Peter was thinking of a reply, when CJ pointed behind Peter.
“Why are there so many animals around?” she asked.
Peter hadn’t noticed. He squinted to the sky, following two or three different groups of birds circling overhead. Two brown rabbits nibbled brown grass in the area between their house and Josh’s. Squirrels bounded through the yard, which was not at all unusual, but they seemed to have invited every one of their friends and relatives.
A maroon van crawled up the street, slowing in front of each house and coming to a stop in front of Josh’s. Two young men dressed in work jeans and stained, saggy T-shirts got out. They spoke Spanish to each other in machine-gun-like bursts. One wore a red bandana, pirate-like, on his head. He nodded in the direction of the ark, and his friend shook his head and laughed.
A shirtless Josh met them on the middle of the lawn. They stood in a triangle and shook hands. The distance they kept from each other and the stoic look on their faces gave the impression they were not familiar with each other. Josh spoke, and the others nodded. He added something else, and they nodded again. The bandanna guy pointed to the ark and spread his arms wide. Josh shrugged then dug into his front pocket and handed the bandanna guy a roll of dollars.
“Why is Josh giving them money?” CJ asked.
Peter didn’t notice Josh receive anything in return. Bandanna guy tapped his buddy in the shoulder with his knuckles, and they headed back to their car and left.
Peter stood and wiped his pants. Chipper’s library attack had temporarily put Peter’s investigative research on the backburner of his mind. “I have to talk to Josh, CJ.”
“About what?”
The image of a woozy police horse formed in Peter’s mind.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going to camp, Peter.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Peter started walking over, but CJ called him again. She nodded toward the Wonder Woman comic book still in his hand.
“Will you go to camp tomorrow without a fuss?”
She gave a noncommittal nod and lowered one end of the lasso to the ground. Peter rolled the comic and looped the lasso end around it, then tugged the lasso once. The comic book rose.
As Peter walked over to Josh, his mother’s car pulled into their driveway. Through the windshield glare, Peter saw her waving hello to him as she spoke into her phone.
Josh was now cutting a long board on a table saw, the wood dust flying into his protective goggles. Peter didn’t want to distract him, so he waited until the table stopped buzzing.
“Hello, young Peter,” Josh said, removing his goggles. Peter noticed dark purple pools under Josh’s eyes.
Peter stole a glance over at his mother. He didn’t want to start asking Josh questions if she had plans to interrupt. She was still sitting in the car, yapping on the phone, probably to a client. This could be a short visit from his mother. She usually stopped home throughout the workday to check in and help toilet Uncle Herb if necessary. Sometimes she ate lunch with them.
Josh wiped sawdust out of his matted hair. “You look troubled, young Peter.”
Peter tried to think of a way to word his question. Blurting out point blank, “Did you ever punch a police horse?” was a little too forward.
“Did you like going to college, Josh?”
“Why do you ask? Are you thinking about skipping high school?”
Josh laughed after saying this, but Peter liked the idea. He thought of all the abuse from Chipper he’d avoid.
A car door slammed, and Peter’s mother was at the rear of the car still talking into her phone while lifting a bulky “For Sale” sign from the trunk. She dropped the phone to her shoulder and impatiently said, “Peter, where are CJ and Herb?”
“Uncle Herb is inside. CJ’s there,” Peter said, pointing high into the pine tree.
Josh’s face changed as he watched the “For Sale” sign come out of the car. Peter thought maybe now was not a great time to be asking Josh a question of a sensitive nature.
But Peter’s curiosity was getting the best of him. He decided to take the long way there. “Josh, how old are you again?”
Josh’s attention turned back to Peter and his expression softened a bit. “Twenty-three.”
“Where did you go to college?”
“A small school upstate. I’m still a couple courses short of graduating. Listen, young Peter. Don’t try to grow up too fast. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Two men in a golf cart drove past and stopped in front of Abby, engaging her in small talk about the weather. She asked them about the upcoming community golf tournament, which seemed to be another big deal around Willow Creek. Peter wondered if Josh would crash that party too.
