“You all right?”
Diggy nodded, shrugged, and shook his head in one motion.
Pop ran his hand down his face. “Yeah.”
After a while, Diggy couldn’t stand it anymore. “You’re letting him stay.”
“We have to.”
WE HAVE TO.
THE WORDS ECHOED OVER AND OVER IN Diggy’s head while he packed up his rockets to clear the bedroom for Wayne.
We have to.
Diggy’s greatest, most secret fear was summed up in those words.
Pop would say it was different. The truth might really be different. But there it was.
We. Have. To.
No choice. Just an obligation a decent man couldn’t ignore.
What else could Diggy think except that when he had been left on Pop’s doorstep, Pop had picked him up and thought, I have to.
Sure, Pop loved him. Diggy knew that like he knew how to breathe. But Pop hadn’t had a choice about it, and that made all the difference.
It was like a yeti had reached into Diggy’s chest and torn out his heart and not even bothered to eat it.
So when Pop finally tried to talk with him, Diggy couldn’t help but feel it was too late, even though he went ahead and asked, “Did you know?”
“No,” Pop said, blinking in surprise. Then he sighed. “Diggy … no.”
Diggy believed him, had already known the answer, really, but the real questions he had, he wasn’t sure how to ask. Did you love Mrs. Graf? What about my mom? How could both Wayne and me happen?
Sure, Diggy and Wayne were almost a full year apart in age, but Pop had to have heard Mrs. Graf was pregnant. Had he never suspected, before he started dating Diggy’s mom?
Diggy realized he hadn’t asked the right question and didn’t know how to rephrase it. What did you know? When?
Pop ran a hand down his face. “When Ann left me, I was … It hurt. She and Harold had been together forever, and she had even said she was just trying it out, taking some time off from him. But I thought … I don’t know what I thought. We were having fun.” He shook his head. “I heard she was pregnant and figured the baby had to be Harold’s, that that was why she went back to him.”
“Do you think she knew?” Diggy blurted, though he wasn’t sure what it would mean if she had.
“I don’t know. Ann was a wonderful, caring woman—no matter what, I know she did what she thought best for her baby.”
Did Pop think Diggy’s mom was a wonderful, caring woman, too? Did he think she had done what was best for her baby?
But those were questions Diggy really didn’t know how to ask, and it made him mad, though he wasn’t sure if it was at Pop or himself.
So the next morning, after another mostly sleepless night, when Diggy didn’t wake up right away and Pop tossed a bag of frozen peas onto his feet—a minor prank he had pulled many times—Diggy guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised that this time the prank made him steam.
“You’re just going to act like everything’s normal?” Diggy shouted. “I have to ride the bus to school with WAYNE GRAF!”
Which wasn’t the point but was the truth of everything all the same.
“What else can we do?” Pop sighed.
What else could Diggy do, either? He had to get out to the barn and take care of Joker. He had to shower. Choke down some food, with Wayne right across the table from him. Run for the bus, as always, when Mrs. Osborn honked for him.
“Wayne?” Mrs. Osborn said when they boarded the bus, shock popping her face wide open. “What in the—What has Harold done now?”
“Please, Aunt Em,” Wayne said, his voice shakier than the bus. “We just need to get to school.”
It seemed like Mrs. Osborn—Wayne’s Aunt Em—would let Antarctica melt away before she moved the bus without hearing what had happened. But she was the bus driver, and Diggy’s was only the first stop of her very long route.
“I’m calling Mom as soon as I get home,” Mrs. Osborn said.
“I’ll call Grandma after school—I promise.”
Things went even further downhill when one of the girls, trying to be nice, asked Wayne if he was okay and why he had stayed out at Mrs. Osborn’s. Stupid Wayne said he hadn’t. After much conferring, the others figured out he must have been at Diggy’s, and one of the guys sniggered, “Did you have a sleepover at Lawson’s?”
Diggy hunched low in his seat and pretended to sleep.
Diggy had a couple of morning classes with Jason and Crystal, but it wasn’t until lunch that they were able to corner him. Well, Crystal was able to corner him. Jason was a lot like his Uncle Rick, though where Lenz had his cows, Jason did most of his talking to sheep.
