Steering Toward Normal

by Rebecca Petruck

  Wayne rolled his eyes at Diggy, then sighed. “I don’t want him to look stupid, that’s all. He’s been a good calf.”

  “He’ll look fine.” Diggy pointed to where the dog had gotten Fang. “The hair’s grown back good over the dog bite, too.”

  “In the wrong direction.”

  Diggy shrugged. “That’s what spray adhesive is for.”

  The longer days meant that they had to wait longer to walk the steers in the dark. At not-quite sundown, though, Graf drove up. He sat in the truck awhile before getting out.

  Diggy wasn’t sure why, but he got that twisting feeling in his stomach. He had a vivid memory of when Wayne was dumped at their house and Graf drove back later that night and sat in their driveway, his truck lights on, smoking, until Pop went out to meet him. Diggy looked toward the house, but either Pop hadn’t heard Graf pull up, or he wasn’t worried about Graf’s being there.

  Diggy wasn’t sure why he was worried about Graf’s being there. It didn’t make sense to be. Graf got out of the truck and asked them stuff about the steers. He was sober. He said all the right stuff. But he was different about it. Like he had to concentrate on being sober and saying the right stuff.

  Diggy glanced over at Wayne and felt a little more sick. Wayne had that look like something wasn’t right, too. The steers’ behavior was an exclamation point on the unnamed worry. They shied away from Graf, and Joker managed to get a hoof on Diggy’s foot. The steel-toed boots protected his toes, but it had been forever since he had needed them to.

  “That April Fools’ was some good time, huh?” But Graf sounded as if it had been a bad time.

  Wayne didn’t say anything, so Diggy said, “You had a good time, too.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Graf agreed sarcastically. “I like seeing my son all settled in with Lawson. Just warms my heart right up.”

  “You were part of it,” Diggy protested. “If you hadn’t double-crossed us, it wouldn’t have worked!”

  “I’m the double-crosser?” Graf shouted. He glared at Wayne. “You ever even think of coming home?”

  Fang had put himself between Graf and Wayne. Wayne opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He petted the calf.

  “I stay sober, you come home!” Graf yelled. “That was the deal.” He flashed a green coin he must have gotten from Alcoholics Anonymous. “I got three months straight. Now I’m getting letters from school about your eighth-grade graduation. You’ve been here a whole year!”

  It wouldn’t be a year until after the State Fair, but Diggy caught himself in time to chew the words back in. Wayne had been here most of a school year, and his dad wanted him home.

  Diggy felt that same distortion of space/time like when Wayne first moved in. The unreality of Wayne’s being there. The why of his being there. They had looped back to the beginning, but not really. It wouldn’t be back to normal, because even though it would be Wayne not there, it would be Wayne not there after having been there. That was a very different thing. Diggy could practically see the parallel universes split before him, and he wasn’t sure if he felt sick because of the double vision or because he didn’t know which branch he was supposed to want.

  Graf was right about their deal. But Wayne lived with them now. When had Diggy gotten so used to Wayne’s being around that it was weird to think of him not being around?

  Wayne said, “I have to take care of Fang.”

  Graf clomped a few feet away, as if that would keep the boys from hearing the curse words he muttered before he came back to them.

  “You like Lawson better now? Is that it?”

  Wayne looked over at Diggy, and Graf got even louder.

  “Don’t look at him!” Graf stormed up right next to Fang, squeezing the steer between him and Wayne. “I’m your dad. Me! I’m the one you’re supposed to stay with.”

  Wayne blinked in slow motion. “I need to go take care of Fang.”

  Diggy was afraid. Until that moment, he had never met anyone who might truly do anything. No one was entirely unpredictable, not really. Except Graf. In this moment, he could do any of a thousand things—to regret, to fear, to hate, to mourn. Waiting was like teetering at the edge of a cliff, and it was made worse because it was clear that Graf didn’t know what he would do, either, and meshed within his rage was simple dread. In that moment, Diggy realized the most terrifying person was someone afraid of himself.

