Dugan shoved open the flimsy door and ran out to give his uncle a bear hug. His uncle squeezed him back tightly, and Dugan didn’t let go for a long while.
“Hey, there, watch it. You’ll squeeze the life outta me!” Dan said, finally pulling away. “Lemme look atcha!” He kept his hands on Dugan’s shoulders as he looked him up and down. “Man, you’re growin’ up!” Dugan blushed.
“Where ya been, man?” Dugan asked. His uncle smiled back and put his hands on his hips.
“I been around, I been around. I’m here now, that’s what counts, right?”
He smiled again before moving to sit in one of the plastic chairs in the gazebo. “Come on, man, siddown, siddown, talk to me.”
Dugan moved over to sit before remembering his manners. “Can I get ya somethin’? Beer, lemonade, soda, anything?”
His uncle shook his head and smiled, again motioning Dugan to sit down next to him. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Dugan nodded and agreed that it was. “So what’s new with you?”
Dugan thought about it for a second and realized he had nothing new to tell. He covered up his embarrassment by talking about his paper route, and how his friends were away which kind of sucked, and how much he was looking forward to the Fourth and the town fireworks.
He stopped talking after a while and looked over at his uncle, realizing for the first time just how much his uncle resembled his older sister, Dugan’s mother. He looked away again quickly, but felt his uncle’s stare. After a while, Dan reached over and began flipping through the well used loose-leaf notebook on the table.
“Still keepin’ the journal, I see, huh?” Dugan flushed for a moment before nodding his head.
“That’s good, that’s good. Don’t ever stop, you hear me?”
Dugan nodded and smiled, unable to imagine that he could ever stop. The two sat in silence a few minutes more, listening to the sounds of the afternoon birds and the intermittent buzzing of cicadas.
“Where’s your dad at?” Dugan shrugged. The silence lingered until his uncle said, “Let’s do somethin’.”
“Like what?”
“Go for a drive or somethin’. When’s the last time you blew the dust of this town off your shoes?”
Dugan smiled, remembering his bike ride into the neighboring town of Dutton just the other day. “It’s been a while. I better go change.”
“No way, you look just fine. By the way, the shirt looks good on ya.”
Dugan looked down at the Davies brothers emblazoned across his chest and remembered that the shirt had once belonged to his uncle.
As he began running down the steps toward the car, his uncle asked, “Don’t you wanna leave a note or somethin’?”
Dugan shook his head. “No need. He trusts me.”
They got into his uncle’s pride and joy, a 1964 Dodge Dart with bench seats and pushbutton transmission. They drove up the street and out of Applewood, onto Route 135, taking back roads all the way to the Massachusetts Turnpike.
“Which way ya wanna go? East or West? Quick quick quick!”
Just before they passed the exits, Dugan squealed, “East!” and his uncle executed the hairpin turn putting them into the exit. Both laughed with delight. After a few miles, his uncle opened the glove compartment.
“Why don’t you pick out some tunes?”
Dugan pulled Darkness out of its plastic case and threw it in the player. “Where we goin’?”
“What’s say we go all the way the end of the road.”
As they approached the outskirts of Boston, Dugan began to see tall skyscrapers. When they got closer, his uncle began pointing things out: the Citgo sign, the light stanchions at Fenway, and the plywood they were still using for windows in much of the Hancock tower.
They went through a long tunnel, came out near Boston Common, and then drove for a while longer. As he’d promised, his uncle stopped the car at the very end of the road, the waterfront. They walked down to the harbor and watched sailboats move lazily back and forth across the wide expanse. They watched huge planes land at Logan airport across the harbor every few minutes.
Walking up to the aquarium, they stayed a while to watch the penguins, let out of their indoor enclosure for the day to entertain passing tourists. Later in the afternoon, they walked up to Faneuil Hall and into Quincy Market for a bite to eat.