Jason and Crystal both competed sheep, though Crystal lived in town and had to keep hers out at Jason’s farm. The three of them had always known one another, but it wasn’t until that first 4-H meeting in fourth grade that they really became friends.
“So, Wayne Graf,” Crystal said as soon as they all sat down with their lunch trays.
“How did you even hear about that?” Diggy wasn’t unpopular, but he wasn’t popular, either. Neither was Wayne. So the fact that a bit of gossip about Wayne riding the bus with him had spread around school so quickly was kind of baffling. It wasn’t like anyone could know why Wayne had been on the bus. Diggy hoped not anyway.
“Darla told me. You know she likes you.”
Diggy had meant to stay focused on the bus stuff, but … “She does?”
“You are such a boy.”
“When did you get to be such a girl?”
“Birth.”
Jason laughed.
Which made Diggy laugh, because Jason’s laugh was kind of a suppressed snort from his years of trying to stay low-key around his sheep. Diggy knew animals reacted to human emotion, but Jason took it to a new level. Crystal shook her head at the two of them, then couldn’t hold back her own grin.
“Tell us true,” Crystal ordered, “or all you’ll be hearing next is ‘Diggy and Darla sitting in a tree,’” she sang. “That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Diggy and Darla. Darla and Diggy. I can go on like this the entire period,” Crystal warned.
“I’d tell you, but who can get a word in?”
Jason grunted. Crystal thumped his arm. A normal conversation.
Then Crystal got serious and leaned across the table to give them more privacy. “But you’re okay, right?”
Diggy sighed. He was really glad these two people were his friends. They had already made him feel better than he had all weekend. But he had no idea how to explain this thing he hardly understood himself.
He cleared his throat. “Wayne’s moving in with me and Pop for a while.”
“But he’s a town kid,” Crystal said.
Diggy and Jason stared at her. That was her first reaction? Especially considering where she lived?
“I live in town,” Crystal argued, “but I’m a country girl at heart. And you both know it.”
“Why?” Jason asked.
“Because I love the animals and the land and the space and quiet and—” Crystal bit her lip. “You meant Diggy.” She actually blushed.
Diggy didn’t mind her answering the question—he certainly didn’t want to. “His dad’s a little messed up since Mrs. Graf died.”
Jason nodded. “I’ve heard some stuff.”
“You have?” Diggy asked, surprised. Though it wasn’t surprising Jason hadn’t passed on whatever he’d heard. He took that phrase “If you don’t have anything nice to say …” seriously.
“But why you?” Crystal asked. “It’s not like you’re friends, and he’s related to—what, half the county? Isn’t your bus driver one of his aunts?”
“How did you know that?” Diggy said. He had been totally caught off guard when Wayne called Mrs. Osborn “Aunt Em” on the bus. Even though he had seen Mrs. Osborn at Mrs. Graf’s funeral and knew vaguely that they were related, he just hadn’t thought it through all the way.
/> “Boys,” Crystal said again, like that was an answer. “So? Why you?”
The problem with having 4-H friends who competed animals was that they noticed when something was out of place—a hoof, a hairline, a glaring absence of the whole truth.
“Wayne might be …” No, Diggy couldn’t go that way. He couldn’t use the word brother, or even half brother. “It turns out that … Pop might be Wayne’s, uh, actual dad.”
He had said it out loud.
Like it was real.
Everything before had been a denial, or at least an argument, but telling his friends was like accepting it was true no matter what he thought about it.
All of a sudden, the cafeteria seemed really quiet, like everyone was listening, even though the volume of chatter around them hadn’t changed at all.
“His dad,” Crystal repeated.
“Maybe.”
“You’re skipping your next class,” she announced.
“Uh …” Diggy said.
“Lunch period’s too short,” Jason agreed.
“You’re skipping class,” Crystal explained, “and we’re going to the activities room, and you’re telling us everything.” Crystal looked at Jason, who nodded, then back at Diggy.
He was reminded of her in the show ring, all determined and surprisingly pretty.