  Only two or three seconds warped like forever; then Graf stomped off. With all his might, he reared back and threw his AA chip far, far away. The coin didn’t know any better and glinted like a wish in the sunlight.

  Graf’s tires spat gravel as he revved down the driveway.

  Diggy’s hands shook. A part of his brain calculated that probably not more than five minutes had passed in Graf’s presence. His hands shook more.

  That was Graf sober.

  “Don’t tell Pop,” Wayne said.

  Diggy nodded. Pop would be ticked.

  Except the next morning, Graf came out to make amends, so Pop found out anyway. Pop had a lot more patience for Graf than he did for the boys, which was so backward, but neither of them could explain why they hadn’t told him what had happened. Everything was such a twisted mess, they couldn’t wait to get to school, and if that wasn’t the sign of the end of normalcy, Diggy didn’t know what was.

  Fortunately, the routine of school was a powerful force, and Diggy actually took comfort when a math problem about two tractors traveling at different speeds inspired some kid to say, “That one’s for Diggy.” Getting teased about his mom’s escape on the tractor was just so ordinary. By the time he and Wayne got off the bus and headed out to the calves, it was like Graf’s rage had never happened.

  MINNESOTA HAD ITS QUIRKS. SNOW HAD FALLEN IN LATE APRIL BEFORE. No one really trusted spring until May.

  Spring was crazy time. Birds sang their guts out. Kubat’s dogs barked at every speck of dust, or so Diggy figured. He heard them going nonstop whenever he got to the tree line during his walks with Joker. Joker didn’t get worked up hearing the dogs anymore, but he didn’t like their springtime frenzy, either, so Diggy cut short that part of the loop for a while. Joker needed to be used to distraction by the time he got to the fair and the show ring, but that didn’t mean he had to put up with dogs too dumb to know what was worth barking at.

  Diggy wasn’t really surprised when he got Joker back to the barn and found Wayne fighting with Fang about standing still for his wash and blow-dry.

  “Stupid cow!” Wayne hollered. “You like this part!”

  “Whoa. You know, you only make it worse when you get mad.”

  “What do you know about anything?” Wayne twisted the hose faucet to high, stomping back to Fang like he would blast the steer.

  “I know Kubat’s dogs aren’t the only ones who have lost their minds.” Diggy nodded meaningfully at the spray nozzle in Wayne’s hand.

  Wayne threw it to the ground, then shoved his hands into his hair and, like, growled.

  “What is up with you?” Diggy asked, tying Joker’s lead so he’d be out of the way of Wayne’s mood. Diggy tried to maintain his calm for the animals’ sake, but he had no patience for a kid who’d take his frustration out on a steer. He had thought Wayne really cared about Fang.

  “Pop keeps getting calls,” Wayne grumbled.

  “Uh …” That was not at all what Diggy had expected. “So?”

  “About going out! About meeting at Otto’s and having some drinks and playing pool,” Wayne mimicked nastily.

  “Pop has friends,” Diggy argued. “Jeez. He’s hardly gone anywhere but Ole Jib’s and the grocery store since you got here.”

  “I haven’t given him the messages.”

  “What?” Pop would be ticked when he found out. Wayne would get the bawling-out of his life. He had certainly had a license to walk all over Diggy for months. Maybe Pop would finally understand what it felt like.

  “I don’t care,” Wayne said, brushing Fang against his will. The stee
r’s hooves caught Wayne’s steel-toed boots a couple of times, but Wayne never flinched or moved. He mumbled, “They won’t talk to me.”

  “Pop’s friends?”

  “Her parents! I kept calling, but they didn’t return my messages until today. I got her mom, and she—” He clutched the Scotch comb so tightly, he had to be breaking skin. “She told me off and said not to call anymore.”

  Wayne had called Diggy’s mom’s parents.

  Wayne had called Diggy’s mom’s parents more than once, even though Diggy had told him not to call at all.

  And they hadn’t said anything.

  Diggy wasn’t sure what to think about that information, but he sure as heck knew what he wanted to do about Wayne.

