by Gary Paulsen
“I’ve got a lady friend—” Gus pauses and blushes. “Runs a diner. She’s always lookin’ fer good help. Rents out an apartment over her garage. Good place; I did the wirin’. Once you’ve got a new job, new apartment, you can save fer school.”
“I’d love that,” Mia says. “Actually … I told you I had roommates, but I’ve been couch surfing the past couple of months. My roommate and I couldn’t make rent and lost our apartment. I’d rather drink my own pee than move back home. And … maybe … You’re right. I’ve been thinking about school.… I’m tired of auditions and rejections. The experience I’ll get in college productions will help me when I turn professional later, right?”
We all nod even though no one knows if that’s true. Atticus isn’t the only one who wants to keep Mia around.
Then Gus turns to Theo, clears his throat, and bellows like a drill sergeant, “Minute we get back ta town, you an’ me are gonna go see whoever it is ya need ta see about this time ya gotta do. Yer gonna get that hardware outta yer face”—he points to Theo’s eyebrow piercing—“and pull up yer trousers, because no one wants ta see yer drawers. You’ll do yer time like a man. Then yer gonna clean up yer act if I have ta kick yer keister every step of the way.”
“Thanks, Gus, that’s really nice of you.” Theo’s all red in the face, but he’s smiling.
“I’m not nice.” Gus harrumphs. “What’s that silliness on your arm?” He points to Theo’s wrist.
“It’s a tattoo. Or a prototype. Figure I’ll have it made permanent when I’ve done my time. A reminder.”
“What is it?” Mia asks. We all lean forward and he shows us what he’s drawn: a flying bus next to a grinning black and white dog.
Mia laughs. “Draw it on my ankle, maybe I’ll have it made permanent, too.” Theo turns red again when she puts her foot in his lap, and his hand shakes a little as he starts to draw.
“Then me,” I say. “Go old-school, right on my bicep.”
Theo draws tattoos on Mia and me while Gus and Dad look for something to watch on TV. They find an old movie about a guy trying to get somewhere and not doing a great job of it.
“By comparison, our trip has been relatively peaceful. It’s all a matter of perspective,” Dad explains to Gus. Atticus raises his head, looks at me, and yawns. He’s as unimpressed by Dad’s wisdom tonight as he was when I said almost that same thing to him earlier in the day.
“Yeah, right,” Gus snorts. “When ya hafta compare yer day to that disaster ta find the upside, ya ain’t in good shape.”
I swear Atticus smiles at me before he lies back down. “It’ll all work out,” I tell Gus. “It always does.”
Theo’s done drawing tattoos on Mia and me, and I take pictures of them. Dad and Gus take a pass on his offer to ink them.
“Okay, now we’ve really got to get some sleep,” Dad says, switching off the TV again. “We’re wheels up at oh-five-hundred hours, so sleep fast.”
We all say good night and everyone heads back to their rooms. Atticus stays on Dad’s bed this time. As it should be.
“You might want to call Mom before you go to bed.” I flip my phone to Dad. “Tell her we’re okay. Tell her”—I pause and then say it real fast before I can change my mind or something mean comes out of my mouth—“that I say hi, too, and I’m sorry I missed her calls and texts today.”
Dad grins and tips his head in agreement as he dials her number and steps outside the room.
The perfect end to a perfectly weird day.
ATTICUS
Good thing that Gus is helping Theo and Mia. Someone’s got to keep them straight, and they don’t have me.
I heard him say that he raised everything on four legs on a farm.
Teenagers can’t be that much different.
The Reason for the Trip
We pull up at the shelter where my new dog—I’ve settled on calling him Gretzky—has been staying. I leap out of the bus and race up the sidewalk.
The door is locked.
Dad, Gus, Mia, Theo, Atticus, and I are peering through the glass, and it’s all I can do not to keep pressing the bell until someone answers. I think Theo’s going to reach over me and start pounding with his fist. Mia’s got her forehead pressed against the door, her hands cupped around her eyes, trying to see inside.
