by Meg Muldoon
By nature, Warren didn’t have much of a temper.
But something about the way his father said that – something about the way his father always had to have the last word, nearly made young Warren blow his top.
Warren tried to stay in his seat, but before he knew what was happening, he was leaving the dinner table, heading for his station wagon outside.
Chapter 3
Warren flicked his wrist and sent the line flying over the glistening waters of Sparks Lake. After several long moments, the sinker landed with a plopping sound a good distance away. The line bulged in a light breeze blowing off Charity Peak, reminding Warren of a long delicate thread in a spider’s web.
The air was getting chilly as the sun sank closer to the tree line on the horizon. The highway had opened early this year on account of favorable spring weather, but in the depths of the forest, there were still patches of melting snow. The ground, too, was damp and cold.
Warren hadn’t had time to grab his coat on his way out, but there was no way he was going back to his house. He’d spend the night camping out on the banks of the lake in freezing temperatures if he had to. Or on the floor of the general store across the way. Maybe he wouldn’t even go back to school. After all, his father would never be happy with Warren’s grades. What was the point? Why even try? They both knew that Warren wasn’t ever going to be the son that his father had hoped for. Warren might as well drop out now and go work at the mill, the way he was probably going to do anyway.
Warren wedged the fishing pole between a pair of rocks and grabbed the beer off the ground. Larry, Quail, Sully, and him kept a stash of cold ones beneath a log on the south shores of the lake, and he was sure the boys wouldn’t mind if he dipped into the reserves. Warren cracked the bottle open and started taking a long, much-needed drink.
Of course, if Warren quit school now, it would mean he’d miss out on seeing Mae Reed every day. And that was a sacrifice he wasn’t sure if he wanted to make.
Warren stared out at the lake for a long moment, dreaming of those large brown eyes of hers.
Mae Reed wasn’t exactly pretty in the way that most of the guys talked about, and on top of that, she came from one of the poorest families in Christmas River. But Warren didn’t care one iota about any of that. Mae had a quiet beauty all her own. A kind of bookish beauty. She was always working hard in English, and judging from the proud way in which Mr. Stanley handed back exams to her, it was obvious that she was one of the best pupils in the class.
Warren liked that she wasn’t a braggart about her smarts. He also liked that she was always nice to everyone. Even the students who said mean things behind her back about how poor her family was – Mae treated everyone like they mattered.
Warren wished that he had the courage to talk to her. He’d tried a few times, but something had always thwarted his attempts. The most recent time, it had been Philip Clayton. The senior football star had taken the seat next to Mae just as Warren was about to, almost as if he’d known what had been on Warren’s mind and was purposely trying to sabotage his efforts.
Philip Clayton’s father owned the biggest mill in Christmas River and his family was the wealthiest one in town by a good margin. Because of the Claytons’ influence, Philip was a golden boy at the high school and was starting quarterback for the football team. There were players who were better than him, but because he was a Clayton, Philip had made the team his freshman year.
Warren liked to think that he could get along with just about anybody. But Philip Clayton wasn’t easy to get along with. Warren knew his parents would frown on such language, but there was no getting around it – Philip was a fat-head. Proud, arrogant, and self-entitled. And now that he had his eyes fixed on Mae, Warren disliked him even more—
Warren felt his forehead wrinkle as something across the lake caught his eye.
At first, he thought it might be a deer. It was spring after all, and the foothills and mountains of Central Oregon were crowded with them in spring. But as Warren focused his eyes, he made out the lean figure of a man in the woods across the lake, standing in the shadows of the pines.
Warren couldn’t see a face, but he could see the man’s silhouette. He could also see that he was carrying a rifle of some sort. Warren wasn’t sure, but he thought it might be Leroy Reed standing there. Up until the week before, Leroy was one of Warren’s co-workers at the Sparks Lake general store. And, coincidentally, he was also Mae Reed’s older brother.
Warren was just about to wave and call across the lake when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“I thought I might find you here, Wren.”
Warren felt his blood run cold.
Only one person in the world called him Wren, and he knew she wouldn’t be too happy about the cold beer in his hand. Especially with it being Sunday.
Warren turned around to see his mother standing there, still in her Sunday clothes. She held a large wooden basket in one hand, and Warren’s well-loved plaid Pendleton coat in the other.
Her eyes drifted down to the beer bottle in his hand, but to Warren’s surprise, there was no look of disappointment or judgment on her face.
She handed him the jacket.
“Your father only says those things because he loves you, you know.”
Warren felt his face fall into a sour expression.
“No… I think he says those things because he enjoys putting me down, mostly.”
“Oh… Pish-posh,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “He does not.”
Warren let out a groan.
His mother was always saying that stupid phrase. Pish-posh this. Pish-posh that. And every time she said it, it embarrassed Warren to no end.
Especially when she said it out in public.
That was the worst.
“Ma… I thought we talked about this. You’re not supposed to say that word anymore. Ain’t even a word.”