Usually she wore jeans and too-big shirts. If she didn’t have a long ponytail, he’d hardly know she was a girl. But in the ring she was most definitely a girl—dressed like all the others with almost-tight jeans; a fitted, Western-style top that matched her blue eyes; rhinestones on her belt and on a clip holding back her blond hair. She was beautiful and confident, and he always cheered like crazy for her, even when they knew she wouldn’t win. That wasn’t the point.
They were friends.
“Okay,” he said.
DIGGY FELT SO MUCH BETTER AFTER TALKING WITH CRYSTAL AND JASON, HE HADN’T thought about the riding-the-bus-home-with-Wayne business. But it had been on other people’s minds—both Mr. Graf and Wayne’s grandparents were waiting for the kid when school let out.
All the other kids knew who they were, too, because as soon as Wayne got outside, Graf started hollering at him to get his butt into the car—so, drinking again—while Wayne’s grandpa yelled at Graf to stop yelling on school property, and Wayne’s grandma tried to bear-hug Wayne into their car. The teachers tried to herd the students to the buses, but no one made it easy, and quite a few of the parents watched with the clear intention of not missing a thing.
Diggy honestly had no idea how he ended up in the middle of everything, with Wayne clutching his arm like he was a life preserver and with Wayne’s grandma staring at him like he was Jaws himself.
“You let him go this instant,” Wayne’s grandma said to Diggy in her German accent, even though Wayne was the one holding on to him.
Vogl. That was her name.
“Stay away from him!” Graf shouted at her, but Mr. Vogl had gotten hold of Graf, and he couldn’t break free. Mr. Vogl might not be young, but he was still as strong as an ox and not drunk. Graf added, “He’s my son.”
“That you took to Pop Lawson,” Mrs. Vogl said, like she meant a strip bar or, you know, hell. “He’s our grandson. You bring him to us.”
“You always hated me. Never good enough for your sweet, innocent little girl,” Graf sneered. “But look what she did!”
Unbelievably, Wayne started pulling Diggy toward the buses, and Graf and the grandparents were mad enough at one another not to notice. It helped that the entire student body of 250 or so was there to witness the scene. Jason had gotten himself in front of Diggy and Wayne and helped make room for them.
Diggy didn’t know where Wayne thought they were going, until, unbelievably, he tried to get on the bus. That Mrs. Osborn drove. His aunt.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. “You march right on over to Mom and Dad. We’ve already got a family meeting planned to figure things out.”
“Do you hear them?” Wayne shouted. “They’re crazy! I’m not going—”
“Harold’s the crazy one!” she told him. “That loser piece of—He doesn’t want you, that’s fine. But you’re going with Mom and Dad.”
“Jeez,” Diggy said before he could stop himself.
“Don’t you start,” Mrs. Osborn snapped.
“Me? Do you even hear how mean you’re being? You’re talking about his dad. I mean, I want Wayne to go with you guys, too, but … jeez.”
“Gee, thanks, Diggy,” Wayne mumbled.
“You know what I mean,” Diggy muttered.
Mrs. Osborn tried to speak more calmly. “We’re adults. You’re children. That means we have to decide what’s best for you, and what your mom would have wanted.” She turned her face away, then her shoulders started shaking. “Ann’s not even gone three weeks.”
It hit Diggy that Mrs. Osborn was Mrs. Graf’s sister. He knew she was Wayne’s aunt, and that meant she was Mrs. Graf’s sister, but still, it was weird thinking of it that way. Mrs. Osborn’s sister had died. And she was Wayne’s aunt. And she drove the bus.
The sounds outside shifted. The yelling had stopped, but hundreds of feet shuffled closer to the bus while still making room for Mrs. Vogl to pass by them.
Graf staggered back to his truck, but that didn’t make Diggy feel better at all.
“Aunt Em, please,” Wayne said. “I just want to go home.”
Mrs. Osborn turned around, not bothering to hide that she was crying. “So go with—”
“With Diggy. I want to go home with Diggy.”
She studied Wayne’s face. “That’s what you really want?”