“Over here,” a voice calls from the corner of the building.
We turn, and I see a cute girl gesturing at us to follow her to the back. She’s holding a tiny gray kitten and a baby bottle. She looks like she’s my age. And she’s more than cute. I forget to breathe for a few seconds.
She leads us to a small fenced-in yard with a couple of kids’ wading pools and a bunch of toys scattered around on the grass. She settles in a deck chair and starts feeding the kitten.
Atticus walks over and sniffs the kitten, nuzzling its tiny ears and licking one small paw. Then he sits next to the chair and watches the girl feed the cat. He nudges her hand when the bottle slips out of the kitten’s mouth.
The girl is wearing a V L NT R apron and a badge that says AL S N. She’s totally focused on feeding the cat and acts like we’re not even standing there.
I find my voice, but it cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “We’re here. Finally. It’s been, well, it’s a long story.” I squint at her, trying to decipher the code on her apron.
“Volunteer. Alison. The shelter’s on a tight budget, we can’t afford vowels.” She’s funny. Joking, right? But she glares a hole in my forehead, then gives Dad, Theo, Gus, and Mia the once-over. She’s petting Atticus’s head with her free hand without seeming to notice. He rests his head on her knee, studying the kitten. “You’re the people for Conor?”
Weird. People who like animals, in my experience, are usually friendly. Maybe she doesn’t like people.
“Who’s Conor?”
“The border collie. His name is Conor. I might not be able to keep him, but at least I can give him the most beautiful name I know.”
“Oh, we didn’t know he had a name. I was going to call him … Never mind,” I stumble. “We didn’t know you wanted to keep him.” Man, I didn’t see this coming. “But, yeah, we’re here. For … Conor.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Now that we finally got here, we’re … denied? Can she do that? Why would she do that?
“What makes you think you’re good enough for Conor?” She’s unfazed that this homeless dog has a welcoming committee of five and another border collie and that we arrived on a school bus. What does it take to make a good impression on this girl?
“Good enough?” Uh, we’re here. And we want him. What else are you looking for? I bite my tongue because a snotty response isn’t going to help.
“Mr. Duffy and Ben came all this way—and so did the rest of us—just to give the dog a home,” Theo pitches in. “You can trust them. Ben’ll take good care of him, of Conor; they’re excellent dog owners.”
“It’s a dog, for crying out loud,” Gus says. “You’re not handing out honorary titles here.” He snorts and shakes his head. For once, Gus’s annoyance is on point. I wish he’d take it up a notch and bully her into giving us the dog.
“Uh, sweetie?” Mia says. “Is your boss around? Can we talk to a grown-up?”
Alison finally looks up from the baby cat. “I’ve known Conor since he’s been at the shelter. He’s special. There’s something about border collies that make you feel like they’re looking at you and reading your soul.”
“You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know,” I say.
“Then you know I can’t go handing out border collies to just anyone.”
“It’s hard to argue when you put it like that, but—”
“Besides, there’s already someone here to get him. Inside.”
No.
Oh, no.
I see the picture of the puppy on Dad’s phone in my mind and it hits me how much I want this dog. I haven’t been thinking about him much, I know
. First I was so mad at Dad and then I got caught up with all the new people and the trip and Conor kind of slipped my mind.
But now that we won’t be taking him home, my heart aches. I think back to how awful I felt when Dad told me I might not go to hockey camp; at that moment, I thought it was the worst feeling I’d ever know. But it’s nothing compared to hearing I’m not going to get Conor.
“Well, can’t you talk to the other person and explain that there’s been a mix-up and that the dog is ours, was promised to us, and we drove a long way, a looooooong way to get him and—”
“That won’t be necessary.” I’m cut off midsentence.
BY MOM.
Who’s standing right behind me with a wiggling border collie puppy on a leash.
Mom is here.
