Ten-year-old Eddie crunched through the snow, out toward the pond. Harry, also ten, and five-year-old Heidi came along behind him, talking and arguing, but he couldn’t make out what they said.
Eddie squinted. The sun gave the smooth ice a blinding shine that made his eyes water and blink. The snow around it sparkled like the glittery Christmas card his family had just gotten in the mail. He stomped along faster.
“Slow down,” Harry shouted, his voice cracking. “Heidi’s your sister, not mine.”
Eddie turned.
Harry had stopped walking and stood, hands on hips. Heidi jumped from one footprint to the next, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance. Her long, gray winter coat dragged along the snow, and her red knitted scarf had come undone. She brought a mitten up to push her yellow hair out of her face and said to Harry, “Your Mommy said to stay in the house.” She hated breaking rules.
“We’ll be back before they even get home,” Harry said.
They had played in the house for as long they could, sliding in socks down the hallway, making forts out of furniture cushions and blankets, and playing hide-and-seek. There was only so much they could do inside. And Harry’s folks said they wouldn’t be back for another hour.
Harry was the oldest, so he was left in charge. When he suggested ice-skating, Eddie agreed immediately. The frozen pond was a double stone’s-throw from the house and—with the trees all turned to bare branches—they could see it perfectly from the dining room windows.
“Come on. We’re almost there.” Eddie motioned for them to hurry. Then he pushed himself forward, running as fast as he could. The cold air made tears that blinded him until they spilled over and dripped down his cheeks. The pond seemed to jiggle as he ran. He wanted to reach it first, to glide out onto its smooth surface first, to have a moment alone, the ice all to himself.
Now, only a cluster of tall cattails stood between him and the pond. He peeked through them. The ice, shining like a diamond, called to him.
He turned and waved his arms overhead. “I’ll go first, just in case . . .” He stepped onto the ice and bounced a few times. Then he laughed and let out a hoot. “Come on! It’s frozen solid.”
Harry bolted for the pond.
“Harry, wait!” Heidi shrieked.
“Run, Heidi, run,” Harry shouted, without looking back.
Arms swinging at his sides and leaning over, Eddie skated the length of the pond. The icy air bit his cheeks and whistled in his ears.
Heidi called again, but Harry had reached the pond. He peeked through the cattails then followed Eddie’s footprints out onto the ice. At once, his foot slipped out from under him. He reached for a cattail as he landed hard on the ice. With a laugh, he climbed to his feet.
“Better take it slow,” Eddie said, imitating the scowl his father wore when telling him what to do. “I’ve been doing this for years, but it takes some getting used to.” He shuffled along the ice a little faster then made a jerky spin.
“It’s my pond,” Harry said. “And I can skate it better than you. Watch.”
He took a few short steps then longer and longer ones, until he glided smoothly on the ice. He exhaled, forming a long, smoky cloud behind him as he circled around the pond.
Eddie laughed. “Oh yeah? Watch this?” He leaned forward and readied himself for the challenge.
Before he stepped, Heidi shrieked.
He stopped short, jerking his face in the direction of her scream. The toe of his boot tapped the ice, and he started to topple forward. He leaned back to compensate, but too far, and he landed on his backside with a jolt of pain.
A crack and splash sounded. Heidi shrieked again, her voice gurgling at the end of it.
Harry spun around and shot toward her voice. Somehow, he didn’t fall.
A dark spot and a fleck of red showed behind a cluster of cattails.
Eddie bolted for the cattails, skidding with every step, barely keeping balance. Almost there, his foot caught on something, and the ice came up to meet him. He threw his hands out and cracked down hard on his knees. Ignoring the pain, he crawled, awkwardly, desperately, on all fours. “Heidi!”
Heidi’s red scarf hung in the cattails. The hole in the ice didn’t look big enough for her to have fallen through.
“Where is she?” The words scraped out from Eddie’s constricting throat. He flung himself down and peered into the jagged hole.
