Wrong Way Summer

by Heidi Lang

  “Dad, seriously?” Claire groaned. Clearly her dad’s storytelling drive had returned with a vengeance.

  “An ant colony?” Patrick chewed his lip thoughtfully.

  “Oh yes. You see, I’d fallen asleep, and when I woke up, I was surrounded, all these tiny red and black—”

  “Dad!” Claire said. “Focus. Wrong Way Jacobus. Let’s stick to one story at a time, okay?”

  He grinned. “Fine. Wrong Way Jacobus.” He cleared his throat. “Last time we left Edgar, he was heading out on a cattle drive with Johnny and their new mysterious friend, Ken.”

  “Wait, what about Evangeline Rose?” Claire asked. “Did Edgar just leave her behind?”

  “He had no choice. He couldn’t exactly sweep her off her feet with only one measly breadstick to his name.”

  “Not all women care about money,” Claire said. She thought of Justin, who lived in a van. She’d stay in a van for him. Then she thought of how she’d had to pee in the woods twice yesterday and wasn’t as sure.

  “In this case it wasn’t just about money. Edgar had yet to prove himself, and he knew this cattle drive was his best chance. Still, he hated the idea of leaving Evangeline Rose, and with someone named Dirk, of all things. Ken had promised to put in a good word when they returned, but Edgar didn’t quite trust her, and so he insisted on meeting his love one last time before they left. So the night before they departed from San Francisco, Ken brought Edgar to Evangeline Rose’s window, and—”

  “Hold up. Her window?” Claire wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that sort of stalker-y?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Patrick chimed in. “That’s super creepy.”

  Their dad laughed. “Maybe your ancestor was a creepy guy.”

  “Great,” Claire muttered. Then she remembered how Mike had come to her window, and her face flushed. It hadn’t seemed as creepy when he did that, mostly because he was so awkward and earnest and she’d known him forever. He was just Mike.

  She pictured Mike, and then Justin, who was his opposite in so many ways. Cool and confident instead of awkward. The kind of boy who could fit in anywhere.

  Guilt immediately washed over Claire, and she dropped that thought.

  “Or maybe,” her dad continued, “he met her in her back garden instead.”

  “Who?” Claire asked, confused.

  “Wrong Way Jacobus,” Patrick said. “Who else?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Claire carefully studied the scenery outside, trying to ignore the scarlet cheeks in her reflection in the window.

  “He crept in among the rose bushes,” her dad continued, “and waited until Ken brought her to see him. As soon as their eyes met, Edgar threw himself to his knees in front of her and proclaimed his undying love.”

  “Dramatic,” Claire said.

  “And stupid,” Patrick added.

  “A fair assessment, on both counts. But in this case . . . it was effective.”

  “Really?” Patrick said.

  “Oh, yes. You forget, Edgar may not have had money or fame. But he had one thing in spades, and that was the ole Jacobus charm.” He grinned. “Plus, just like your dad, he was one heck of a handsome guy.”

  “Ugh, Dad.” Claire rolled her eyes.

  “Evangeline told Edgar she didn’t want to marry Dirk, who viewed her as a prop more than a person, but that she couldn’t run away with just anyone. ‘Solve one riddle, and I am yours,’ she said. ‘Tell me, what is my heart’s greatest desire?’

  “Edgar thought that sounded complicated. ‘Er, how about I just go forth and make my fortune to prove myself to you?’

  “But Evangeline wisely told him, ‘Not all women care about money.’”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Claire hid her smile with one hand.

  “Of course, Edgar didn’t know her heart’s desire, and so he left her there. But she warned him before he slipped away that she’d be marrying Dirk in a year’s time. He had until then to return and solve that riddle, or she’d be lost to him forever.”

  “So what did he do, Dad?” Patrick whispered.

  “He went on that cattle drive, where Ken immediately charmed Johnny into becoming her sidekick, leaving Edgar on the outskirts. He knew if things got tense, he’d be the one left behind, and that made him nervous. Still, they had their herd, and they were making great progress, until one rainy, windswept night, when one of the cows cried out in pain. She fell to her knees, and Edgar realized: she was giving birth . . .”

