Summer of the White Fawn by Ron Gamer

Author:Ron Gamer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: North Star Press of St. Cloud
Published: 2014-05-27T00:00:00+00:00

Part Two: Destiny

Chapter 20

The new morning arrived cool and moody. The weather maker had also tossed in a stiff breeze. It was enough of a wind that white-tipped waves played tag as they broke along the beach.

Connor slouched on the bottom bunk. He’d refueled earlier on a simple toast-and-cornflakes breakfast. The young writer wannabe was attempting to become lost in a Gary Paulson adventure novel. But no matter what the story action, nor how hard he tried, his mind’s eye kept wandering off-page. Hit-and-miss thoughts popped up like errant foul balls, temporarily suspending play.

Only two more days until the long Fourth of July weekend. Tomorrow night his mom’s old Honda would be joining the parade heading north. Connor supposed Grace would want to stay in the mini-cabin.

He wondered how that would shake out. She’ll probably want me to sleep in here with her, Connor thought. Otherwise, once it got dark, she’d whine and want to go to the big cabin. He couldn’t really blame her. Lots of weird noises at night. Especially the owls.

And then there were the loons, with their mostly friendly singing until one of them spouted off with a wolf-like howl. That call was truly spooky an hour or two after sunset.

Driving north to Grandpa’s cabin over the Fourth was an annual family event. But because of unrest on the far side of the world, Connor’s dad would be a no-show. However, Grandpa Mitch had made a secretive trip to a computer store in Duluth and upgraded both the old Dell and the Internet service.

The connection was fast enough to use Skype. Connor and his grandparents had used it twice the past week. On the first attempt they connected with Connor’s mom and sister in the Cities. It was late evening and his mother appeared tired. Connor figured it was because of the long hours on her feet at her cashier’s job at Walmart.

Grace thought the Skype connection a hoot. The ten-year-old kept mugging the camera. She made weird faces and spoke in clumsy Spanish.

After numerous false starts, they were also able to connect with Connor’s dad. The picture on the screen had been jerky. It made his dad appear older than his real age.

The Skype conversation left Connor with mixed emotions. He’d been excited once a link had been made. He hadn’t talked to his father in weeks. They chatted up a storm. Connor babbled on and on about the white fawn saga—its birth, the goats, even Olivia’s help.

His father had been impressed. His words of praise filled Connor with pride. But shortly after closing the connection, Connor’s bucket of good feelings sprung a leak. His thoughts returned to Olivia.

Over a week out and not a word of news—good or bad. Every day he’d biked to the turnaround, hoping someone would be at the Olander place. Each trip added up to the same total—zero. Not so much as a single tire track coming or going. The only evidence of life near the end of the gravel lane was an occasional caw of a crow.

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