes. His legs were growing too, his knees hitting the handlebars till he felt like a clown riding a miniature trike. It had been a while since their mom had backed him up to that door frame by the washer and he figured when she did, his black marker slash was going to be several inches above his fourteen year old mark.
Bevan was twelve and fully aware that he hadnt been growing at all. He watched Ryans progress as if he was a movie star in one of those bizarre I got huge overnight movies, but didnt prompt their mom to measure them because he knew he hadnt grown a centimeter since he was eleven. Everything about Ryan was better. He was stronger, lots stronger, and his new height made their one-on-one basketball tournaments pure torture. His hair looked better and his clothes looked cooler and girls were starting to hang around even though neither one of them liked girls and probably never would.
Uncle Scott, Bevan called, racing onto the weather beaten dock. Uncle Scott. Were here!
Off the side of the dock, perched on a scatter of porous lava rock, Scott Taylor soaked his bare feet at the waters edge. He held a length of fishing line wrapped around a chunk of hot dog. Sand crabs crawled from the clear water to snag the tasty meat in the tong of their claws. He looked up as if he wasnt expecting their visit.
Keep it down. Youre scaring the crabs.
Scott was their grandfathers youngest brother, but he was nothing at all like their grandpa. Grandpa Taylor wore a gray pin striped suit with a starched shirt and a paisley tie and spent his day in the city in front of a large mahogany desk. Uncle Scott hated shoes and didnt like shirts much better. Wrinkles and leather thick skin lined his face with proof of decades spent under the blazing sun in his boat, the Little Mary.
Little Mary was the smallest boat tethered to the docks. She was shorter than the length of their bikes put end to end and thinner than their baby sisters crib. Beneath the bow was a cuddy cabin so tiny they had to crawl on their hands and knees to get to the foam mattress and storage pouches. Bevan felt claustrophobic in the tight living space but it didnt bother Uncle Scott at all.
Hello boys, Scotts friend, Patrick, called above the constant song of the sea. Dont the two of you ever get tired of that old coot?
Bevan looked surprised, pushing his blonde hair on his forehead and squatting to re-tie his shoes. The light caught his freckles and the dimples their little sister liked to poke.
Hes taking us to the secret cove. Were going to find it for sure this time.
Patrick laughed and pulled his floppy hat against his sun baked ears. Are you still fooling those kids with that old story, Scott? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
There is a cove, Bevan said. Its in an old volcano crater and its hard to find.
Ryan was not as excited as Bevan, not as excited and not as convinced. Hed heard about the mysterious cove for most of his life and had long since given up on believing it existed. He finished locking the bikes together, grabbed his things and tromped up the deck, hoping for a day of swimming and fishing and bored with the persistent conversations about the secret cove.
Scott pulled on his line, twisting a clinging crab from the piece of meat and plopping it in his crab basket. Along the shore, two boys carried a small dead squid on a stick. White capped waves splashed on the black sand as seagulls plunged against the current of air above the sway of palm trees.
He stretched his back, betraying his age and the stiffness in his joints. As he stepped up from the rocks, favoring his left leg, the limp annoyed him. He shook his foot like a dog wiggling to shed the pain like droplets of spring water.
Whats wrong with your brother? Scott asked, shading his eyes from the early morning glare and lifting his chin to indicate Ryan.
Bevan was thinner than Ryan his arms were skinny and he didnt stand as tall. He straightened his neck and locked his knees, trying to gather some height and maturity, but looking more like a pelican, unsteady and unsure. His hair blew in the salty breeze, the optimism of his smile dimming as he prepared for the usual disagreement.
He doesnt believe theres a cove, Bevan shrugged with the explanation. He thinks if there was such a place everyone would know about it.
Uncle Scott lifted his hat and scratched his balding head. Dont you want to go out today, son? I thought you enjoyed going out.
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