Walter closed his eyes. “I miss him, too, you know,” he said.
“I’ll try to do better,” his mother said. “I’ll make real macaroni and cheese tonight.”
Walter couldn’t help but smile a little at that.
“I’ll see if I can be home more,” his father said.
Just as Walter was starting to feel a teeny bit better, his father added, “But you know there have to be consequences for taking that truck like you did.”
Then he handed down Walter’s sentence.
Grounded for a week.
Inside the house or in the yard only.
Doing chores.
No Posey.
No Porkchop.
No Banjo.
No fun.
Walter’s mind raced. A week? When was that hot-air balloon key-grab competition? He couldn’t miss it. He heaved a big silent sigh of relief when he realized that the competition was a little more than a week away. The day after his birthday, as a matter of fact.
His thoughts were interrupted when his father told him to get outside and clean every inch of Tank’s truck, inside and out, until it looked brand-spanking-new.
Walter put one heavy foot in front of the other as he made his way toward the door.
But before he stepped out onto the porch, his father came over and put his hand on Walter’s shoulder.
“Tank would’ve been proud of you,” he said.
A lot of heavy weight lifted when Walter heard that.
Not all of it.
But a lot of it.
Outside, Walter’s heart squeezed up at the sight of Tank’s truck. He had been so scared and nervous when he’d gotten out of the truck earlier that he hadn’t even noticed.
Instead of being spotless and shiny, the truck was covered with dirt and dust.
The doors and fenders were scratched.
Not bad.
But still …
Walter licked a finger and rubbed at one of the scratches. He was pretty sure he could use Tank’s electric buffer and some car wax and those scratches would be gone.
He opened the door and peered inside. Dirt and pebbles and leaves. Nothing that Tank’s Shop-Vac couldn’t take care of.
Walter got right to work.
He washed and buffed and rubbed and vacuumed and swept until the truck looked perfect, inside and out.
Then he climbed into the driver’s seat and said, “Hey, Tank. I did it!”
And he could have sworn he heard Tank say, “Way to go, little man!”
THIRTY-THREE
That week was the longest one of Walter’s life.
He weeded the garden.
He cleaned the chicken house.
He helped his father straighten the mailbox that had been leaning for so long.
He washed window screens.
He hung curtains on the clothesline after his mother washed them.
He ironed fabric for the quilt his mother was making with Evalina.
He had no fun at all.
Banjo finally got the part he needed to fix his truck and Walter was at least allowed to watch from the porch as Banjo turned the key and that rattletrap of a truck started with a rumble while puffs of black smoke drifted from the tailpipe into the summer sky.
Banjo had leaned out the window and hollered, “Adios, amigos! Until we meet again!”
Posey and Evalina waved from their porch and Mama gave a half-hearted wave from her chair by the garden. Banjo’s rusty old truck chugged down the gravel road with Porkchop hop-trotting along behind it until it disappeared up the highway, leaving Walter alone with his chores.
Every now and then, Posey would sneak over and whisper to him outside his bedroom window. Evalina had read Posey the riot act for her part in Banjo’s Bodacious Adventure, but at least Posey wasn’t grounded like Walter.
Sometimes she read some nuggets of knowledge to him.
“What size was the biggest whale ever caught?” she asked.
Of course Walter couldn’t answer so she didn’t even wait. “Seventy-five feet long,” she said. “What state is known as the Mother of Presidents because so many presidents were born there?”
“Um…”
“Take a guess.”
“Pennsylvania.”
“Nope. Virginia.”
“What’s going on with Banjo and Starcatcher?” Walter asked.
Posey filled him in.
Banjo called often to tell Evalina his progress. He was busy repairing the fabric, sewing up the tears with his heavy-duty sewing machine.
One of the metal tanks that held the propane gas that made the balloon rise had gotten dented pretty bad, so Banjo was trying to find another one in time for the key grab.
Posey stuck her face up close to the window screen and said, “We have got to go to that key grab.”
Walter nodded solemnly. “I know.”
“How much longer are you stuck in prison?”
“Three more days.”
Posey snapped her fingers. “That’s perfect!” she said. “The key grab is next Wednesday.”
“But maybe I won’t be allowed to go,” Walter said.
Posey stamped her foot. “Oh, good grief, Walter. Remember Caesar Romanoff’s rule number one?”
“Think positive,” Walter mumbled.
The next day, Walter’s mother said, “Would you like to invite Posey and Evalina over for cake on your birthday?”
“Um, yeah, sure,” Walter said. “And Banjo?”
His mother scowled, then sighed. “Sure, if you want to,” she said. “Have you thought about what you might like? For a present, I mean.”
Walter didn’t have to think long.
“I’d like to go watch Banjo in the Macon County Key Grab next week,” he said.
His mother’s face grew serious. “I don’t know, Walter,” she said. “Seems like you got yourself into a heap of trouble with Banjo and that balloon.”
“I know, but…”
His mother held up a finger. “Let me talk to your daddy. But I can’t promise anything.” Then she gave Walter the hug that he’d been needing.