  Edgar labored with her all through the night. Even after a few weeks on the trail, he didn’t know much about cows, but he knew a lot about bread, and about working hard in hot, sticky, stressful conditions. And in the deepest, darkest part of night, he finally pulled forth a baby calf.

  This calf was pure black, as black as the ocean on a moonless night, except for one tiny spot around her left eye. “I’ll name you . . . Rye,” Edgar declared, toweling her off.

  The mother cow gave a piteous moan, and Edgar checked her, noticing another pair of hoofs sticking out. “A second calf?”

  “Seems like an ill omen,” Johnny said. He and Ken had stayed a careful distance away this whole time. “I’d suggest you leave her, and the other calf, too.”

  “Would I leave a loaf of bread to burn in the oven?” Edgar demanded.

  “I’m guessing . . . maybe?” Johnny said.

  “He probably leaves it in the oven a week,” Ken said. She’d tried eating a bite of Edgar’s baguette at the start of their journey and almost lost a tooth.

  Edgar glared at both of them. “The answer is no. No, I would not leave a loaf of bread to burn in the oven. Obviously.”

  “Didn’t seem so obvious to me,” Johnny muttered, but Edgar ignored him, gritted his teeth, and went back to work.

  The second calf was born just as the first faint rays of the sun struck the earth. This calf was a pure, milky white, except for a black ring around his right eye. “I shall name you . . . Sourdough.”

  “That’s a terrible name,” Johnny said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ken cut in. “It’s good that they have terrible names, although it would be far better if they had no names at all.”

  “Why?” Edgar asked. He was completely exhausted, so tired even his bones ached.

  Ken flashed her most wicked grin. “Because that way you won’t get too attached to them.”

  Edgar frowned. “Why shouldn’t I get attached?” But just at that moment, the mother cow gave another piteous moan . . . and died.

  “Wait, she died?” Claire scowled. “What is this, some kind of Disney story?”

  “It’s not my fault, honey,” her dad said. “I’m just recounting the events as they happened.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Is this it?” Patrick asked suddenly. “It looks like they’re slowing.”

  Her dad frowned as he slowed down, too, their van bumping along a narrow dirt road. Trees hugged too close on either side, and every few seconds came the awful scrape of a branch gouging the top of their van. Claire felt her teeth rattle, and there was nothing but dust all around as they continued jostling along.

  And then finally they stopped in a small clearing. Up ahead, Celeste had already thrown open the doors to her van and leapt out, dancing around with her arms outstretched. “Welcome, welcome,” she trilled.

  Claire got out of their van and looked around. It just looked like a clearing in the woods next to a pitted dirt road. No bathrooms in sight, no barbecues, no nothing.

  Her dad dropped a hand on her shoulder, squeezed. “See?” he said. “Hashtag vanlife.”

  “Hashtag vanlife,” Claire agreed, saying the words easily now.

  “Ugh, let’s get this over with,” Patrick said, stomping away.

  Claire and her dad exchanged looks, and then he shrugged. “I guess there’s gotta be one in every crowd. The great balance of my life. But, do me a favor, would you? Try to include your brother, at least a little. Okay? I think he’s feeling left out.”

  Claire sigh
ed. “Yes, Dad,” she promised.

  CHAPTER 24

  Claire kept her promise, and so Patrick tagged along as Justin taught her how to climb trees and identify bird tracks and gave her tips for surviving in the wilderness. “I’d be totally fine, you know, if my parents left me out here. I’m a survivor. That’s the real reason why I sleep outside the van any chance I get. I like to feel the trees around me, so I can be a part of nature.”

  “Wow,” Claire said.

  “A hammock is really the best way to go, because that way you’re a part of nature, but you’re also a little above it.”

  “We sleep in hammocks, too,” Patrick said.

  Justin frowned. “I guess so. But they’re not, like, real hammocks.”

  “Why not?” Patrick asked.

  “Because you can’t hang them from a tree.”

  Claire hadn’t realized there could be fake hammocks. But obviously Justin knew about these things.

