“That’s okay. Forget it.”
Eddie flied out, ending the half inning.
The Swifts weren’t able to bunch enough hits together during their next two trips to the plate, so lost to the Sunbirds 4–2.
After the hoopla was over — the Sunbirds praising the victory to each other — and the teams began to leave the field, Bobby heard his name called, and his heart soared to his throat. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“Dad!” he exclaimed as he saw his father coming toward him.
Someone was with him. A woman. She looked familiar.
Suddenly Bobby recalled where he had seen her before. It was at the ballpark. She was the one who had driven up in a car, the one his father had gone to talk to.
There was a third person directly behind her.
Walter Wilson.
11
Bobby, this is Mrs. Wilson,” said his father. “Mrs. Norma Wilson. And I guess you know Walter.”
“Yes, I know him.”
Bobby’s eyes shifted to Walter, who was in his baseball uniform, and then to Mrs. Wilson. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. Crazy thoughts rattled like rocks in his head. He didn’t need it in writing to see that his father had found himself another woman. And that she was Walter’s mother.
She put out her hand. He took it, reluctantly.
“Hello, Bobby. I’m glad to meet you. Your father has told me so much about you. Walter must bring you over to our house sometime. We can have lunch together. Or even dinner. Would you like that?”
He shrugged. “I suppose so.”
She had a slight build and brown hair, and wasn’t bad-looking, much as he hated to admit it. Walter, whose hair and eyes resembled hers, seemed like a giant beside her.
Her fingers relaxed; their handshake, thank goodness, was over.
“We just got here,” explained his father. “Saw the last half of the inning. Congratulations.”
So he didn’t see me running the bases, Bobby thought. He didn’t see me getting out sliding into third.
“How did you guys make out?” he asked Walter in an attempt at conversation.
“We won.”
“Who did you play?”
“The Swallows.”
It was like dragging the answers out of him.
“How many hits did you get?” Walter suddenly asked him.
The question came as a surprise, and Bobby found himself staring at Walter.
“Two,” he said.
“Pretty good.”
Walter seemed tense, and met Bobby’s eyes for only a moment at a time. He’s nervous, thought Bobby. Maybe he’s going through the same kind of strain that I am, because we’re living under similar conditions. Both of us have only a mother living with us.
But I see my father once in a while. Walter never gets to see his. His father’s dead.
“We better go,” said Bobby’s father. “See you again, Bobby.”
“I must hurry home to make supper,” murmured Mrs. Wilson, smiling jovially. “It was so nice to meet you, Bobby. And don’t forget my invitation, will you?”
“No, I won’t, Mrs. Wilson. It was nice meeting you, too.”
He watched them leave. That Walter, Bobby reflected. The kid certainly would never be known as a big talker.
He looked for Billy Trollop, found him, and rode home with him and his family.
After supper that night the doorbell rang. Bobby went to answer it. A woman stood there, a tall, pretty woman in a pink blouse and white slacks. She was carrying a cardboard box.
“Hello. I’m Mrs. Thorne,” she said pleasantly. “Is your mother in?”
Almost automatically his eyes were drawn to the car at the curb. A shiny white car with chrome trim.
A wisp of a smile curved his lips. So she was the one to whom the car belonged.
“Yes,” he said, and, turning, called to his mother. “Mom! Someone here to see you!”
“Be right there!” replied his mother from another part of the house.
Bobby invited the woman in, and closed the door behind her. She wasn’t smoking, but she could be carrying a pack of cigarettes in that huge white purse of hers. He took notice of her mouth, too. It was generously covered with lipstick, the same color that he had seen on one of the cigarette butts in the living room ashtray.
There was a hurried shuffling of sandals on the stairs, an overture announcing his mother’s arrival. “Oh, hi, Jane,” said Joyce Canfield, loose strands of hair dangling along the sides of her face. “You must forgive me. I’m cleaning, can you believe it? Seven-thirty in the evening, when most people are relaxing, I’m cleaning!”