“Golfins,” Josh muttered and went back to his work.
Peter watched as the driver of the golf cart leaned in and whispered to Abby. He motioned to the sign in Abby’s hand, and Peter could have sworn they all looked over in his direction. Then the passenger of the golf cart said something, and they all laughed.
“Peter, can you hold this up for me?” Josh said, eyeballing the board he’d cut to the frame of the boat. If it bothered Josh that the golfers were talking about him, he sure didn’t let on. “Golfins,” he’d called them. Peter warmed to the term immediately. The golfins said goodbye to Abby and took one last look over at the ark. The driver shook his head in an exaggerated, disapproving fashion. Josh regarded the golfins in the complete opposite fashion, as if he was unaware of their existence.
Josh nailed the board to the frame of the ark with a hammer.
“What happened to the nail gun?” Peter asked.
“It jammed, and I couldn’t fix it. It’s okay. That thing made me a little uneasy anyway.”
Josh dropped the hammer on the grass, yet the sound of hammering continued. Peter hadn’t noticed his mother walk across Josh’s lawn and plant the “For Sale” sign in the front of his yard. She pounded it further into the ground with a mallet. A wave of shame and anger washed over Peter as his last name glowered from the sign in bold letters.
Abby dropped the mallet to the grass and wiped her hands together, proud of her handiwork. She walked over to where Josh and Peter were standing and watching her.
“The last agent said the sign she put out mysteriously disappeared,” Abby said, looking Josh directly in the eyes.
“I didn’t notice,” Josh answered.
“Probably some mischievous kids. You know how they are in the summer with so much idle time.”
“Was it you?” Josh accused Peter.
“No!” Peter shouted, his face reddened instantly from the indictment. Then he noticed that thin smile forming at the corner of Josh’s mouth.
“Of course it wasn’t, Peter,” Abby said.
Josh’s smile disappeared, replaced with the flat face of boredom.
Peter had no idea what anyone would want with a sign. Maybe Chipper and his fellow Boy Scouts stole the sign for their next merit badge: how to make lethal weapons out of modes of advertising.
“Anyway, with school starting soon I’m sure we won’t have any problems with this sign,” Abby said.
“I sure hope so,” Josh said, in a rather unenthusiastic voice.
Peter wanted his mother to leave. She seemed to zap energy out of Josh by the second.
Abby flashed a smile as though some misunderstanding was cleared up. She said in a perky voice, “Did your mother tell you I was selling the house now? Well, assisting in the sale of the house.”
“Haven’t spoken to her. The home phone was disconnected. My phone was under my ex-girlfriend’s plan. That was cancelled along with me. I guess Mom hasn’t had time to stop by between court visits,” Josh said.
Josh walked over and unplugged the table saw, then connected his circular saw to the extension cord. Peter sensed the conversation was over. He hoped that his mother had taken the hint. Apparently she had.
“Let’s go eat lunc
h,” she said to Peter.
“I’ll be there in a bit,” Peter said. Despite interruptions from his mother and the golfins, Peter remembered the purpose of his visit to Josh—police horse.
Abby appeared reluctant to leave but did so anyway, not before reminding Peter that “a bit” was indeed a short amount of time.
Peter lingered as Josh worked, holding the board for cuts and helping to find the pencil that Josh always misplaced. Josh worked at a steady and intense pace, stopping only now and then to wipe sweat from his brow. Then he hammered his thumb.
“Ouch! Damn it, damn it,” Josh cried, holding his hand and dancing around the lawn until he fell to his knees.
Peter wondered if his mother had anything to do with Josh losing his concentration. Then he got a better look at Josh’s hand. He looked like he was wearing nail polish, the tips of several fingers were a purplish black.
Josh must have seen the look on Peter’s face. His pained expression softened, and he started to laugh. “What can I tell you? I suck with a hammer. I told you I only ever built a birdhouse.”
CJ climbed down from the tree and sprinted toward them, the comic book in her clutches.