Chunks of loose ice bounced in murky water.
“Get a branch, get a branch,” Harry shrieked, eyes bulging with panic. He dropped onto his belly and pulled himself to the edge of the ice. “Heidi!”
Edward Reinhard, alone in his car, sighed and leaned forward to crank the key in the ignition. His heart ached with a mixture of sorrow and gratitude whenever the memory flooded his mind. The incident had been mostly Harold’s fault, his disobedience, his negligence. But God had been good to them and had made it right. God would be good to them again.
“No, Peter,” Edward said to himself. “I’m not done here.”
Chapter 44
Four cars waited in front of the school: a white Ford with a dented fender, a blue minivan with the side door open and two little kids hanging out, a black Saturn, and Papa’s shiny, silver Lexus.
Walking down the sidewalk, and wishing he wasn’t keeping step with Foster, Roland gathered his resolve. He’d have Papa all to himself for the ten-minute ride home. He would tell him everything.
“So, what’d you get detention for?” Foster said, straight-faced.
Roland shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
Foster grinned. “I’ll find out tomorrow. As soon as your girlfriend starts talking.”
She’s not my girlfriend. He shook his head instead of speaking his thoughts.
“See, I knew you were more like me than Peter. His camp don’t get detentions.”
“I’m not in anybody’s camp. What do you have against Peter anyway?”
“He’s a thief.” He spit the words out with venom.
“A thief? Peter?” Roland stopped by Papa’s car.
“Yeah.” Foster gave the car a funny look. “Why don’t you ask him what he stole from me?” He walked backwards, turned, and dashed across the street.
Roland reached for the front, passenger-side door.
“Does your friend need a ride?” Papa said.
“No.” Roland dropped into the seat, not bothering to explain that Foster wasn’t his friend.
Papa pressed a button and the front windows went down. “Ask him or I will.”
Roland sighed. So much for the one-on-one. He got out and hollered over the top of the car, “Foster.”
Foster raised his head and stopped walking.
“Want a ride?”
He made a narrow-eyed glance both ways, as if considering the implications, then shrugged. “Okay.” He strutted to the car and got in. Papa dragged his name and address out of him, but for the rest of the ride he remained silent.
Houses, telephone poles, and trees rolled by.
Roland zoned out. As soon as Foster got out, he would talk to Papa. He’d start from the beginning, from the scheme he overheard Jarret telling Keefe the day Papa left. That would put the whole thing in context. He wouldn’t need any more explanations or proof that all the trouble had been Jarret’s doing. Papa knew Jarret.
Of course, Jarret would get a talking to. He’d be mad, flaming mad. Fire would shoot from his nostrils. He’d rally troops, start a campaign.
Roland wouldn’t be safe at home or school. He’d have to lay low until Papa sent Jarret away. Would he really send him to Arizona or a boarding school? Jarret did say boarding school, didn’t he? Maybe he just meant private school. Maybe Jarret would still live at home. That could be a problem. That could be bad, painful even.
How would Keefe feel about it? Would he miss Jarret as much as Jarret would miss him?
Jarret acted like Keefe was his lifeblood. He’d have to find a new way to survive. He’d
see what it was like to be alone, to have no one to rely on, no one to care about him.
Roland’s heart wrenched. Did he really want to do that to someone? To anyone . . . even Jarret?
“Stop here,” Foster said. “I can walk from here.”
Papa pulled off Brownell Road by a water tower and Foster jumped out. “Thanks, man, I mean, uh, Mr. West.” He slammed the door, jogged a few yards away and stood there, facing the car and waiting. Not until Papa pulled onto the road did Foster move. Then he sauntered toward the trees behind the water tower, probably headed for the trailer park on the other side.
A mile down the road, Papa said, “So . . .” and broke the silence.
Roland’s stomach leaped. “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Papa gave him a nod. “Go ahead.”
“Okay. I uh . . . Remember when you first told me about the trip to Italy?”