“Neither is ain’t, but I don’t correct you about it,” she said. “Anyway, your father’s just worried. He wants a good life for his son. You don’t remember what it was like back in the 30s. Those times have a way of haunting a person like your father.”
His mother stared out across the lake, letting out an unsteady sigh.
It wasn’t entirely true – Warren did remember what it was like in those years. He was young, but Warren had a memory like an elephant.
He remembered his father’s grim face at the dinner table. There was no corned beef and cheese bread on the table in those days. Warren also remembered the emptiness in his small belly. He remembered his father’s absence for months at a time. And when Martin Peters would return, he’d look worn-out and pale. Sort of like the men who had come home from the war a few years back. Men who had been through something – something that was never expressed in words.
“Your father had always hoped that you would go to college,” his mother continued. “That you would become a lawyer one day. Or a politician, maybe. Somebody who has a say in what happens.”
Warren scoffed.
“If dad thinks I’m going to be a politician, he doesn’t know the first thing about me.”
His mother handed him the basket. Inside was a large hunk of the cheese bread along with some butter and a knife.
“I didn’t want you to go hungry,” she said.
Warren smiled, looking over at Etta.
She always seemed to understand him much better than his father. The two of them were cut more or less from the same cloth.
Etta was a hard worker. But like her son, she seemed to also understand that there was more to life than work.
“The trout biting?” she said, holding a hand up to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the lowering sun.
“Not yet.”
“They will. You using the nightcrawlers like I taught you?”
Warren nodded.
Though nobody else outside the Peters family knew, Warren’s mom had been the one to teach her son how to fish. With Martin Peters b
eing gone so much in those early years for work, Etta had had to step-in and teach her son important things like fishing and how to build a fire in the woods without matches.
“Say – what are you getting me for Mother’s Day?” she asked with a smile.
Warren’s mom always did this. Weeks before the actual day, she’d be asking him what he was going to get her.
“Nightcrawlers,” he said flatly.
His mom let out a good-natured laugh.
Then, to Warren’s shock, she reached over and grabbed the bottle of beer from his hands.
She took a swig.
Then handed it back.
Etta winked at her son.
“Don’t stay out here too long, Wren,” she said. “It’ll be getting cold tonight, and I’ve got a Lemon Buttermilk Pie on the kitchen table. And if that doesn’t bring you home, then I don’t know what will.”
With that, Etta Peters walked away through the trees back to the car.
Chapter 4
“Do you mind if I have a Coca-Cola, Pete?”
Pete Driggs, the younger of the two brothers who owned the Sparks Lake General Store, glanced up from his ash-dusted newspaper.
Pete usually sat in the corner of the store most afternoons, smoking cigarette after cigarette, reading the paper while flattening down his mustache absentmindedly. He was tall and lean, and only about five years older than Warren, which was probably why they got along so well.
Pete was also fun to be around – which was probably the other reason why they got along so well. He had a natural charisma that just about everybody in town was drawn to.
“Help yourself, son. My brother would want me to tell you that it’ll have to come out of your pay this week. But I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Thanks a bunch, Pete.”
Warren went over to the ice box. He came back and cracked the bottle open with the general store’s church key.
It was a slow afternoon, with the fishing season only just getting started at the lake. But Warren knew that with school getting out soon and the return of warmer weather, the general store would soon be a madhouse. For the moment, though, it was as sluggish as a garden snake on a cold morning, and Warren felt glad that Pete was there to pass the hours with.
Clyde Driggs, Pete’s older brother and the one who hired Warren the year before, was in his office in the back like usual, running numbers and making up lists of inventory. When he did show his face out front, Clyde Driggs usually didn’t have a whole lot to say. He was about ten years older than Pete, and opposite to him in nearly every way. Clyde was almost as stern as Warren’s own father, and seemingly incapable of smiling. He was recently married to a very nice lady named Ada. Warren would have thought the change in his marital status would have lightened Clyde’s mood some. But nothing had changed since the wedding last fall. If anything, Clyde Driggs seemed to be even more ornery and troubled than before.
Warren was glad that the big man stayed back in his office most of the time.
“Slow day,” Warren commented, looking out the store’s front windows.
“That it is,” Pete said, flipping the pages of the newspaper. “But don’t worry. Things will be hopping around here soon enough. It’s going to be a busy summer. I can feel it in my bones.”
Pete was superstitious and often talked about feeling things in his bones. Warren never quite understood what he meant, but he always pretended like he did.
“That’ll be better than waiting all afternoon like now,” Warren said.
“Don’t let my brother hear that,” Pete said. “He’ll cut your hours and you won’t be able to take that pretty girl of yours out on dates anymore.”
Warren felt his cheeks burn.
Pete had been the only one he’d ever told about his love for Mae Reed. He hadn’t even ventured to tell Larry about it because his best friend couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. Larry blabbed to his girl Sheila about everything.
“For the hundredth time, she’s not my girlfriend, Pete,” Warren said. “I mean… not yet anyway.”