Mrs. Thorne smiled. “The woes of keeping house,” she said.
“You said it!” said Bobby’s mother, brushing back her hair. Her eyes fell upon the box Mrs. Thorne was carrying. “You have my order? So soon?”
“The cosmetics have already been manufactured,” said Mrs. Thorne. “All the company had to do was pack it and ship it.”
“Fun-ny,” replied Bobby’s mother. She suddenly seemed to remember that Bobby was there, and officially introduced him. Bobby and Mrs. Thorne shook hands.
“He’s a handsome boy, Joyce. And about the age of my own son. How old are you, Bobby?”
“Twelve.”
“My David’s thirteen. You should know him. He pitches for the Swifts.”
“Oh! You mean Lefty? Sure, I know Lefty. Everybody does. We beat his team today.”
“Don’t I know it,” she said. “He’s been moping around the house ever since he came home from the game.”
Bobby’s mother invited her into the living room where they sat down, lit up cigarettes, and chatted. That’s what they had been doing the day he had come home and found the cigarette butts in the ashtray, he thought.
He excused himself, went to the den, and turned on the TV, just in time to watch a final chase scene on his favorite detective show. The hero captured his man, subtly accepted the accolades from his superior, and the case was closed.
It was shortly after lunch the next day when someone rang the doorbell. Bobby answered it. It was Billy Trollop.
“Hi, Billy,” he greeted, somewhat surprised. It wasn’t often that Billy came over to see him anymore. “What’s new?”
Billy’s visits used to be as regular as clockwork, but ever since the divorce of Bobby’s parents they had dropped to almost nil. Bobby supposed that Billy was embarrassed to come anymore. But he wasn’t sure and he didn’t ask.
“There’s a guy down on your beach wants to see you,” said Billy.
“Who?”
“Walter Wilson.”
“Walter Wilson?” Bobby’s eyebrows arched. “What does he want?”
He had no idea where Walter lived, except that the burly pitcher for the Cowbirds didn’t live in this neck of the woods.
“I think he’d like a ride in your boat,” said Billy.
“What?” Bobby frowned. Walter walked all the way here for a ride in my boat? he thought.
He remembered yesterday’s meeting with Walter and his mother. That brief meeting showed him that Walter was in the same situation that he was. Maybe Walter was in one that was even worse. He didn’t have a father, and that must have hurt him. But, being a tough kid he didn’t want anyone to know how he really felt. Maybe he needed someone to talk it over with.
I think I know how he feels, Bobby thought. Since my parents have divorced, I have felt awfully alone. Why is it? Is it that because when we’re hurt we’re afraid to open up and maybe be hurt more?
“Well, what shall I tell him?” asked Billy.
“I’ll talk with him,” said Bobby.
They walked down to the beach, and Bobby saw Walter standing on the dock by the hoist, looking at the interior of the boat.
“Hi, Walter,” greeted Bobby.
“Hi,” said Walter. “How are you doing?”
“Okay.”
“I came over to take a ride in your boat,” said Walter. He hel
d Bobby’s eyes for a few seconds, then bent over, picked up a flat stone and launched it out over the lake. The stone hit the water, skipped half a dozen times, then disappeared.
“I don’t know whether I should,” Bobby said.
Walter peered at him. “Why not? Your father said it’s all right. That’s why I came. He said that you wouldn’t mind taking me out for a ride.”
Bobby looked at him. “My father said that?”
“Of course. Look, do you think I’d walk all the way over here if he hadn’t asked me to? He said to phone you first, but I didn’t think it was necessary. I figured that you’d be somewhere around here, anyway.” He launched another stone across the surface of the lake and watched it skip. “I walked about two miles to get here. You want me to walk back without a ride?”
Bobby thought a minute. “Wait here,” he said finally. “I’ll get the key.”
12
Bobby got the key from the house and returned to the dock. He released the catch that secured the iron wheel, then lowered the boat into the water.
