by A W Hartoin
Luke leaned over the car window and grinned down at Sophie. “Did you try and kick it open?”
Sophie’s face transformed from disheveled rage to a serene look worthy of being painted by Botticelli. “I could get it. Eventually.”
“We don’t have that long,” said Dad. “Luke, you get in the car. Push with Sophie and we’ll pull from the outside.”
Caleb tried to get behind Luke to check out the back of his head, but Luke countered, eventually walking around the car backwards.
“What happened to your hair?” asked Cole, who’d come around the other side of the car to peer at the back of Luke’s head.
“Nothing. I just caught it on something.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe he hasn’t cut his hair yet.”
“I thought you liked it,” said Dad.
“It’s okay, but I’d rather he didn’t set his head on fire. Did he do that yet?”
Dad laughed and looked at me.
“Not yet,” I said.
Luke climbed in through Jewel’s window and squeezed in beside Sophie. They got ready to push. Dad, Caleb, and I got good grips on the door. In one massive effort, the door screeched open and released a puff of powdery rust into the air. Sophie and Luke popped out of the car like a cork out of a bottle and tumbled into the dirt.
Dad helped Sophie up, while Luke smoothed the hair on the back of his head.
“So what did you catch your hair on?” she asked.
“Nothing. Let’s get your stuff.” Luke countered her movements while she tried to get a glimpse of the back of his head.
“Hey there, stranger,” said Mom, coming out of the front door.
“Hey, baby. Miss me?” asked Dad.
“Of course.” Mom wrapped her arms around him and squeezed until all the breath whooshed out of his lungs.
“Get a lot of work done?” asked Dad.
“A ton. Six pieces. And two pies and a cassoulet for Lorraine.”
“What kind of pie?”
“A peach with ginger and a blueberry.”
Dad groaned.
“Don’t worry. I made extras for you. Let’s hurry and unload. I can’t wait to show you my new pieces.”
Mom went to the LTD, lifted four gallons of milk out and carried them into the house. Ella and April argued over who was carrying more. Luke and Sophie kissed. Jewel rubbed Caleb’s spiky head and made fun of how much his ears stuck out as she lifted bags of apples and oranges out of the car. I grabbed a couple of sacks of potatoes out of the trunk. When I turned around Dad was standing in the middle of the riot, smiling with his hands on his waist. Camp had the same effect on Dad as it did on everyone else. Stress of school, jobs, responsibilities, and life in general rolled off backs like beads of sweat.
Dad gathered his briefcase and accordion files from work. I followed him into the house with my potatoes. We dumped our loads on the dining room table between the ice-cream makers.
“Something’s different,” said Dad.
“Nothing changes at Camp,” I said, flushing with my fable. Lots was different for me. Maybe it was obvious. It had to be if Dad noticed.
The rest of The Pack rushed in, putting away the groceries and yelling plans of baseball and swimming to each other. They ran down the halls, bumping into walls, and stepping on feet. They screamed about lost swimsuits and then found them exactly where they’d left them. Then in a matter of five minutes, the house was silent. The yellowed old curtains hung still in the sudden quiet. I caught a glimpse of Luke and Caleb running down the trail to the creek, their long brown bodies bursting with joy, unaware part of their white asses were showing.
Dad chuckled and kicked off his shoes. They thumped against the wall and landed in a pile of shoes on the floor. He wouldn’t put them on again until he left. He craned his head back, and his vertebrae crackled. He reached down with one hand to slip off his socks and touched the table for balance with the other. His fingers brushed Aunt Calla’s fabric scissors on the table with the hinge next to them. A tuft of blond hair sprouted from the top of the hinge. Dad fingered the hair and laughed, making warm feelings bubble out of forgotten places inside me.
“What are you laughing about?” Mom peeked around the edge of the door to the hall.
Dad showed her the hinge and laughed again.
“I know,” she said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Truly amazing, but nothing those kids do surprises me anymore.”
“You want some lemonade?” asked Mom.
“Fresh?”
“Of course. April made it this morning.”
“I’ll have a huge glass then.”