  “I know about these things,” he confirmed. “Real hammocks are great, though. I mean, unless you’re scared of bears.” He ran a hand back through his thick chestnut-brown hair, tousling it so it fell around his face. “I’m not afraid of bears, of course.”

  “Of course,” Patrick muttered, kicking at the dirt. “I’m going to see Dad.”

  Claire watched her brother stomp away. He seemed so . . . small. For a second she thought about going after him, but then Justin smiled at her, his crooked smile, and staying here suddenly seemed like a much better idea. Patrick would be fine. Besides, she had spent so much time with her brother lately, it was kind of nice getting a break. “Have you seen a bear before?” she asked Justin.

  “Oh, yeah.” He kicked a rock. “One time a bear was even right over my hammock. I could see its teeth and smell the death on its breath. I thought it was my time, you know?”

  Claire nodded, pretending that she did know. “And what happened next?”

  “Well, I growled at the bear.”

  “You growled?”

  “Yes. Like this.” And he made a sound low in his throat. It sounded a lot like Ronnie’s cat choking up a hairball.

  Claire giggled, but stopped immediately at the look on Justin’s face. Clearly he hadn’t meant it to be funny. “Sorry—” she began.

  “Oh, Justin!” Celeste called. “We need you, dear heart.”

  Justin sighed. “Another video, probably.” He glanced at Claire, frowning slightly, like he was reevaluating her. Like he’d decided maybe she wasn’t the funny, cool, confident girl he’d first thought she was. Her stomach sank. But then he asked, “Want to meet up again when I’m done? We can go do something together.”

  Claire’s heart raced. Do something? Hadn’t they been doing things? “Um, sure,” she said, even though she didn’t know what he meant.

  He touched her cheek, the tips of his fingers grazing her skin. Claire froze, not even breathing. “See you around, Claire.” He dropped his hand, then headed to his van.

  Claire stood there for a long time, then went back to her own van, her face still burning in the places Justin had touched her.

  The side door of the van was already open. Patrick sat inside at the table, playing around with a toy train he’d gotten at the museum.

  Claire leaned her head inside. “You okay?”

  Patrick shrugged.

  “That’s it? I’ve been your sister your whole life, and that’s all the response I get?”

  He sighed and looked up at her. “I don’t like Justin.”

  “You . . . what? Why?”

  “Because he’s a jerk.”

  Claire flinched. “How would you know? You haven’t even given him a chance. Just because Dad likes spending time with him—”

  “That’s not it!”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t like when Mike came over and helped out with the van, either.”

  “Mike was just helping to impress you.”

  Claire’s stomach lurched. “What? No.”

  Patrick snorted. “Dad told him how Edgar impressed Evangeline Rose, and suddenly Mike was all about helping with our van. Because he’s, like, in love with you.” Patrick grimaced, like that was the grossest thing ever, grosser even than a mouthful of peas.

  “H-how do you . . . I mean, that’s ridiculous.” Claire’s cheeks felt too warm. When had her brother gotten so perceptive? “Whatever.”

  “Whatever,” he mimicked.

  “Look, you got mad at me for not trying with this whole hashtag vanlife thing, so here’s me trying. I’m doing it. And now you’re the one being a baby about it.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Oh yeah? You’re just sitting in here.” She crossed her arms. “You’re being unfun.”

  Patrick flinched as if she’d just slapped him.

  “Claire?” Justin called.

  Claire whirled. “Oh! Hey. Photoshoot already done?”

  “Photoshoot,” Patrick muttered disgustedly.

  “Got it in one.” Justin took her hand, just like that. Like they held hands all the time. “I want to show you something.”

  “What is it?” Patrick asked.

  Justin blinked. “Oh. Patrick. I . . . didn’t see you in there.”

  “What do you want to show Claire?” Patrick asked, stone-faced.

  Justin winked at Claire. “It’s a surprise.”

  When her dad winked, it was just cheesy. But Justin made it look hot.

  “What kind of surprise?” Patrick asked, still staring at Justin like he could laser through him with his eyes.