Dugan got a slab of pizza while his uncle opted for a cup of clam chowder. They brought the food outside and sat down on a bench to eat and watch the pretty girls go by. When they were finished, they walked up the street to the Old State House. The old brick building was being outfitted with red, white, and blue bunting for the upcoming holiday. His uncle pointed to the outside balcony on the second floor and told him that was where the Declaration of Independence had first been read aloud to crowds that had gathered below. The document had been rushed to Boston from Philadelphia while the ink was still wet.
They were only a few steps away from the Old State House when Dugan began to feel a familiar sense of vertigo. He stopped and bent over, his hands on his knees.
“You all right, Scott?”
Dugan didn’t hear him. He had closed his eyes when his vision began to blur, immediately recognizing the feelings he’d had when looking at Mike’s diorama of Gettysburg. As he listened to the sound of blood rushing through his ears, he wondered just what was in store for him this time.
The sound of rushing blood receded, turning into furious shouts and heated cries. He didn’t want to, but he opened his eyes anyway and found himself in the middle of a crowd of people. Turning around to get his bearings, he saw he was still at the Old State House, but it wasn’t so old now.
He was in a mob of angry men in the middle of a snowy cobblestone street. The people wore what he recognized as Revolutionary War era clothing. Dugan glanced down at himself and saw that he was wearing a frock coat with knickers. His white socks were knee-length and both his black shoes had a burnished square buckle. Frills from his white shirt spilled out of his jacket and over his wrists. In front of him stood a line of men in black tri-corner hats and blood red coats. None of them looked too happy.
The crowds on both sides of the street shouted and jeered at the soldiers, pushing to get closer. Just then, a group of men carrying firewood stepped to the front of the crowd and began thrusting the wood menacingly in the direction of the soldiers. Snowballs and chunks of ice flew at the red-coated men from all directions.
Dugan watched one of them hit a young British soldier full flush in the face. His nose burst. He fell backwards onto the street. The loud report of a musket rang out. To his horror, Dugan watched the soldiers all raise their muskets and point them in the crowd’s direction. It was only then that he realized what he was witnessing. He turned to run, but it was already too late.
He felt a burning pain tear through his stomach as a musket ball hit home. The firecracker sound of rifles firing continued as he lowered his hands to his wounds. He felt another shot rip through his neck and open up his throat, and he could no longer breathe. The sound of blood rushing and muskets firing echoed through his ears as he fell backwards onto the wet and bloody ground just before his mind went black.
“Scott…Scott!”
Something was shaking him. He heard his name a few more times before he opened his eyes. He was lying on the cobblestones. His uncle knelt above him, shading him from the afternoon sun.
“You all right, boy?”
Dugan squeezed his eyes shut and blinked a few times before trying to sit up. He grimaced a moment, half expecting to feel pain from the mortal wounds inflicted upon him. Sitting, he groped at his belly and then his throat before he would let himself believe it was only a vision.
“Say something, Scott. Please.”
Clearing his throat a few times, Dugan looked at his uncle. “What happened?” His voice was hoarse. His uncle smiled with relief.
“You tell me, kid. You stood there for two minutes before you fainted dead away.”
Du
gan turned and saw a crowd of people standing around him.
“You think you can get up now?” his uncle asked. Embarrassed, Dugan reached for his uncle’s strong hand and a moment later was on his feet. Dan put his arm around his nephew to steady him. “You okay to walk, you think?”
Dugan nodded. Dan thanked the bystanders for their concern, and the two began walking away from the Old State House and back to their car. They had gone about ten yards when Dugan stopped and again bent over. His uncle turned and walked quickly toward him, concerned it might be another episode. But Dugan had just stopped to read a plaque embedded in the street.
“Site of the Boston Massacre: March 5, 1770: On this spot did British soldiers fire upon a crowd, killing five free and peaceable citizens.”
Dan asked, “What did you say?”
“nothin’,” Dugan said. “The plaque. It’s in the wrong place, is all.”
Dan raised his eyebrows but said nothing as the two continued walking. On their way back to the waterfront, they noticed an increase in activity and bustle on the streets, as harried commuters and others left work early for the holiday. Dugan stared out across the harbor for a while before his uncle asked, “You about ready?”
