The Pearl Inside of Anything

August 1, 4:20 p.m.

Mum and Dad get home just as Patrick and I are finishing up in the kitchen. They look pretty scruffy, Dad's grown a stubbly beard and there's a cloud of dust coming off him like he's PigPen.

"Brownies! My favourite!" says Dad, peering into the little puddle of batter left in the mixing bowl. He sniffs the air. "Did you forget to turn the oven on?"

Patrick and I look at each other. "Um, I guess they didn't quite make it into the pan," I mumble. Patrick, whose cheeks are striped in brownie batter, guiltily wipes his mouth on his arm.

"Well, you two get yourselves cleaned up and come on into the living room!" says Mum. I feel relieved she's back in charge. "Your Dad and I brought presents!"

"Yay! Presents!" Patrick squeals and runs to the bathroom. "Don't get too excited, Bud." I warn him as I wipe the brownie batter off his chin. "I'll probably get a bucket of live clams and you'll get a giant pinecone. Try to act thrilled." I whisper at him and roll my eyes.

It takes a while to get cleaned up (it's hard to get batter out of a five-year-old's ear). When I give Patrick final inspection, I notice his eye is clearing up quickly; it's barely pink anymore. I'm glad Mum and Dad are back so they can give him his drops though. It's been kind of a wrestling match twice a day and I am running out of ideas for bribes. But like Yammy says: "don't tell them the bad stuff first, focus on the positive, or they'll never go away again."

When we get out of the bathroom, Mum is on the phone. Her brow is knit together. Tight.

"Well! Heavens to Betsy! That really is something! Who would've thought... yes, yes, we'll get back to you...Absolutely...I understand, by tomorrow, noon...Yes, thank you for calling!" she says and hangs up. She studies the phone thoughtfully for a moment then squares her shoulders and turns back to us.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"I'm not exactly sure," she says, slowly turning around and looking at me strangely. "Never mind now, your Dad and I need to go over a few things. Then we'll talk."

Uh oh.

"Wendy, these are for you!" Mum hands me a bucket, covered with a cloth. Hah! I knew it, shellfish. My parents are SO predictable.

"Huckleberries!" she cries excitedly when I peel back the cloth. "We picked them yesterday morning! In the rain! What fun! Thanks for holding the fort!"

Dad unzips a dusty duffle bag and starts making a big drama out of rifling through it. I notice a couple of tiny spiders have crawled out and are making a break for the sliding glass door. Good luck, guys.

"Let me, see, what's for Patrick...hmm, nope...can't seem to see it here, maybe we left it back at the site...wait... hello, what's this?" Dad pulls his hand out of the bag and holds it closed in front of Patrick who taps the knuckles gently. Dad unfolds his fingers. In his palm is a small triangular stone. "An arrowhead! A real one? No way!" Patrick tries to high five Dad, who is not ready, so it winds up he swats his leg instead. He'll get it one of these days.

"Found it on a deer trail, just right out in the open. You're mother had just stepped in a pile of bear dung and we had to stop and clean her boot. I tell you kids, you can't buy luck like that," says Dad, beaming.

"We missed you two, c'mere," says Mum, reaching out with both arms and giving us each one-arm hugs. She turns Patrick around and around, checking he's all in one piece, pauses to examine his face, frowns and stops like she's just discovered he's missing an ear or something. Is it his eye? Shoot, I should've told her right away. She glances around the room like she might find it on a shelf or something and turns back to Patrick.

"Uh, Patrick...where's Joe?"