THIRTY-FOUR
The night before his birthday, Walter had that dream again.
Only this time, a few things were different.
For one, Posey, Evalina, and Banjo were in it. And Porkchop.
Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” and then, just like before, Tank came bursting through the front door in his army uniform.
And like before, he threw his arms out and said, “Look who’s back!”
He took off his army hat, plunked it down on Walter’s head, and said, “Blow out them candles, little man, and I’ll show you my world.” He slapped Walter on the back and added, “But you gotta blow ’em all out. First try. No cheating.”
He grinned that chipped-tooth grin of his.
Then he crossed his arms and tapped his foot and said, “I ain’t got all day.”
But this time in the dream, Walter looked down at those eleven candles, took a deep breath …
… and blew them all out.
First try.
Tank slung his arm over Walter’s shoulder and said, “Good job. Let’s you and me go see my world, little man.”
Then Walter woke up.
He lay there in the dark, blinking up at the ceiling, thinking about the dream.
Maybe Posey was right. Maybe that dream was just a little blip of feel-good he’d been needing in his otherwise sorry existence.
A wave of contentment settled over him, soft and warm.
A feeling he hadn’t had in a long time.
It swirled around him and then inside him, pushing away some of the sadness that had seemed to take root when Tank died.
Not all of it.
But some of it.
* * *
His birthday was finally here.
The birthday he’d been dreaming about so many nights since Tank left.
Walter wandered around the house, every once in a wh
ile glancing at the clock. He could almost swear those clock hands weren’t moving one bit.
Finally, Posey and Evalina arrived with Porkchop trotting along behind them. Mr. and Mrs. Tipple greeted them and they gathered around the kitchen table, admiring Walter’s birthday cake. Chocolate cake with his mama’s buttercream frosting.
“Ta-da!” Posey said, handing Walter a small spiral-bound notebook.
Written neatly on the cover in blue marker was Caesar Romanoff’s Rules for Making Friends.
“Wow!” Walter said. “Thanks.” He thumbed through the pages. Posey had written a rule on each page.
“It’s not all of them,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure it’s most of them.” She beamed proudly. “I have practically a photographic memory,” she reminded Walter.
Suddenly the sound of chugging and rumbling and sputtering got louder and louder outside.
“Banjo!” Walter hollered, racing to the front door, while Porkchop ran around in circles barking.
Banjo came hobbling up the front steps in his dirty blue cast and threw his arms out wide.
“Happy birthday, Walter Tipple!” he said. “Congratulations for making yet another trip around the sun. In celebration, I present to you this treasure, given to me by some ne’er-do-well who had the audacity to think he could beat me at Texas hold’em, a game at which I mightily excel.”
He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out three shiny silver dollars and handed them to Walter.
“Wow! Thanks, Banjo,” Walter said.
Then Walter’s mother lit the eleven candles on the cake and led them all in singing “Happy Birthday.”
Walter couldn’t shake the feeling that he was dreaming. That he was going to wake up any minute.
He stared down at the burning candles and could have sworn he heard Tank say, “But you gotta blow ’em all out. First try. No cheating.”
He gave his head a little shake, trying to clear his mind.
What if he didn’t blow out all the candles on the first try?
But that was just a dream, right?
It didn’t mean anything, did it?
Suddenly he remembered he was supposed to make a wish.
He looked up at the ceiling.
He only had one wish.
He wished he would blow out all those candles on the first try.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out all the candles.
* * *
Later that evening, Banjo limped back to his truck. But before getting in, he made an announcement.
“Tomorrow, good people, I will win the Macon County Key Grab. And I will do it while piloting my beloved hot-air balloon, newly christened…”
He bowed a big, dramatic bow, sweeping off an invisible hat and holding it over his heart.
“Newly christened … Evalina!”
“Oh, brother,” Posey said.
Evalina blushed and even giggled a little.
“And I would be proud and honored if the namesake of my beloved balloon would accompany me to that key grab.”
Posey pumped her fist. “Yes!” she said.
Evalina stammered and stuttered a little and finally said yes, she would love to go to the Macon County Key Grab.
“I’ll bring Posey and Walter with me,” she said.
Walter looked anxiously at his parents. “Can I go?” he asked.
Please, please, please, he said in his head.
Then much to his relief, his father nodded.
“Sure,” he said. Then he ruffled Walter’s hair and said, “Happy birthday, Walter.”
* * *
After everyone had left, Walter went out to sit in Tank’s truck to let his feelings settle down a bit.
Sad and mad.
Swirling around together and weighing him down.
Sad that Tank was gone.
Sad to have his first birthday without his brother.
But still mad that Tank hadn’t even come home to say goodbye before he went overseas like he said he would.
And mad that he had seemed so happy to be leaving Harmony.
Which meant leaving Walter behind.
Walter took the envelope out of the glove box and put it on the seat beside him. He stared down at Tank’s messy handwriting.
Walter Tipple scrawled in blue ink.
He sighed a big heaving sigh and put the envelope away. Someday he would open it.
But not today.
Not on his birthday.