“Peter, I have a question!” she shouted.
At the edge of Josh’s driveway, CJ abruptly changed directions and ran into his garage. “You didn’t finish painting my door,” her voice echoed outside.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Josh answered as she reappeared.
CJ tried to hide the pleased look on her face. She pointed to the comic and asked Peter, “Why do they call it the Lasso of Truth?”
“Because if Wonder Woman wrapped someone up in her lasso, the lasso forced them to tell the truth.”
CJ looked at the comic, wide-eyed. “Will my lasso do that?”
Peter looked at Josh then answered, “I think you have to practice it a lot first.”
Josh’s eyebrows rose. He was impressed with Peter’s answer.
“When are you going to finish the door, CJ? There’s not much time left,” Josh said.
It struck Peter as odd at how calm and confident Josh was about the flood coming. If Peter felt as strongly as Josh about the looming disaster, he wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep.
CJ’s head dropped. She kicked at loose pieces of gravel in the driveway. “I don’t know if I can finish, Josh. My mother is sending me to camp tomorrow.”
Josh’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I’ll tell you what. We’ll hold off on the door as long as we can, and maybe you’ll find some spare time to do it. Otherwise we might just put up what you finished.”
“But I’m not even close to done.”
“It’ll be good enough. Trust me. No worries.”
CJ had a bounce in her step, more than usual, as she ran back to the house, possibly to test her lasso’s truth capabilities on Uncle Herb. Peter lingered. He knew time was wasting and his mother would call through the window any second. Josh tested the circular saw with a light squeeze of the trigger and grabbed his safety goggles, pointing with his chin to where Peter should clasp down the board.
Then Peter heard a menacing laugh that instantly registered in the cavern of his chest. Chipper and the goons were coming up the street. They wore football jerseys and carried their shoulder pads. They walked slow and lopsided, undoubtedly returning from practice. The library incident was only this morning. Peter wondered where Chipper even found the energy to torment kids. He also thought it interesting how they were coming from the dead-end direction of Ranch Road. There must be a hole in the fence and shortcut through the Pine Barrens, avoiding all of Slocin Road. He made a mental note to explore this further. When they noticed Peter on Josh’s lawn, they huddled closer together with Chipper at the center.
Josh was focused on the cut as the circular saw wheezed its way through the wood. Peter couldn’t hear anything over the saw, but the recollection of Chipper’s sharp laugh rattled around his head. It was like Pavlov’s dog, which Peter had learned about in school last year. Peter associated Chipper’s menacing laugh with a beating, and for good reason—usually after Peter heard it, a beating followed shortly thereafter.
CJ stopped in the middle of their lawn, halfway between the door and Peter. For a second she stood motionless, as if she were deliberating her next step. In his mind, Peter urged her to go inside the house. The mental telepathy didn’t work. CJ remained still, her back to Peter and facing an approaching Chipper.
Josh finished the cut and put the saw down. He took the piece to the ark while Peter stayed behind at the makeshift workbench: two plastic horses underneath a square piece of plywood.
Chipper and the goons reached the edge of Peter’s lawn just as Chipper’s voice enveloped Peter.
“Howdy,” he said to CJ.
Deep down Peter knew they wouldn’t do anything with Josh around. But CJ was standing on the lawn by herself, and Peter felt this pressure to protect her, not that they would do anything worse than make fun of her, call her some names. But she was his little sister. His legs felt like wet cement as he walked around the workbench and headed to CJ. He kept his head down and his legs moving. It was painfully apparent to Peter that the closer he got to CJ, the further he was from Josh.
“Nemo.” It was a chorus now.
He stopped at CJ’s back and spoke into her neck, shielded from the eyes of Chipper and the goons. “Let’s go inside, CJ.”
She turned around, and Peter expected to see a face filled with fear and anxiety, but only saw defiance.
“C’mon let’s go inside, CJ.” Peter whispered again, looking somewhere below her eyes. CJ’s lips trembled and her body stiffened. Then she said, “No.”
