George Fuller Character Analysis

Maybe that’s why Joe and Miles liked it so much. And he knew that Granddad would have taken him. It was just that he was too little, too small to go, when Granddad had been alive. And if Granddad hadn’t died then he definitely would have taken Harry fishing, too. And it would have been good, like this was.

And it nearly made Harry cry now, the way Miles’s eyelid was all purple and cut—the bruise on the side of his face coming up bad. Harry put his hand in his pocket and felt for the sock that held his leftover money. He pulled it out.

“You should take this,” he said. “You might need it.”

Miles shook his head. “You keep it,” he said and he tried to smile.

…Harry didn’t see him come back. There was just the backpack with some clothes left by the door of the trailer and inside, near the top, were some chocolates and the bright orange dart gun from his Bertie Beetle goodie bag.

Harry leaned his head back against the chair and thought that if Miles got lost, if Miles never came home, Harry’s insides would go wrong and they might never come right again. If Miles got lost.

And Miles loved that light.

It made the dark water sparkle, turned the white spray golden—made the ocean a giant mirror reflecting the sky. Even the leaves on the crack wattle shone in the light.

It made everything come to life.

Out past the shallows, past the sandy-bottomed bays, comes the dark water—black and cold and roaring. Rolling out an invisible path, a new line for them to follow.

To somewhere warm.

To somewhere new.

Maybe that’s why Joe and Miles liked it so much. And he knew that Granddad would have taken him. It was just that he was too little, too small to go, when Granddad had been alive. And if Granddad hadn’t died then he definitely would have taken Harry fishing, too. And it would have been good, like this was.

And it nearly made Harry cry now, the way Miles’s eyelid was all purple and cut—the bruise on the side of his face coming up bad. Harry put his hand in his pocket and felt for the sock that held his leftover money. He pulled it out.

“You should take this,” he said. “You might need it.”

Miles shook his head. “You keep it,” he said and he tried to smile.

…Harry didn’t see him come back. There was just the backpack with some clothes left by the door of the trailer and inside, near the top, were some chocolates and the bright orange dart gun from his Bertie Beetle goodie bag.

Harry leaned his head back against the chair and thought that if Miles got lost, if Miles never came home, Harry’s insides would go wrong and they might never come right again. If Miles got lost.

And Miles loved that light.

It made the dark water sparkle, turned the white spray golden—made the ocean a giant mirror reflecting the sky. Even the leaves on the crack wattle shone in the light.

It made everything come to life.

Out past the shallows, past the sandy-bottomed bays, comes the dark water—black and cold and roaring. Rolling out an invisible path, a new line for them to follow.

To somewhere warm.

To somewhere new.