This letter might be like all the others, telling Walter how great it was to be so far from Harmony.
He pushed aside his bad feelings and let excitement settle in. Tomorrow was the Macon County Key Grab and he would finally see Banjo’s beautiful balloon floating above him in the Georgia sky.
THIRTY-FIVE
Walter opened his eyes and looked at the clock.
Midnight.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, he told himself.
But too much excitement was tumbling around inside him.
Tomorrow, Evalina would take Posey and him to the Macon County Key Grab in Oakley, Georgia, almost a half hour’s drive up County Road 19 from Harmony. Banjo had explained that the competition would start at sunrise, when the air was most stable, making conditions better for flying the balloons, so they should plan on leaving no later than six o’clock that morning.
Walter opened his eyes again.
It was 12:28.
This was going to be a long night.
But he must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next time he looked at the clock it was five thirty.
He sprang out of bed, got dressed in the dark, and hurried out to the kitchen.
Mama was there in her bathrobe, making blueberry pancakes. “It sure is nice of Evalina to drive y’all clear over to Oakley,” she said.
“I know,” Walter said. “And I bet Banjo wins that key grab, don’t you?”
His mother chuckled. “Well, if being stubborn and determined is what it takes to win, I’d say Banjo is a sure thing.”
While Walter gobbled down the pancakes, Mama put bologna sandwiches and four slices of birthday cake into a grocery bag.
“Have fun,” she said, giving Walter a hug.
“Thanks.” Walter grabbed the bag and raced out the door.
Outside, darkness and silence were still settled peacefully over the yard. The sweet scent of honeysuckle floated in the summer air and the grass was damp with dew.
Posey was already waiting in the front seat of Evalina’s car, with Porkchop on her lap. She motioned to Walter through the open window.
“I brought pickles,” she said, holding up a jar.
Walter climbed into the back seat and he and Posey sat in the darkness, waiting for Evalina. Posey chattered on and on about stuff she had read in Land, Sea, and Air: A Child’s Book About Transportation, but Walter wasn’t really listening. He was trying to picture Banjo’s balloon, drifting above them.
Every color of the rainbow with silver stars and golden moons.
Finally, Evalina came out, yawning and sipping coffee from a mug. “Okay, y’all,” she said. “Let’s go!”
The drive to Oakley seemed to take forever, but finally they pulled into the empty fairgrounds where the key grab would start. As they were getting out of the car, Banjo came limping toward them.
“Greetings and salutations, dear ones,” he called. “Meet my friend, Lady Luck.” He motioned to an invisible person beside him. “She came knocking on my door when the roosters crowed this morning and I welcomed her with open arms.”
“What does that mean?” Posey asked.
“Means I’ve got luck on my side this fine morning,” Banjo said. “I plan on driving y’all to lunch in my brand-new Ford F-150 pickup truck.”
“Mama made bologna sandwiches,” Walter said, holding up the grocery bag.
“Bologna sandwiches?” Banjo said. “No offense, but bologna sandwiches are for peasants. Y’all
will be treated to a feast of the finest foods the metropolis of Oakley has to offer.” He turned to Evalina and added, “The first of many fine feasts I hope to share with the lovely Evalina.”
He motioned toward the fairgrounds. “Shall we?” he said, leading the way.
Everywhere Walter looked there were deflated hot-air balloons spread out flat on the ground. Every color and pattern imaginable.
Each balloon had a wicker basket attached and lying on its side, while people hustled and bustled around, preparing for the start of the competition.
Finally, they got to Banjo’s balloon.
Walter’s heart leaped at the sight of it. The silky fabric was still a little dirty in spots, but Banjo had done a good job repairing the tears and snags caused by the trees and shrubs along the river. And there was something new about the balloon. Bright yellow fabric letters spelled out Evalina on the side.
Suddenly someone hollered, “Hey, Jubilation!”
Walking toward them was a man with a scruffy red beard.
“You’re late,” Banjo snapped irritably.
“Well, good morning to you, too, Jubilation,” the man said.
Banjo nodded toward him. “This is my friend Kudzu showing up an hour late to be my one-man ground crew.”
He put his arm around Evalina’s shoulder. “This is the fine, fair maiden who was sent from heaven to sweeten my world with her very existence,” he told Kudzu.
Posey did one of her eye rolls and Evalina blushed and shook hands with the bushy-bearded Kudzu.
Banjo pointed to Walter and Posey. “These two miniature humans are Posey and Walter,” he said. “The ones who took it upon themselves to find my beloved balloon, newly christened Evalina.”
He nodded toward Porkchop, who was sniffing Kudzu’s muddy sneakers and growling. “That there is Porkchop, the feistiest three-legged varmint you’ll ever meet.”
When Porkchop heard his name, his head shot up and he let out a yip.
Banjo explained how the competition would begin here at the fairgrounds. The balloons would go several miles to the Oakley High School football field, where the keys to the truck would be attached to the top of a goalpost. He, of course, would then maneuver his balloon perfectly and be the first one there to grab the keys.
Halfway to Harmony Page 10