“Okay. Get in,” he said to Walter.
Walter got in.
“Don’t you want to come along?” Bobby called to Billy.
“No, thanks,” said Billy.
Bobby shrugged and inserted the key into the ignition, started the engine, and backed the boat slowly out into deeper water. Then he turned the wheel and cautioned Walter, who was crouched against the gunwale behind him, to hang on. Then he thrust the throttle forward. The boat lurched ahead, bow rising, engine roaring. After a few moments the bow settled down, and the boat bounced over the choppy water.
A sailboat was in his path, tacking toward the east shore of the lake, and Bobby turned the wheel slightly to avoid running into it. As he headed toward the north end of the lake, he began to wonder why Walter really had come over. Maybe he wanted to talk about their parents. Bobby didn’t know if he wanted to do that. He hardly knew Walter well enough to judge his sincerity.
He glanced over his shoulder to see what Walter was doing, and almost jumped out of his skin as he saw the boy trying to light up a cigarette.
“No smoking, Walt!” he shouted.
At that same instant the blazing match that Walter was holding to the tip of his cigarette went out. Ignoring Bobby’s warning, he tore another match from the book, and struck it. Again it went out.
This time he knelt down. And, with the protection of the windshield, he started to strike another match.
Mounting anger, mixed with an equal proportion of fear, surged through Bobby. “Walt! Did you hear me? No smoking, I said!”
As the second warning left his lips, he saw Walter flick the cigarette over his shoulder. His intention was for it to go overboard. It didn’t. The wind took it and swept it back into the boat, into the engine compartment, where it seemed to die out for a moment, but blazed back to life.
“Get that cigarette!” Bobby started to yell. But just then the red tip of the cigarette touched the leaky gas line and ignited it.
The explosion that followed was loud, shattering, bomblike. Bobby saw the blinding flash of fire, then was knocked against the instrument panel and the wheel. Dazed and scared half to death, he turned and saw Walter lying on the deck, flung there by the explosion.
Remembering that the gas tank was underneath the forward deck, his fear increased a hundredfold. Rushing to Walter and grabbing him by the shoulders, he yelled shrilly, “Get up and jump out! Quick, before the gas tank explodes, too!”
They jumped out, and began swimming as fast as they could away from the boat. A moment later the gas tank did exactly what Bobby had said it would. It exploded, blowing a gaping hole through the bow, and sending flames billowing madly into the air. Rocked by the terrific blast, the boat heaved. Its bow ripped apart, fragments of it flying all over, some within only a few feet of the boys.
When the sound of the explosion died away, Bobby paused and looked back. Deep anguish overwhelmed him as he saw only a cloud of dark gray smoke rising slowly upward from the spot where the boat had sunk to its watery grave.
The boat had been a pride of his father’s. Roger Canfield had left it at home only because Bobby had liked it so much, too.
Suddenly it occurred to him how close he must have been to death, and he shuddered. He thought of Walter, and fear gripped him as he wondered if Walter had been struck by the flying pieces of the boat.
He looked around anxiously, and relief came over him as he saw Walter about ten feet away, looking back at the grim pall of smoke and the floating debris.
“You all right?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah. How about you?” replied Walter.
“I’m okay.”
Walter glanced toward shore. “That’s a long way to swim,” he observed.
“Wait a minute,” said Bobby. “There should be some life jackets floating around.”
They both looked around for the life jackets.
“There’s one!” Walter shouted suddenly. “And there’s another!”
Bobby saw the two life jackets that Walter was pointing to. Brushing aside the thought of the lost boat, he started to swim to one of them, while Walter swam to the other. They put the life jackets over their heads, buckled them, and tightened up the belts in front.
Seconds later a new sound reached Bobby’s ears. It grew louder and louder. Looking about him, he saw a power boat speeding toward them. Two others were heading toward them from other directions.
“Looks like we won’t have to swim it!” exclaimed Walter, smiling with relief.