It was another minute before Dugan nodded his head. He took in one last deep breath of salty air before getting into the car. It was a much quieter trip back home. They made it in about ninety minutes.
In Grantham Center, his uncle asked, “Wanna get some pancakes?” Dugan looked over with a grimace and shook his head. His uncle smiled. “Well screw you. I want pancakes.”
He slowed and pulled into the Diner. They went in and found themselves a booth. Dan ordered blueberry pancakes. Dugan got a cheeseburger.
“You need a haircut,” his uncle said through a mouth full of pancake. Dugan smiled to notice his tongue was blue.
“You should talk. I’ve seen your graduation picture.”
They both giggled about the hair that used to hang to his uncle’s ass. “You don’t seem to have that problem anymore though,” Dugan added with a twinkle in his eye.
His uncle kicked him under the table. “Hey, enjoy it while you got it, boy.” Dan ran his hands over his receding hairline. “Remember, it’s the mother’s genes that’re responsible for this.”
They were quiet after that. It was almost nine-thirty by the time Dan handed over the tab. As they awaited change from his twenty, Dan noticed that his nephew seemed distracted.
“What’s on your mind, boy?”
Dugan hesitated a few moments before blurting out, “What happened between you and my father?” His uncle raised his eyebrows.
“What I mean is, you guys used to see each other all the time, and then for some reason you stopped comin’ around, even before…you know.”
Dan looked away and found a ketchup stain on the floor to contemplate for a while. When he finally looked up, his nephew was still staring at him.
“What’s wrong with my father?” Dugan asked, before looking away in an effort to hold back tears. It was a long minute before his uncle responded.
“I don’t know what to tell ya, kid. Things are different, they get a lot more complicated when you grow up.” He smiled and shook his head. “I know, I know, that’s a bunch of crap and I don’t buy it either. I can tell ya this though. He was my best friend once.” The two went silent as the waitress returned with their change.
“The only thing I can tell ya kid is to hang onto the friends you got, hang on tight and don’t ever let ‘em go. The friends you make now are the best friends you’ll ever have, you know what I mean?”
Dugan nodded. That was the one thing he was absolutely sure of. The two looked at each other and smiled.
“God, you look like your mother, kid,” Dan said. Dugan looked quickly away, an unbidden tear rolling down his left cheek. It was a while before Dugan looked up at his uncle, but he smiled through his tears when he spoke.
“So do you, man. So do you.”
Dan reached over and used his big thumb to wipe the single tear from his nephew’s cheek, then ran his burly hand through Dugan’s rat’s nest of hair.
“I’d never let anything bad happen to you, you know that, dontcha? I’m here for you, any time, day or night, but you gotta promise to call me if things ever…you know, get too rough for ya. Will you promise me that?” Dugan looked down as he nodded.
“Then let’s shake on it,” his uncle said, putting out his big right hand. Dugan reached over and they shook hard.
“Let’s get outta here,” his uncle said.
They got back to the house around ten and rolled up the driveway. Dan shut off the car and looked down at his watch. “Do me a favor, kid. It’s already kinda late, and I know you gotta be up in the mornin’ too.”
He was quiet a moment as Dugan waited to hear what was really on his mind. “I wanna talk to your father.”
Dugan nodded. When his uncle began to get out of the car, Dugan put a hand on his arm. “Uncle Dan?”
His uncle turned to him and waited patiently for his nephew to find the right words.
“Thanks a lot for today. You have no idea what it meant.”
There was a twinkle in his uncle’s eye when he answered. “I might have some idea, scrub. I might just have some idea.” The two walked up the porch and entered the house. Dugan’s father raised his head from the kitchen table and nodded once to them both, but his face gave away no trace of his thoughts. Dugan nodded back before turning to give his uncle one last hug. “Thanks again, Uncle Dan.”
As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard his father’s shouted voice from below.
“Some girl stopped by looking for you.” Dugan froze in the small hallway, then he smiled and shook his head, thinking, Just my luck.