I followed Dad into kitchen, hoping to hear if they knew anything about what I’d been up to. Mom filled a tall glass with ice and lemonade. Then she stepped out of the kitchen and off the porch. She came back with a sprig of mint, rinsed it, and popped it into his glass.
“Ready to start your mini-vacation?” Mom handed him the glass and turned to dump a bag of apples into a bin on the floor.
“You bet.” Dad watched her bustle around, dropping things into their proper places, although it was hard to tell which was proper and which wasn’t. The kitchen was a mess with bins and containers spread over counters and floors, but Mom and Aunt Calla never had problems finding what they needed. She rooted around until she came up with a tin of cookies and turned her triumphant smile on Dad and, for a second, me.
She realized I was there, so she wouldn’t let anything slip. I stayed with them anyway. I loved them in the summer. Well, I loved them all the time, but in the summer especially. Dad was so easy at Camp. He played, and smiled all the time, especially at Mom. I didn’t know what it was about her, but I was her kid, so I’d probably never know. She wasn’t my idea of beauty even on a good day when she was all fixed up. Just then her hair was damp from a morning swim. She wore no makeup and her clothes were rags at best. The ancient tank she wore hung off her shoulder blades. It was worn beyond redemption, but a favorite. Mom had no interest in fashion, no normal interest anyway.
Dad sipped his lemonade, then jerked his head up. “I’ve got it. It smells like incense in here. Did you light the elephant recently?”
Mom clipped off a part of an aloe vera plant. She squeezed the thick, green stem-like leaf and a gelatinous substance oozed out onto a fresh burn on her forearm. She rubbed it in and gave me a look of quiet consideration. It made me nervous.
“So did you light the elephant or not?” asked Dad.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Mom.
“I wasn’t worried, but I am now.” Dad squeezed her shoulder. “I’m not exactly a newbie around here, you know.”
“I lit the elephant, but there’s no specific reason.”
“Did something happen?”
“Things aren’t always clear at Camp.”
“Ernest?” Dad asked.
“There’s always Ernest.”
Mom looked at me and then flicked her eyes toward the door. If she was going to tell Dad anything, I wasn’t to hear it. I went out the door and listened to the distant sounds of happiness at the creek. Their song, the perfect chorus, lured me to where I ought to have stayed.
Chapter Seventeen
I ROLLED OVER in my bunk, taking a moment to revel in the warmth. A slanted ray of sun from the window warmed my chest and highlighted the millions of dust particles and cat hairs floating in the air past my nose. The moment would’ve been sublime if Cole hadn’t been farting continuously and Frank hadn’t been complaining about his asthma acting up because of it. Like farts cause asthma attacks.
“Oh, shut up. I need to tell you something,” I said.
My friends listened as I told them about the deer. They lay with the covers pulled up over their shoulders, their expressions exact opposites. Frank peered over the edge of his top bunk across the room from me. He looked like an owl with his big eyes and sandy blond hair framing his face.
“Why do we have to go get it?” he
asked, his eyes growing larger by the second.
“Cause we can’t leave it there for the buzzards to eat,” said Cole. He had the kind of face that looked like he was up to something, even when he wasn’t. He grinned at me. The wheels turning in his head were nearly visible.
“Buzzards? I don’t know about buzzards. I think they bite,” said Frank.
“They don’t bite and there aren’t any buzzards,” I said. “Besides, they eat dead stuff, not people.” My voice sounded certain, even though I wasn’t. For all I knew, there could be buzzards, feeding on the deer and poking its innards with their sharp beaks. I shivered as I pictured a kidney quivering in the beak of a monstrously large buzzard, a people-eating buzzard to be exact.
“I don’t care if there are buzzards,” said Cole. “Buzzards are cool.”
“How are we going to move it? I don’t want to touch it, Puppy,” said Frank.
I sat up. “Me neither. We need some rope and something to haul it in, like a wheelbarrow.”
I jumped out of the bed’s warmth into the chill of the morning. The goose bumps on my arms rose to mountains and every hair on my body stood at attention. A few degrees lower and I could’ve seen my breath. I scampered across the room to a pile of clothes under the purring cats. I pushed them off and rooted through it until I found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt I thought was mine, but then turned out to be too little.