  He hauled Wayne away from Fang so quickly, Wayne tripped over his own feet and fell down. Diggy was thinking Fang had the right idea about walking all over the guy, but Wayne was up too fast and lunging at Diggy. Diggy got out of the way just in time to avoid a collision but turned fast enough to shove Wayne down again. Diggy was pretty sure he couldn’t get into a real fight with Wayne right now, because if Diggy started hitting Wayne, he was afraid he might never stop.

  Wayne rolled over, and maybe he saw something in Diggy’s face, because he didn’t get up. “You should be glad. I’m actually doing something to find her.”

  “Haven’t you noticed, Wayne,” Diggy sneered, “you only care about finding my mom when your dad screws up.”

  Diggy blinked at his own words. He hadn’t noticed that before. He hadn’t known those were the words that would come out of his mouth when he opened it, but they were true. “Just go home already.” Diggy sighed. “It’s what you want.”

  “It’s what you want. You never cared about me. My mom is dead!”

  “That’s not—”

  “Pop is my real father!” Wayne yelled.

  “Your dad is your real father!” Diggy yelled back. “And my mom is my mom. Just …” It was Diggy’s turn to growl before adding, “Just stay away from her, and stay away from me.”

  The next day, Crystal needed all of one look and three seconds to figure out something had happened. No questions were asked, though. She looped her arm through Diggy’s, grabbed Jason, and walked into school, never once looking back at Wayne.

  THE SCHOOL YEAR ENDED. FINALLY.

  DIGGY MET UP WITH CRYSTAL AND JASON as often as he could, usually at Jason’s, since Crystal had to go there anyway to take care of her sheep. But her mom’s hours had changed at work, so it was hard for Crystal to get rides when she wanted them. The long days meant she could ride her bike, but it was a haul from town. Diggy and Jason ended up on their own as often as not, catching sunfish in the oxbow river that made a nice, deep curve near Jason’s farm.

  Diggy’s grandparents were supposed to come up to visit for the month of June, as usual, but Grandpa caught bronchitis. Grandma told them he’d be fine, but Diggy knew Pop worried. Last summer, he and Pop would have flown to Texas for a week instead, but now there was Wayne.

  Diggy spent a ton of time with Joker. Wayne avoided him by jumbling up the routine, rinsing and blowing Fang while Diggy walked Joker, then heading out when Diggy came in. Wayne spent even more time tramping through the woods or up in his room.

  Diggy was thoroughly, completely, absolutely fine with Wayne staying out of his way. He had zero interest in having anything to do with the kid. He had too many other things to think about. First and foremost, the county fair. He had to do well at county to earn a trip to State. He needed to focus, and Wayne complicated Diggy’s thoughts.

  It was kind of a relief when Graf came out with his bright blue six-month chip. With the way things were, Diggy fully expected Wayne to go home with his dad this time, and Diggy was glad, thrilled, ecstatic. He wanted normal again. Whatever that looked like.

  But Graf screwed it up. He didn’t ask Wayne to go home with him.

  Instead, Graf spent almost an hour talking with Pop alone. Then he took Wayne somewhere for the rest of the day.

  After Wayne got dropped back at the house, he kept giving Diggy weird looks until Diggy finally snapped, “What?”

  Wayne seemed surprised at being caught out but quickly reverted to his hard-jawed snottiness. “You don’t need to know everything I’m thinking all the time.”

  “You were the one looking at me,” Diggy grumbled. “And no one knows what you’re thinking. Including you.”

  Wayne stomped upstairs, and Diggy threw himself onto the living room couch. He flipped through some channels but turned off the TV in frustration. Nothing was ever on when he needed it to be.

  Pop sat down next to him. He squeezed Diggy’s neck, then thumped his knee.

  “Not this time, Pop,” Diggy protested.

  “The first anniversary is coming up, and Fang will go to the packer on top of it. I’m just asking you to be patient.”

  “So will Joker!” Diggy said. “Are you telling Wayne to be patient, too?”

  “I’m telling you.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Lots of things aren’t fair, Diggy. We do what we have to.”

  That phrase again, from back when Wayne first moved in. The one that used to claw at Diggy’s heart like a yeti on the hunt. Not anymore.