“Sure.”
“Uh, well, I found out that Jarret overheard. And then, the day you left for Colorado, I heard him saying, well, uh . . .” Roland’s mouth went dry.
A moment passed. “Go on,” Papa said.
Roland bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed. He couldn’t do it. Jarret would get in trouble.
His temperature spiked. Jarret should get in trouble. Jarret had caused—
He took a deep breath. He should think about it before he spoke. He should really think it through. “Never mind. I can’t explain right now.”
Papa squinted at the road then at Roland. “Son, do you smoke?”
“Uh, what? No.”
Papa made a slow nod. “Nanny’s been very concerned about your behavior. She said you haven’t been yourself lately. Think you can shed some light on this?”
“Some light? I guess you mean, well, you want to know why I didn’t come home or call or anything, and about the cigarettes she found in my room, and me skipping school. I-I don’t know. I guess maybe . . .” Since Mama’s been gone I’ve been utterly alone. Is that reason enough? And I want this trip to Italy more than anything else right now. Because I hate school and I don’t have any friends, except maybe . . .
Papa turned down the long driveway to the house. “Some things aren’t easy to explain, are they? As your father, I blame myself.” He frowned. “I know I’m away a lot. And I don’t take you boys on my trips anymore because, well, mostly because of Jarret’s behavior. As teenagers, you push away sometimes, but I think you need me more. I need to rethink a few things. There’ll be a consequence for your actions, of course. But you need to try to explain yourself. You need to talk to me about this.”
“Can we talk later?”
“Fine. But we will talk about it. And I think we need a family meeting.”
Roland’s skin crawled. Jarret would destroy him in a family meeting.
Papa parked in front of the house and cracked open his door. “Why don’t you stick around the house for a few days until I figure out—?”
“No.” Roland jumped out of the car and darted around to Papa’s side.
“No?”
“There’s something I need to do. Peter got this old book when his grandfather died, sort of like an inheritance, but the book’s really old, and it’s in another language, and I told him you could tell us what language it’s written in. He’s been waiting to find out. I was hoping I could go over there tonight . . . with an answer.”
“An old book?” Papa’s eyes lit up. “Let me see it.”
Roland dashed into the house and up to his room to retrieve it. A minute later, he stood by Papa’s side, in his study, waiting for the key to the mystery.
Papa handed back the notebook and stepped over to the shelves. “By the way, what did you need the coins for?” He pulled a book from the shelf and looked at it.
“Coins?”
Papa handed him a German/English dictionary. German. Of course.
“Yeah, the coin collection that I keep in the display case. Nanny said you borrowed the keepsake of my great-great-grandfather, the one with the gold nugget, for history class. Which I’m glad you returned since it’s very important to me. But what did you need the coins for, and when can I expect those back?”
“Uh . . .” Jarret. Roland took in a labored breath and rubbed his tensed jaw.
Chapter 45
Trying to watch the television in the same room as Toby was about as frustrating as trying to pick a lock with a twenty-gauge piece of wire. Peter scooted to the edge of the couch and leaned in an attempt to see around his brother’s big, bobbing head.
Toby set up the last of his plastic bowling pins. Directly in front of the television set. One pin tipped over and knocked two more pins down. He whined.
“You can’t set those up on carpet,” Peter said. “You need a floor. Why don’t you go play in the laundry room or the kitchen?” Mom would hate that. She spent more time in the kitchen than at the table during dinner.
“What show are we watching anyway?” Caitlyn said then stuffed half a slice of pizza into her mouth.
“I don’t know. It’s a pilot. It looked funny on the commercial. But I guess we’ll never know. We should do something else.” He snagged another slice of pepperoni pizza from the box and bit into it.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I want my book back. That book’s gnawing at my mind. I think I’m getting obsessed. When you spoke with Roland, what exactly did he say about coming over?”
“I’m not saying.” She took another slice of pizza and settled back in the loveseat. “He trusted me with something, and I don’t want to betray him again.”