“Here’s your sweatshirt.” I slipped off the shirt and tossed it to Cole.
Cole put it on under the covers. “Thanks for warming it up for me. Throw me some jeans.”
I threw the jeans. They hit Frank as he climbed down the ladder off the bed.
“Hey,” Frank said.
“Get those jeans for me, Frank.” Cole stayed under the covers watching Frank and me shiver as we dressed.
“Get them yourself, lazy ass,” I said. “What are we going to use to move the deer?”
“Not a wheelbarrow,” said Cole.
“Why not?”
“Because we’d have to lift the deer in and it might be really heavy. I think we should drag it. We could use a tarp,” said Cole.
“I don’t want to touch it,” said Frank.
“We know, Frank, we know. You don’t have to touch it,” I said as I put on some socks, a rarer occasion at Camp than shoes.
“How are we going to get it on the tarp then?” asked Frank.
“My mom has some barbecue tongs. We can use those to drag it onto the tarp.”
“That could work,” said Cole. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
“You’re always hungry. You’ll probably be hungry when we move the deer,” said Frank.
“Maybe I’ll eat it,” he said, as he walked out the door.
“Oh gross, oh gross,” said Frank, holding his stomach.
I punched Frank’s shoulder. “Dude, get real. He’s not really gonna eat it. He’s just saying it to gross you out.”
“Oh,” said Frank. “But it’s still gross. Don’t you think it’s gross?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Frank.” I pushed Frank out the door. “Come on. I’m hungry, too.”
We ate breakfast standing at the counter. I watched as Cole got Frank to pour cereal and milk in his mouth at the same time, removing the need for a bowl. It was a routine they’d perfected the summer before.
“Dude, use a bowl,” I said.
“No way. I use bowls at home. I don’t have to here,” replied Cole.
“Bowls are easier.”
“Says you. I don’t have to put anything in the dishwasher.”
Frank poured a third helping into Cole’s mouth. Cole gripped the counter and concentrated on his chewing. His mouth was overloaded, and milk dripped down his chin, soaking his sweatshirt. I measured ingredients into the bread machines, pressed start, and they both began whirring in time with Cole’s jaws, filling the kitchen with a comfortable rhythm.
“Where is everybody?” asked Frank.
“Sleeping, I guess. Mom’s up though. Let’s hurry and get out before she comes back.”
The coffeepot was half full and the only sign of someone awake in the quiet house. It’d been a late night of dancing and swimming. There were no bedtimes at Camp, but Frank, Cole, and I drifted to bed when Luke and Caleb took their girlfriends home. Sophie and Jewel were a good three hours late for their curfews. Mom expected some angry phone calls at the crack of dawn. Maybe the moms hadn’t noticed the girls were late. Luke and Caleb were counting on it. Sophie and Jewel assured them their moms were out on dates or sleeping or something, but I thought they were taking a chance. I wouldn’t want to bring my girlfriend back late on the very first day. She might not get to come back.
Cole swallowed and rubbed his bowed-out belly. “I’m ready.”
I rooted through the barbecue drawer and found three sets of tongs of various lengths.
“That one’s mine,” said Frank, pointing to the longest pair.
“What a pussy. I’ll take the short one, Pup,” said Cole.
“Okay. Let’s go.” I led them onto the porch and out the back screen door. After a careful look at Beatrice’s pen, I headed to one of the sheds at the edge of the woods. Ernest was a great one for sheds. He built them in all shapes and sizes, depending on what he intended to store in them. They were built as solidly as the house and matched its peeling paint and general design. The one I wanted was at the end of the row; a low, sagging structure about six feet high and ten feet wide. I fiddled with the rusty latch until it gave way and creaked open. Inside were shelves the length of the building piled with folded pieces of canvas and camping equipment. I pulled on a tarp I knew was large enough for our purpose, but it was heavy. Cole and Frank joined in to pull it off the shelf.
“What are you doing?” Luke and Caleb poked their noses over the edge of the shed doors.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Nothing?” Luke raised his eyebrows and looked at his twin.
