Read Online Sea Creatures by Susanna Daniel - Free Book Online

landscapes of a similar, realistic style. In one, the long neck of a wind-blown palm tree curved over a pale beach. In another, a stately bright poinciana shaded a dirt road. In a third, an anhinga took flight through dense wetlands beneath dark clouds ringed by silvery sunlight. Off the main room of the house was a brief hallway and three closed doors.
    When we were done, Frankie scrambled onto the sofa and looked through a large window at the open ocean. I noticed a canvas bag on the seat beside him, overstuffed with mounds of yarn pierced by a pair of knitting needles.
    â€œFrankie, come back,” I said.
    â€œHe’s fine there,” said Charlie.
    There were two large coolers stacked beneath a window in the kitchen. Charlie started filling them with the ice I’d brought.
    â€œDid you build this house?” I said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWho did?”
    â€œMy uncle.” He washed his hands at the sink. “Did you have time for lunch?” he said without looking up. For a moment I thought he might not have been talking to me. “Is the boy hungry?”
    Frankie spun around and waved both arms—this was how he signaled me—and signed: Banana .
    We hadn’t eaten. “I brought snacks,” I said to Frankie, signing as I spoke.
    â€œIt’s late,” said Charlie. “We’ll have a meal.” He looked up quickly, then away again. He was so wary of making eye contact that I watched him unheeded. He had the compact, stocky-legged body of a wrestler or swimmer, and his face was square in shape and sun-worn, deeply lined across the forehead and around the mouth and eyes. His straight hair was brown with a lot of white at the temples, parted messily. His lips were thin and pale, his mouth set in concentration. I would have guessed he was older than he was, older than my father.
    â€œWe don’t want to put you out,” I said. “Tell me what I can do.”
    â€œSit down.” He pointed at a low wooden armchair with leather cushions. “That’s the comfortable one.”
    I brought a bottle of water, now warm, to Frankie. Boat , Frankie signed, pointing through the window at a distant ship, smokestacks branching into the sky.
    â€œCruise ship,” I said. I didn’t know the sign.
    Charlie opened and closed the refrigerator, putting away groceries, but no light went on inside.
    â€œIs there electricity?” I said.
    â€œGenerators,” he said, motioning downstairs, where I’d noticed a small room in one corner beneath the house, across from the stairway.
    â€œWater?” I said.
    â€œThere’s a rainwater tank,” he said. “The commode flushes, the sink works. But drink only bottled water, please.”
    He filled a glass from a gallon jug of water and placed it on the coffee table in front of me. Then he brought down a tray from a cabinet and started pulling items from the coolers, chopping and arranging them in white bowls: strawberries, squares of pineapple, green olives, hunks of French bread, two kinds of cheese, carrots.
    When he was done, he moved a stool from the breakfast bar to the sink, then said Frankie’s name to get his attention. “Come wash your hands,” he said.
    Frankie complied, cupping the wedge of soap Charlie handed him, then taking a long time to dry his hands on a faded green dish towel. He raised both arms toward Charlie before climbing down from the stool, and before I could step forward to help, Charlie had lifted Frankie under the arms and set him on his feet. Frankie made his way back to the sofa. Charlie turned on a radio that sat on the ledge above the sink, and from it came a scratchy thread of classical music. The tray he’d prepared reminded me of a kaleidoscope, all the colors distinct but nestled tightly. He sat on the sofa and handed me a plate.
    â€œEat,” he said, offering the bread. His eyes landed briefly on mine. To Frankie, he said, “You,