“Right!” replied Bobby, feeling light and buoyant as the life jacket kept him afloat.
The nearest boat slowed down as it approached. There were two people in it, a man and a woman.
“Oh, wow!” yelled the woman, who looked to be in her early twenties. “I can’t believe it! They’re alive!”
Her eyes were wide as she stared at the two boys. Both she and the man were wearing swimsuits.
“Pull up beside him first,” said the man, pointing toward Walter.
The woman, handling the steering wheel, drew up beside Walter, and the man proceeded to haul the boy into the boat. Then he hauled in Bobby.
“Anybody else besides you two in that boat?” the man inquired.
“No. It was just us,” puffed Bobby, the water dripping off him.
“We heard the explosion and saw the fire. How could a boat explode? You boys were real lucky.”
“I know,” said Bobby, glancing at Walter. Would Walter tell, he wondered, what caused the explosion?
But Walter remained silent. He was sitting on one of the seats, his hair matted to his head, his clothes stuck to his skin, his attention drawn to the shore toward which they were heading.
“What happened?” the woman asked.
There was the inevitable question. And again Bobby waited for Walter to say something. But he didn’t. He was ignoring them completely.
“I don’t know,” said Bobby. “The engine blew. We jumped out of the boat, then the gas tank blew.”
I can’t squeal on Walter, thought Bobby. It’s up to him to tell them how careless he’s been.
The man and woman exchanged a look.
“Where do you boys live?” the man asked.
“I live near the lake. Over there,” said Bobby, pointing to the beach house that was easily visible.
“And you?” the man asked Walter.
“I live on Maple Avenue,” said Walter.
The girl turned the wheel and headed the boat toward the beach house.
The man looked over Bobby’s arms, legs, and body for bruises.
“I’m okay,” Bobby assured him.
“I just want to check,” replied the man. He gave Walter a close looking-over too, then said, “I guess you’re both all right.” He sat back and relaxed, relieved that the boys weren’t injured.
When they arrived on shore, Bobby’s mother was there waiting for them.
13
&nb
sp; I just knew it was our boat!” cried Bobby’s mother, hugging Bobby fiercely. “When I heard that explosion and then saw the boat was gone from the hoist — I just knew it!”
Bobby and Walter had removed their life jackets and had left them on the deck. The rescuers were leaving.
“You could have been killed!” his mother went on. “You know that? You could have been killed!”
Bobby didn’t answer. He stood there, shivering, waiting for his mother to get hold of herself.
“What I would like to know,” she said, staring directly at him, “is why you took the boat without permission. Explain that to me.”
She was trembling, and her eyes were red from crying.
“I gave Walter a ride,” Bobby answered. “I mean, that’s why I —”
She looked at Walter, and frowned. “Walter? Walter who?”
“Walter Wilson.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she said, her voice softer now. “Where do you live, Walter?”
Walter looked at her. “On Maple Avenue,” he answered calmly.
“Maple Avenue?” She stared at him. “That’s about two miles from here. Do you play on Bobby’s team? Is that why you’re here?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You just came to take a ride in the boat?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bobby’s mother glanced at Bobby, her eyes probing. “I never heard you talk of him. Is he a new friend of yours?”
“No. He’s…” Bobby couldn’t get the words out.
“He’s what?” his mother said, trying to wring the rest of the sentence out of him.
“You won’t like to hear this, Mom,” he said.
“I’m going to hear it sometime,” she said. “You might as well tell it to me now.”
He got up his gumption and formed the words in his mind first before uttering them. “He’s the son of the woman Dad has been seeing lately,” he said.
“Oh?” Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed as she glanced back at Walter. “And because of that you felt that you should give him a ride in the boat? Is that it?”
“No, Mom. It wasn’t like that at all. Walter told me that Dad had said it was okay.” He paused, shivering, as he watched his mother staring at Walter Wilson. “I’m cold, Mom,” he said. “I’d like to get out of these wet clothes.”
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