“Oh, come on. I trusted you with my message to him. Don’t you think I deserve the reply?”
“All I can say is, he wasn’t sure about coming over.”
“Ahhh.” Peter threw his pizza slice onto the coffee table and collapsed on the couch. “Maybe we should go over there. His dad’s been home for two days now. He’s got to have seen the book. I just want to know what language it’s in. I could probably have taken it to the librarian—or Mr. Reinhard—and gotten a quicker response.”
Caitlyn’s face spun toward the dining room.
Mr. Reinhard and Aunt Lottie sat in the corner booth, having a quiet conversation over fried fish and macaroni and cheese. Mr. Reinhard frowned as he spoke, looking somewhat sad. They couldn’t have heard him over the noise of the other guests.
Toby scrambled to his feet and peered out the window. “Some-un Roland come over.”
Caitlyn flung her half-eaten slice onto the coffee table and jumped up.
“He just hears us talking,” Peter said. “I’m sure Roland’s not here or we’d hear the—”
A knock sounded on the front door.
Caitlyn gasped then dragged her forearm across her mouth and pushed her hair around.
Peter laughed. “Why don’t you get the door instead of making him wait while you preen?” Since big-eyed Caitlyn looked paralyzed, he got up and went to the door.
Roland stood on the front stoop, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black denim jacket. “Hey.”
“Man, am I glad to see you.” Peter let Roland in. “We were just talking about heading over to your house.”
“Worried about the book?”
“Huh?”
Roland smiled.
“Okay, you’re kidding. You’d better be kidding. But, yeah, do you have it? Did you show it to your dad?”
Roland stuffed a hand into his jacket pocket.
Peter smacked Roland’s arm. “Wait. Let’s go upstairs.”
“Hi, Roland.” Caitlyn sounded shy and sickly sweet. She stood by the coffee table with her hands behind her back and her head down a little, her face sort of sad and serious.
Roland did a double-take as if he hadn’t expected to see her here. “Hi.”
“Come on.” Peter led the way, climbing the steps by twos.
Caitlyn said, “Oops,” somewhere around the top step.
&nbs
p; Peter flipped his light on and ushered Caitlyn and Roland into his bedroom. Toby followed Roland.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Peter blocked the doorway with his body. “Go play bowling in the living room.”
“Roland’s key.”
Peter started to close the door.
Toby threw his weight against the door and let out a hair-raising whine.
“Just go downstairs. You can’t be up here.” Peter’s blood simmered, and he knew the next words out of his mouth were going to be mean.
“Hey.” Roland came up behind him. “He can be with us. I don’t care.”
“I don’t care either.” Caitlyn leaned over his bed and pulled the sheet up. “He can play on the floor with his train.”
Peter groaned and released the door.
It crashed open and Toby fell to his knees. He giggled. “Play train?”
“Fine. It’s three against one. Go get your train.” He shook his head, defeated, and looked at Roland. “You sure you want him up here after what he did to you?”
“I’m over it. It was only a water balloon.” He slid the notebook from his jacket pocket. “So, my father saw it.”
“Yeah?” Peter’s soul soothed at the feel of the old book in his hands again. He cracked it open and ran his hand down one page and up another. “So, what’d he say?”
“German.”
Peter grinned. “It’s written in German? I should’ve known.”
Roland brought out another book from his jacket. “Our interpreter.”
He felt like hugging Roland but instead he took the book. “You’re kidding? This is awesome.”
Caitlyn squeezed in between them. “I’ve never even seen the book.”
Peter forced himself to relinquish the book to her. “You can look at it on one condition.”
She opened the book slowly. “What condition?”
“Go get the pizza boxes. Roland’s probably hungry. And so am I.”
Her head jerked up. She blinked at Roland.
He stared back, expressionless.
“Okay.” She gave Peter the book and dashed from the room.
Roland West, Loner Page 22