  Justin frowned. “Do you not know the meaning of the word ‘surprise’?”

  And now Claire frowned. Yeah, Patrick was being a total pest, but Justin didn’t have to be rude about it. “He’s just curious,” she said.

  Justin’s eyes widened. He studied her, then turned back to her brother. “You know, I’m sorry, Patrick,” he said. “I’m not really used to having a little brother. But I consider you a brother. I hope you realize that.”

  Patrick didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened on his toy train.

  “I mean, you are in my caravan,” Justin continued.

  “So you think of Claire as a sister, then?”

  Claire shot him a look, but he was staring hard at Justin and ignored her.

  Justin squeezed Claire’s hand. “Sure,” he told Patrick. “Why not.”

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “Can I come with you and Claire, then?”

  “Actually, Patrick,” Justin said slowly, “how about you and I go on a little adventure of our own? Would you mind, Claire? I’ll show Patrick the place I was going to take you, get his brotherly approval.”

  “That sounds fun,” Claire said pointedly.

  Patrick sighed. “Fine.”

  “I’ll bring you out there after, okay?” Justin gave Claire’s hand one last squeeze, and then he let her go. Her fingers felt cold and clammy where he’d been touching them, and as she watched him walk through the woods with Patrick, she wiped them on her shirt.

  Patrick glanced back once, and then he turned around and walked with his shoulders stiff, arms straight, until he disappeared into the trees.

  Claire sat inside the van and fiddled with Patrick’s toy train, then flipped through his train pamphlet describing all the different routes. She couldn’t get her brother’s expression out of her mind. Like he’d been looking back at her for help.

  Which was silly. Yeah, he might not like Justin, but he’d see that he was wrong. Justin was great. Amazing, even . . .

  So why did she feel like she’d just thrown her brother on the tracks?

  Claire hesitated a moment longer, and then she got up and headed into the woods to search for them. Just in case.

  Claire was lost. Every direction she turned there were trees and then more trees. Sometimes bushes or shrubs. She didn’t know the difference, and it didn’t matter because she was probably going to die out here. She’d starve, or be eaten by a bear, because she wasn’t brav
e and capable like Justin. She wasn’t a survivor. And then she’d never know what the difference was between a bush and a shrub. Somehow that seemed really tragic.

  Calm down, Claire, she told herself firmly. She squeezed her hands into fists and counted, listening . . .

  A noise up ahead. A human noise. Voices? Crying. Patrick crying. Claire hurried in that direction. She thought he might have been saying something, but she couldn’t hear it over the thundering of her own heartbeat, over the crunching of the leaves under her feet as she ran.

  She burst into a little clearing. A stream cut through the middle of it, burbling into a small pond. Her brother sat curled in a miserable lump next to it, alone.

  “Patrick?” Claire said.

  He lifted his tear-streaked face toward her, still curled around something.

  Claire stepped closer, her mouth dry. “Are you . . . okay?”

  He didn’t say anything, just held his hands to his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” Claire knelt down in front of him. “Where’s Justin?”

  “Gone,” Patrick said, his mouth twisting. “I hate him.”

  Claire had never heard her brother say that before. “Why?” she asked carefully.

  He lowered his hands. Cupped gently inside them sat a small frog. “He forced it to eat a rock.” Patrick’s voice caught. Tears streamed down his face. “He forced it to, and I couldn’t stop him, and he laughed. And I don’t know what to do now. I d-don’t know how to h-help it.” He sobbed, his whole body shaking.

  Claire felt numb. Gently, she reached forward and took the small frog from Patrick. It was alive, quivering in her hands. Maybe Justin made up a story? Something to scare Patrick? Which was terrible enough, but she couldn’t imagine he’d—

  She felt something in the frog’s stomach. Small and hard and immovable. Claire swayed, as around her the clearing seemed to erupt with the song of a hundred frogs, all croaking, mournful. She sat on the ground and put an arm around Patrick’s shoulders, and felt like she’d swallowed a rock, too.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, both to the frog and to her brother. “I’m sorry.” She met her brother’s eyes. “But I promise, somehow I will make this right.”