Pete smiled, seemingly pleased at getting Warren all flustered.
“Aw, I’m just busting your chops, kid. But what’s the hold up? You scared of asking a girl a simple question?”
“No…” Warren said. “I just… I just…”
Pete sat forward in his chair, letting loose a long puff of smoke.
“Listen, kid. You wait too long, somebody else is gonna take her. That’s the way it works. If you like her, just ask her out. Easy as pie. She says yes, great. She says no, then you’re free to move on to another one. And believe me, kid – there’s always another one.”
That was easy for Pete to say, Warren thought. He was a regular Romeo, seemingly always dating a new girl each week.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard,” Warren mumbled.
“It gets easier,” Pete said, smiling a smile that Warren’s mother might call devilish. “It’s all about confidence, kid.”
Just then, the front door to the shop opened.
Warren shot up out of the stool he’d been sitting on like the seat had turned to hot coals.
It was Leroy Reed – Mae’s older brother and the former general store morning attendant.
Warren just hoped he hadn’t heard any of the conversation about his sister. Leroy wasn’t a hot-head or anything. But still – Warren didn’t want to get on his bad side. There was something about Leroy that you didn’t want to cross. He hadn’t always been like that – some people even said that he used to be fun-loving. But after he came back from the war, he’d changed. He was quiet and kept to himself these days, and people didn’t know how to act around him anymore.
“Oh… hi, there, Leroy,” Warren stammered.
Leroy stepped into the store slowly, the limp in his right leg only noticeable because Warren knew about it.
Leroy had been wounded in Okinawa. He’d returned home with a Purple Heart and a bum leg that would never work the same. Over the years, Leroy had done a good job covering up the limp, but it came at the price of always having to move slowly.
“Hi, Warren,” Leroy said in a low voice. “Is Mr. Driggs in?”
Both Warren and Leroy knew that he was talking about the older brother – Clyde Driggs. But Pete stood up like he was talking to him.
“I’m here,” Pete said. “Clyde’s busy in his office at the moment.”
Leroy, as if not hearing Pete, walked past them, marching directly into Clyde’s office without even knocking.
A moment later, the office door slammed shut behind him.
Pete shook his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“I told him. I must have told him a thousand times – you need anything, all you have to do is ask and we’ll help you out. Instead, he tries to steal from us. What choice did we have?”
Warren looked down at the ground.
He hadn’t been working when it happened, but the week before, Leroy had been caught stealing some canned tuna and a loaf of bread from the store. The brothers had fired him on the spot.
Warren felt bad for him. Everyone in town knew about the Reed family’s situation. The mother had passed on while Leroy was away in the South Pacific, and their father was bedridden after a hard bout with Polio some years before. Leroy took care of the younger siblings, and everyone knew that the family was poorer than the dry ground of the Eastern Oregon desert. Occasionally, the Catholic church Warren’s family attended had even taken up collections for the family.
Warren supposed that their situation must have gotten so bad that Leroy had been forced to steal. And even though Warren knew stealing was wrong, he sometimes wondered if all thieves could be judged the same.
Pete sat back down in his chair and opened up the paper again. Leroy had closed the door behind him, but the walls were thin, and Warren did his best not to eavesdrop. Warren took a sip of his Coca-Cola, trying to focus on something else.
That’s wh
en he caught sight of the car sitting out in the parking lot.
He walked over to the window facing the parking spaces and the lake.
It suddenly felt as though somebody had reached inside his chest and ripped his heart out.
There she was. Mae Reed. The girl he was secretly in love with. Looking pretty as ever sitting in the front seat of a brand new hard-top convertible.
A brand new hard-top convertible that belonged to none-other than fat-head Philip Clayton.
Philip sat next to her, grinning and laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Warren just stood there at the window, feeling like a gut-shot outlaw.
He’d never known a feeling like this and the sheer pain of the moment overwhelmed him.
How could she go for him? For a chump like that? He was rich, all right, but that was about where his good qualities ended.
Warren closed his eyes for a second and shook his head, Pete’s words from earlier echoing in his ears.
He’d waited too long.
And now, he’d lost the one girl that he’d ever loved.
Probably forever.
“...Because it’s not right, Mr. Driggs!”
Leroy’s raised voice echoed from behind the closed door of the office, distracting Warren from the pain.
“I’ve tried to be civil to you, Leroy. I could have reported this to the police. Instead, I decided to show some mercy considering your family’s situation. But if you come back here again, then I won’t hesitate to get Sheriff Coe himself out here. You understand?”
Warren shot a glance back at Pete. He had his nose buried in his newspaper, acting as if he couldn’t hear the shouting.
A second later, the door to Clyde Driggs’s office opened. Leroy came out, walking fast, his limp worsening with the speed.
Leroy brushed past Warren, opened the front door, then slammed it back behind him so hard, Warren was afraid the glass windows might break from the impact.
Warren watched as Leroy made his way down the steps, getting into Philip Clayton’s hardtop convertible.