  Diggy finished his level-three model rocket and devised a plan for getting his hands on the eighteen-and-older-only engines.

  Fair preparations ramped up. Mid-July was the county fair.

  But first came July Johnston’s birthday.

  Not that Diggy felt much like a party. When he wasn’t ticked about Wayne, he worried about Joker and showing him well and whether he’d win a trip to the State Fair, even though it was 99 percent sure he would. That 1 percent chance of not making it would be on him.

  And July’s party made him sad. It was her birthday party, but it was also her graduation party. She would start at UMN in the fall. She’d be gone.

  When Pop offered to take them into town to buy her a present, Wayne announced that he had already gotten her one.

  Diggy stared, his stomach hollow. Wayne glanced at him, then looked away. He shrugged his shoulder like it was no big deal, but Diggy went from feeling hollow to hot. Warm air breezed over his cheeks like a breath on a spark and lit him up even more.

  Wayne hadn’t said a word about July, her birthday coming up, or getting her a gift. If Pop hadn’t said something, would Wayne have let July’s birthday come and given her a present while Diggy stood around like a jerk with his hands in empty pockets?

  “It’s no big deal,” Wayne said to the house. “Just something I found.” His face was red.

  Good, Diggy thought. Let him be embarrassed. Diggy would give July the most perfect gift, and Wayne could blush all day.

  Of course, there was the figuring out of the “perfect gift.” Diggy groomed and walked Joker and thought so hard, his brain steamed.

  The moon was up early and bright in a clear sky, but Diggy felt a few raindrops, then a few more. There was one gray cloud smudging the night overhead. One cloud and it was raining. On him. Which felt about right, considering the last few months.

  Diggy hunched his shoulders against the fat, scattered plops and headed for the barn. A raindrop popped hard into a dry spot of dirt, a ring of dust puffing up in a tiny explosion like the exhaust when he ignited a model-rocket engine.

  Diggy tilted his face into the rain, mouth open and smiling. He knew what he would do for July’s birthday.

  Saturday morning, Diggy packed up the level-three, two-stage model rocket and carefully stored the engines and other supplies to take to July’s birthday party. Pop and Wayne looked at his duffel bag, but neither asked him about it, just like Diggy didn’t ask Wayne about what looked like a shoe box wrapped in red paper and a blue bow.

  Diggy thought they would be early, but the party was well under way when they arrived. There were people everywhere, and more than half of them were Johnstons. July was the youngest of six, and four of her sisters were married
with kids. Both sets of grandparents were not only alive and present, they were herding grandkids like it was a challenge to see who could collect the most and seat them with a plate of food the longest. Since the kids were more interested in their cousins than potato salad, the grandkid-feeding contest was always on.

  Stereo speakers had been positioned at a window—which would only have been weirdly old-fashioned if Pop didn’t still have his dad’s old system in the house, too—and someone had put on a polka record, of all things. The polka should have been ridiculous, but Mrs. Johnston made it seem the only logical musical choice as she circled in and out of the house and around picnic tables, first with a pitcher of lemonade, then a bowl of sliced cucumbers, then a plate of thumbprint cookies, and on and on, the tables already loaded with fresh rolls and cut fruit and sliced meat and grilled bratwurst and homemade pickles and chocolate-covered peanut-butter balls and a dozen other good things.

  The other guests were high school kids and everyone from 4-H. Diggy barely had a chance to talk to Crystal and Jason, though, because people started catching him to talk about his steer and the State Fair.

  He knew a lot of them from the hardware store, or as 4-H parents, or farmers Pop met with sometimes—they weren’t people Diggy normally talked much with. But this was July’s crowd, and everyone knew that July was grooming him to take over as the next Grand Champion.

  It was pretty cool at first. The men asked him questions about Joker, his routine and feed schedule, and really listened to his answers. Someone made sure he got a bowl of “the green stuff”—a combination of pistachio pudding, whipped cream, and fruit cocktail—his favorite and always the first dessert to disappear. And it seemed like everyone at the party made a point of stopping by to say hi, announce he didn’t have to worry about county, and wish him luck at State.