He went into his bedroom and shut the door. After turning on the small fan next to his bed, he checked the alarm clock and grabbed the headphones off the floor. He reached over to crank up the stereo. The ten o’clock block on ‘BCN was devoted to The Who. He took off the headphones a few minutes later and heard his father and uncle talking loudly downstairs. He heard his father say, “…isn’t any of your business.” It was quiet, then he heard his uncle say, “It is my business.” Their voices dropped to whispers. Dugan put his headphones back on. The Who segued neatly into Pink Floyd at the bottom of the hour.
In the middle of Comfortably Numb, Dugan took off the headphones again. It was quiet in the house. He started to think that his uncle had stormed off. But a moment later, he heard soft masculine voices coming from the porch. They had moved it outside. The smell of a cheap cigar began wafting into his open bedroom window. He heard his father chuckle at something, followed a few moments later by his uncle’s booming laughter. Putting the headphones back on, he closed his eyes and fell asleep listening to Roger Waters sing about distant ship smoke on the horizon.
His customers were surprised the next morning to find that their usually reliable paperboy—for the first time in memory—was running a little late.
* * *
Early the next afternoon, she came over again. This time, he was ready. He put his notebook down and smiled as she walked up his driveway and onto his porch. As she got closer, he stood up and extended his hand.
“Hi, my name’s Scott Dugan. Pleased to meet you.” She smiled back and shook hands.
“Hi, Scott. Pleased to meet you, too. I’m Andrea Rourke. My friends call me Andy.”
Score one for Dugan, he thought, motioning her to sit down.
“So what brings you to this godforsaken town?”
She smiled back as she answered. “My father thought it was time to leave the city. He’s always going on about the crime and the busing and the mayor and stuff like that. We were living with my grandmother, but she died last winter, so he thought it was time to move out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. About your grandmother, I mean.” Andy looked down and thanked him.
“So what grade are you in?” she asked. “I’m g
oing into the ninth.”
“Me too.” After a pause, Dugan asked, “What was your old school like?”
He asked this question any time he met a new kid, figuring anything had to be better than Grantham.
“I went to Catholic school. St. Teresa’s in Hyde Park.”
A puzzled look came over his face. “So, like, did you have Nuns? I mean, were they your teachers?”
She smiled as if she’d heard the question a thousand times before. “We had some, but we had regular lay teachers too, and the Nuns weren’t what you might think. Some of them wore regular clothes and even makeup and stuff. They were pretty cool.” Her eyes drifted off in remembrance.
“Hey! I owe you that Coke. Let’s take a walk.”
They left the porch and walked up the street to the corner store. He bought two Cokes through the window from Mr. Gordon and they sat down together on his newspaper hutch to drink them. Andy told him that she had a five year old brother and a baby sister only nine months old.
Dugan told her about Jimmy and Larry, how they were his best friends, and that she was really going to like them when she got a chance to meet them. He talked about the day he had shared with his uncle yesterday and then thought to invite her to watch the town fireworks with him from the highest point in town later that night.
She accepted, and invited him to her house tomorrow for a Fourth of July cookout that her father had planned. After he agreed, the two made tentative plans to meet up tomorrow morning, go downtown together and watch the annual Fourth of July parade.
He dropped her off at her house later in the day, promising to come back sometime after dinner to take her to the fireworks. He walked back home with an unfamiliar spring in his step. Life is good, he thought, daring to let himself believe for a brief moment that just maybe, things were looking up.
8
The Fourth of July
Just get on!” he laughed, while she slowly figured out exactly where to put her feet. “Right there…that’s it! Now hang on…” Dugan had removed the baskets and screwed in the two small footholds that now jutted out from both sides of the rear wheel. He had to weave a little bit at first, and then partially stand up to counterbalance her weight, but they got up enough speed about halfway up the street that he was able to sit down. He got all warm and fuzzy when he felt her clutch him from behind, her arms locked around his chest.
Applewood (Book 1) Page 5