There are a few blurry minutes where Mom and I are hugging and I’m on my knees hugging Conor and then Mom is being introduced to and hugging Gus and Theo and Mia. Then Mom and Dad hug while the rest of us hug Alison and the kitten she’s still cradling and laugh that she and Mom pulled it off and gave us such a hard time. I take a picture of Mia and Theo hugging—he seems to hold on an extra long time, but I can’t blame him since I did the same thing with Alison. There’s a lot of hugging.
Until Atticus barks.
We all turn and look at him. He’s watching Conor.
Conor whines back at him.
Atticus pads over to Conor and they start wagging their tails and circling each other, doing that butt- and ear-smelling thing. Once acquainted, they sit facing each other like mirror images, taking stock.
They belong together.
I look up from the dogs and see Mom and Dad watching them, too. He’s got his arm around her and she’s leaning her head against his shoulder.
“So, uh, what’s up?” I ask.
“I couldn’t resist pulling your leg like that, so I jumped in the car. Made way better time than you all did. You two are always going off doing things together. I feel a little left out sometimes. This seemed like a dramatic way to make an entrance. Like something Dad would do.”
“Good one.”
“Besides, I have excellent news: The house sold—we have a deal.”
“We?”
“The company is called Duffy and Son. The ‘and Mom, too’ is implied.” She smiles.
“Dad flipped his first house.” I’m proud of him. He did know what he was doing.
“We flipped our first house,” Dad says.
“And we put an offer in on a second one,” Mom tells me. Even Dad looks surprised. “Strike while the iron’s hot, right?”
“That’s a very Dad-like move, Mom.”
“It wouldn’t hurt if we all tried something new from time to time,” she says, smiling.
“Because it’ll all work out,” Dad and I say together.
“I’m taking this one.” Gus is walking out of the shelter with a teacup Chihuahua tucked in the bib of his overalls. The dog’s tiny head and front paws pop out the top, like he’s in one of those baby-carrier things. “Sign on his cage says his name is Gizmo. A garage can’t have too many gizmos.”
I take their picture. Alison’s looking at me and Theo. “Are you brothers?”
“Yes,” Theo and I answer together.
“We all belong to each other,” Mia adds.
“Family,” Gus says.
“And I need to get a picture,” I say. “Everyone huddle up with the dogs.” I hand my phone to Alison to take a group shot and jump in the middle.
She’s scrolling through my photos by the time I get back to her side to get my phone back. “These are really good,” she tells me. “You should take pictures of the dogs we’re trying to find homes for to post online. The better the picture, the better chance the dog has of finding a home. C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of them.” She takes my arm. I let her.
I look back as I walk inside. Dad and Mom are leaning against the fence, his arm around her shoulder, watching Atticus and Conor play in the yard. Theo and Mia are each feeding a kitten they scooped up from a box in the shade. And Gus is making kissy faces at Gizmo.
Alison and I take pictures of all the animals and exchange phone numbers and email addresses and we Facebook friend each other on my phone. Then we head back to the crowd in the yard.
Alison sinks to her knees and buries her face in Conor’s ruff to wipe her ears in his fur and to kiss him good-bye. “I love you. Everything in me knows that they’re good enough for you.” She reaches down and unties her vowel-less apron, pulling it off and handing it to me. “Will you take this for him? It’s got my smell. Maybe that way he won’t forget me.”
I take the apron and she hugs me. Mia feeds Conor a few potato chips from the bag she’s saved from the last rest stop, and Gus pets his silky ears. Theo puts his hand in front of the puppy and says, “High five, little dude,” and then laughs when Conor licks his fingers. Dad drops to one knee and watches the puppy chew on his shoelace. Conor likes everyone; he greets them with kisses and wiggles. But he always looks back to Atticus and Mom. Them, he loves.
“Will you come to the shelter’s fund-raiser this fall?” Alison asks. “We’re going to have food and games and a silent auction, and people who have adopted animals will come back and tell how they found each other. I think you’ll have the best story.”