“CJ,” Peter said with as much authority as he could muster. He looked over her shoulder. Chipper and his gang had stopped at the curb in front of the house. They dropped their shoulder pads to the street and watched this interaction with full amusement.
“C’mon,” he said, trying to sound persuasive despite his begging and pleading tone. Josh’s sawing sounded like it was a hundred miles away. Peter shifted on his feet.
“Are you hiding behind your little sister, Nemo? How cute.”
CJ had a frozen look to her stance, but her eyes were flooded with emotion, as though she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. Peter’s throat tightened, and his face flushed, and he felt the hot wetness forming in his eyes.
“Is little Nemo going to cry? We haven’t even done anything yet,” Chipper said, in a weepy, sarcastic voice.
“Little Wonder Woman is braver than her brother,” said one of the goons.
Peter looked quickly at the one who spoke. Up until this moment, he never distinguished the two. Now he would.
Chipper started laughing.
Peter couldn’t read CJ, which wasn’t normal. Usually she told him instantly whatever she felt, whether happy, hungry, or bored. She was like a doll in that way—squeeze her stomach or touch her arm, and she’d speak to you. But now she acted somewhere between a person bracing herself for an approaching storm and the actual storm itself.
“CJ, come on,” Peter said, through gritted teeth. His shame was finding new heights.
“No.”
Peter felt his shirt sticking to his heavy chest. He wiped his forehead and the side of his face. He felt dizzy. He craved Dramamine. He whispered “please” to CJ, trying to ignore the snickers. Peter could hear the desperation in his own voice. He knew he was shattering his pride, but it was a feeling he was getting used to. This was all about damage control. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted to do than go inside, sit next to Uncle Herb and turn on the television. He yearned for safety.
“No,” CJ said.
In an act of desperation, Peter grabbed her arm and tried to pull her toward the house. CJ thrashed and her tiara fell off her head and onto the grass. Peter let go of his grip.
CJ’s body started to shake, and her face turned burgundy red as she picked up her tiara. Peter had never been forceful with her; they didn�
��t even play wrestle. She stared at him with her fists clenched as Chipper and the goons catcalled and howled.
“You do that again, Peter, and I’ll knock your head off. I mean it.” Her voice shook as she spoke.
Chipper fell laughing over the curb onto the lawn, making sure anyone on the block who might be watching knew how funny he thought this was. Peter looked back for Josh, but he had disappeared behind the ark’s frame, carrying a plank. His head started to spin, and his knees felt like putty, and he feared a seizure coming on, but in a way, he almost welcomed one to get out of this situation. But then a voice called for Peter, not from the clouds like he’d originally thought, but from the screen door of his house.
“Pita, Hee-hay.”
Peter closed his eyes and walked toward Uncle Herb’s voice, fighting the sickness that rushed through his body. He tried to walk casually and hoped CJ was close behind, but he wasn’t going to fight her anymore. She’d listen to Uncle Herb, and Chipper wouldn’t do anything in front of an adult to ruin his Boy Scout image. After a few seconds, CJ’s shadow trailed his dark silhouette.
The front door was miles away.
In the living room, CJ burst past Peter, passing Uncle Herb without a word and went straight to her room. She closed her door. Peter avoided Uncle Herb’s eyes and dropped on the couch. His mother had missed everything, sitting at the kitchen table and talking on her phone again. Peter stared at the blank TV screen until Uncle Herb parked in front of him and asked him if something was wrong with CJ.
Peter thought about telling him that maybe she’d finally realized her brother was a wimp, a frightened kitten, a fish out of water. Maybe the shame and fallen image of her brother was too much for her to stomach.
He wanted to tell his Uncle that maybe he was glad. Maybe CJ would be out of his hair now. Maybe she’d stop following him around, and the pressure to entertain and watch her would be off him. He had enough problems of his own to worry about. This was too much, he wanted to shout.
But all he ended up saying was, “I don’t know, Uncle Herb.”
The Underdog Parade Page 12