“Yes.”
She slapped the door closed.
“Emilyn Rose Vogl, what do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Vogl shouted, her accent so thick, it almost sounded like she was speaking German. “Open this door!”
Emilyn Rose Vogl Osborn cranked the engine.
“Uh, Mrs. Osborn?” Diggy said, grabbing a seat back to keep from falling.
“I hope this is the right thing, Ann,” she said as she took off.
Diggy looked out at the kids on his route who were not on the bus. Which was all of them. Because, despite their teachers’ efforts, no one had gone to any of their buses, in order to watch the show.
He and Wayne rode off in an empty school bus.
“Uh, Mrs. Osborn?” he said again.
“They can take the activities bus.” She gripped the steering wheel and stared down that road like it was a NASCAR race and every second counted.
And thank heavens she did.
Because when Graf swerved his pickup in front of her, she swerved the other way in time to get around him.
Diggy fell hard into Wayne. When Mrs. Osborn corrected again, the two of them were jolted in the opposite direction. Diggy’s back felt split in half against a seat before he bounced off and sprawled facedown in the opposite seat, holding on before he rolled all the way to the floor.
“Are you two all right?” Mrs. Osborn asked. But she didn’t stop.
Diggy turned over and sat up. Wayne pulled himself up from the aisle. He’d gotten a good smack to the side of his forehead—it was already bright pink but otherwise looked okay.
They stared at each other.
What the heck had just happened?
Diggy remembered Graf and raced to the back of the bus.
Graf’s truck was in a ditch.
“Holy crap.”
“He’s fine,” Mrs. Osborn said. “I saw him get out and walk around the truck.”
Diggy thought Wayne would say something, but the guy only stared out a window. A side window.
“Don’t you think we should go back?” Diggy asked.
“Wayne wants to go to your house, so I’m taking him to your house.” Mrs. Osborn’s smile reflected at them from the big rearview mirror. “The crazy people can be crazy on their own time.”
Diggy decided Mrs. Osborn was the coolest bus driver ever.
> Except, on the way home, Mrs. Osborn started talking. The ride should have been a lot shorter without having to make all the regular stops, but it felt longer and longer the more she had to say to Wayne.
About how he could stay with her if he didn’t want to be with his grandparents. Or with another aunt who had offered to take him in. Or how he could move in with different members of the family until he decided where he felt most comfortable. How they all loved him, and would he please come to the family meeting tonight. How she would try to support him no matter what he decided, but he should really be with family who loved him.
Diggy wished he’d been left behind to wait for the activities bus, too.
Wayne had all those people who wanted him. So with all those choices, what the heck was he doing at Diggy’s house?
MRS. OSBORN DIDN’T LET THEM OUT AT THE END OF THE DRIVE. SHE PULLED all the way up to the house, and Pop was already outside waiting for her.
Diggy went straight to the barn. He was sick of being in the middle of all of Wayne’s crap.
Joker did a little hop, then bawled, like he was happy to see Diggy but was ticked it had taken him so long to get back. Being alone was a big adjustment for a calf. Weaning was tough, but usually other calves were around, and his mama was nearby even if he couldn’t get to her. Diggy liked to think his steers’ isolation gave him an edge against competitors who raised a lot of cattle. His animals had only him, so they bonded good and tight. But it made him feel bad to think that way, too—kind of merciless and hard-hearted. Raising a competitive steer took a lot of time, period. But Diggy always gave his steers as many hours as he could to make up for their being separated from the herd.
Diggy got the rice root brush from its peg and gave Joker a good brushing. There wasn’t much dead hair to clean out yet, but it was never too early to begin training the hair to stand up straight. Calves were sensitive to their trainer’s feelings, but just as often it went the other way for Diggy, and he was grateful for that today. He worked himself—and Joker—into a trancelike state, methodically brushing the calf’s hair forward from the legs, rump, middle, neck, chest, and head. When he got to Joker’s face, the calf was so zoned out, Diggy thought he could get away with a wash and blow-dry, but it was still early for that much noise and activity—it was enough that Joker was doing so well with the halter.
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