“We’ve got our own bus, so transportation isn’t an issue.” I point to the bus at the curb. “In fact, we might still be on our way back home by the time the party happens.”
“You never know.” Her smile. Whoa.
Everything does work out.
ATTICUS
I wish the boss and my boy had told me they were getting someone like me. I wouldn’t have worried. I thought we were just getting a dog.
At Alison’s shelter, there were eight dogs Conor and I had to keep in line. We scared them with our piercing gaze. Everyone was afraid of our dropped shoulders and raised rumps—it was like we hypnotized them. A couple of the younger dogs who didn’t get what was happening tried wandering away, but we straightened them out real fast.
We work together like we were born for it.
We were happy to get back to the bus and get everyone on. See our new family heading back home.
We got in the car with the real boss, the one who smells like flowers. Enough with the bus. The car doesn’t bounce and the real boss doesn’t sing or speed. I was ready for a nap. Conor and I curled up in the backseat and slept all the way home.
This is going to work out just fine, we agree.
The Time After
Today’s the last day of summer. Feels like it was just a minute ago that vacation and the road trip started.
In hindsight, I can see that Dad’s plan turned out fine, just like he always says it will. I can hardly remember why I didn’t want to go or being mad at my parents or upset about hockey camp.
When we left the shelter, Mom had to get back home to work, so she took Conor and Atticus in the car with her.
No one on the bus was in a real hurry to get back, not even me. So it was easy for Dad and Mia to talk us into doing touristy things that we hadn’t had time for on the way to get Conor. Theo and Gus and I pretended to grumble, but we had the best time of all, I think.
We saw scale replicas of the great architectural works of Frank Lloyd Wright constructed out of sugar cubes. We stopped at souvenir shops and ate pecan logs until we were sick from the sugar, and bought dribble mugs and trucker hats and T-shirts, and had our pictures taken poking our heads through holes in painted plywood that made us look like bullfighters and mermaids and cowboys and giant spiders.
We went to an amusement park and broke the record riding the roller coaster the most times. Theo and I were barfy for most of the day, and Dad and Gus had to divvy up driving because of their dizziness, but it was worth it to get the certificate and have our picture taken for the wall of fame.
We won a few bucks at the racetrack, too, enough to pay for gas, motels, and food. We needed a couple
races to get the hang of betting, and we all had different techniques for choosing the right horse and jockey. Everyone bet on Conor’s Friend. We couldn’t resist. He didn’t win, but that didn’t stop us from running to the paddock to have our picture taken with him. The jockey said he’d never ridden such a popular fourth-place mount before.
We hit a state fair, too, and won a karaoke contest. We sang “On the Road Again,” natch, and no one could touch us. Dad took credit for the win because he claimed we’d all been inspired by the country music stations he plays.
We finally rolled back home after a few days, sunburned and carsick. But we’d been checking in with Mom every day. I called her a lot and Dad talked to her every night. I’d see him wandering around the parking lot of each motel with his phone. Talking and listening. And laughing.
Things aren’t perfect at home; Mom still spends way too much time at the kitchen table surrounded by the checkbook and a stack of bills, and Dad works crazy sick hours on the houses. But we eat dinner together every night and Dad’s moved back into their room. That’s a start.
As soon as the first house sold, Dad closed on the second house. Before that project was complete, he bought a third place. He hired a couple guys part-time to help him out, and he taught me to hang drywall. We’re taking a drive after dinner to look at another property. See if it has potential.
Turned out we had money in time to get me to hockey camp after all. But I didn’t want to go. Not when Duffy and Son had so much work lined up. I’ll go next summer. I’ll go every summer if we keep working this hard. I joined a summer league at a rink in town so I didn’t have to miss hockey altogether. Worked out for the best; those older guys really pushed me and I’ve got mad skills now. Probably as good as what I’d’ve picked up at camp. Made a bunch of new friends, too.
I’m not sure what’s going to happen with our business, because you just never know, but if I’ve learned one thing this summer, it’s that great things can happen from little starts.