“So,” I said. “Are Sophie and Jewel in trouble?”
“Nah, their moms didn’t even notice.”
“And you’re doing nothing with three barbecue tongs and a tarp,” said Caleb, smiling at my attempt at distraction.
“Well, we were going to go…” I struggled for words and came up with a strangled guilty noise.
“Fishing,” said Frank. He even looked confident about it.
“You’re going fishing with tongs?” Luke scratched his head and Caleb merely blinked.
“Yeah. It’s a new kind of fishing,” said Frank.
Cole and I stared at him. I’d never known Frank to lie, and I never imagined Frank could do it without shaking.
Luke came around the door and stood five inches away from Frank. “So what do you do? Do you whack them with the tongs or do you try to grab them?”
I could see Frank hadn’t anticipated this question or any question at all, but he looked good. He was hardly shaking at all.
“Never mind, Frank,” I said. “We’re going to move a dead deer.”
“Why’d you tell them?” asked Frank.
“Because nobody fishes with tongs,” I said.
Luke took the tongs out of Frank’s hand. “I don’t know. Some guys catch those giant catfish with their bare hands. I bet we could do it with tongs. Catfish aren’t that fast.”
“Why are we moving a dead deer?” asked Caleb.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Frank.
“Shut up, Frank,” said Cole. “We’re moving it cause it’s dead.”
“Works for me,” said Luke. They helped get the tarp out of the shed. It was too heavy to carry, so they loaded it on a wheelbarrow. I gathered a couple of shovels and we headed for the pond. Ella, April and their friend, Carrie, spotted us from Beatrice’s pen and began trailing us down the path, pelting us with questions.
“I don’t think we need everybody for this,” I said.
“It’s all or nothing. You know that, brother,” said Ella.
I trudg
ed along, pushing the wheelbarrow and contemplating the limits of my life. The Pack encircled me as they always had, protecting, pushing, testing. We were on the way to the next great adventure. I couldn’t say no. I didn’t know how.
Chapter Eighteen
THE STENCH RODE in on a breeze, wrapping us in a festering quilt of noxious fumes fifty yards from the carcass.
“Oh nasty! What is that?” Ella said from under her hand.
“A deer. I told you.” I should’ve found a way to bury the deer on my own, but it was too late. The Pack followed close at my heels. Nothing short of a tornado would distract them from their purpose and, even then, they’d be back at it when the storm ended. I glanced over my shoulder and marveled at how the group had arranged itself. Luke and Caleb were directly behind me. The rest fanned out like ducks flying south for the winter, weaving themselves between trees, but never losing their places. Ella was on Luke’s right, and next to her, Cole, and then Frank. On the other side was April on Caleb’s left with Carrie trailing. Carrie had her arm up over her nose, trying to shield herself from the smell.
I kept walking, ignoring the stink and the complaints of the girls. If they hated it so much, maybe they’d leave. I’d never been that lucky in my life.
“There it is,” I said, pointing at a small black cloud that buzzed.
“What’s that in the air?” asked Frank.
“Flies.” Luke passed me, brushing away flies attempting to land on him. No one moved as he circled the deer, hopping over the large, twisted roots that surrounded it and walked back to us. He flipped the tongs around, somersaulting them in the air, and catching them without looking.
“You want to tell us how you found this deer?” Luke asked.
“I was just taking a walk,” I said.
“Yeah, right.”
“I was.”
“Out here. In the middle of nowhere. You were taking a walk.” Luke looked at Caleb, whose mouth twisted with disbelief.
“So I got lost. Big deal,” I said.
The Pack moved in closer with questioning eyes much like Mom’s. My palms itched and the smell was getting to me. I just wanted to bury the deer and get it over with. A small gust of wind made me look over Luke’s head and I saw Slick and Sydney sitting on an oak branch, twitching their tails. A soft breeze tickled the back of my neck and ruffled my hair. The Pack surrounded me, but their hair lay still on their heads. A soft fingertip of air traced my cheek and then rested heavily on my shoulder. The weight edged out my nervousness and I welcomed the wind’s return.
