The Honest Truth

by Dan Gemeinhart

  “No,” I answered in my hoarse voice. “He wouldn’t. He’s the best. But … dogs die, Mom. Dogs die.”

  There was another silence. My fears and my sadness were all knotted up inside me.

  “Yes,” my mom responded after a moment. “Dogs die. But dogs live, too. Right up until they die, they live. They live brave, beautiful lives. They protect their families. And love us. And make our lives a little brighter. And they don’t waste time being afraid of tomorrow. Look at him now, honey.” All three of us looked down at the dog asleep beside his sick boy. I scratched him behind his sleeping ears. “He’s not afraid of anything,” she continued. “Not worrying about anything. Just living his life, for now. Just happy being here now, with you. He’s a good dog.”

  He was a good dog. I reached down and patted him, lying in a duffel on a bus next to his sick boy. Now it was my turn. My turn to live a brave and beautiful life. My turn to live, right up until I died. But I couldn’t get my own words out of my head: Dogs die.

  I was so deep in my memory that I hardly noticed the bus pull over in front of a little hotel and café by the side of the road.

  “Ashford, folks,” the driver called out, opening the bus door and killing the engine. “Couple minutes here. Some more folks getting on.”

  I let my head fall back against the seat to wait. I was tired down into the center of my bones. But before my eyes could drop shut, the driver turned and looked right at me and growled through his teeth, “I know what you’re doing, kid. Get off my bus. Now.”

  A new evening came.

  But with it, the same questions.

  What should a friend do?

  Jessie sat at the table and poked at the food getting cold on her plate. She had no appetite. Her mind, and her heart, were too full of the last two days.

  It all hung on her, she knew. On the secret she held, the secret no one knew she was holding. It was a heavy secret. It weighed on her heart like a stone.

  Mark’s last wish: whether or not it came true depended on whether or not she told.

  She knew how torn up his parents were; she knew how miserable their last twenty-four hours had been. She knew how sad and scared and desperate they were. They just wanted their sick son back. Whether or not they got him back depended on whether or not she told.

  It was all on her. Her heart shook, holding the secret’s heavy weight.

  She was going to keep holding it, she’d decided sometime in the middle of the dark afternoon. It was a hard thing for her heart to hold, but her best friend’s heart was bearing something far heavier, she knew. And it ought to be his choice. It ought to be his choice.

  “Hey, mi amor,” her mom said, breaking the silence. “¿Cómo estás? You okay?”

  “Sí.” Jessie shrugged. “I’m fine, Mamá.”

  Her mom reached across the table and squeezed Jess’s hand.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. They’ll find him.”

  Jessie’s eyes dropped down.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Her mom pulled her hand back and took a bite of food.

  “Why do you think he ran away? Seems like a terrible thing to do to his parents, after everything they’ve been through.”

  Without thinking, Jessie blurted out her answer. Maybe it was because she was tired. Maybe it was because she didn’t want her mom saying bad things about her friend, not then. Or maybe it was because her heart couldn’t hold on to the weight of two terrible secrets.

  “Because he’s dying,” she said, her voice flat, her eyes still on her plate.

  Her mom stopped chewing with her mouth half open.

  “¿Qué? What do you mean?” she asked through a mouthful of food.

  Jessie felt her eyes fill with tears but she blinked them back, pushed them back down inside her to keep her secret warm.

  “I mean the cancer’s back,” she answered, her voice sounding almost mean. “They found out last week, after the tests.”

  Her mom swallowed slowly and set her fork down.

  “Oh,” she said. Then, again, “Oh.” She cleared her throat.

  “But that doesn’t mean he’s dying, mija. So his cancer’s back. He’s beat it before. Mark’s always been a fighter. You know that.”

  Jessie dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter. She shook her head and sniffed.

  “But he was supposed to be better, and he’s not. He was gonna have to go back in for another round of treatment tomorrow.” Jessie finally looked up into her mom’s wide eyes. “And he was just feeling good again. His hair was just starting to grow back. And now the cancer’s back and he has to start all over again.” Jessie shrugged and bit her lip. “And so he left.”

  There was a silence. A clock ticked somewhere in the house, counting down life’s moments.

  Jess picked up her fork and brought a bite of food to her mouth. She didn’t want to say anymore. She was afraid that once she started talking, she wouldn’t stop until it all came out.

  Then her mom asked her the question she dreaded.

  “Where do you think he went?”

  Jess swallowed.

  Her heart held tight, as tight as it could, to the secret; held it tight so it wouldn’t slip from her heart and out her mouth.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice quiet and thin.

  Quiet and thin because of the secret her heart struggled to hold.

  It was so heavy.

  Her heart’s fingers slipped a bit.

  But held on, shaking.

  Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I know how many seats I got, and I know how many tickets I took.”

  I didn’t answer the bus driver. I stood back under the eave of the hotel, out of the rain. My legs were shaky and my hands sweated. I was too tired for this, and I didn’t feel good. I squinted at him through the thrumming pain in my skull.

  “You live in Elbe, or what?” The driver’s voice was cold and impatient. Like having an extra kid on a bus was the worst thing that could happen to a person.

  I wasn’t in the mood. I glared at him, then rolled my eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  The driver shook his head.

  “Don’t be mad at me, kid. I don’t get paid to give free rides.”

  Thunder rumbled, and a rainy gust of wind tugged at his jacket collar. He looked back over his shoulder at the weather.

  “Aw, heck,” he said, then looked back at me with a tight mouth. “You got parents or anything to call for a ride?”

  I shook my head and tried to look sad and weak. It wasn’t hard. Maybe I could get a ride after all.

  But the driver just blew his breath out through pinched lips.

  “I can’t take you up with me, kid. With these new folks and their bags, bus is full. But this darn storm …” He licked his lips. “Stay here. They’ll let you hang out in the café at the bunkhouse. I’ll drop these folks at the top and pick you up on my way back down, and you can ride back to Elbe.”

  I didn’t say anything. Tears burned in my eyes, but my anger was strong enough to hold them there.

  “See you in an hour. You’re welcome,” he said with a snort. Then he turned and climbed back into the waiting bus.

  The rain really started coming down as the bus skidded out of the gravel parking lot. That bus was my only way to get to where I was going, and I knew it. Its taillights glowed red in the growing dark. I watched them get smaller and smaller, and then disappear like two little wishes that wouldn’t come true.

  Shivering in the rain while trying not to cry and throw up at the same time really sucks. That’s the truth.

  I unzipped the duffel and Beau bounded out, wagging and panting. Everything was being taken away from me, piece by piece and day by day. He was all I had left. The tears beat my anger and dripped down onto my cheeks. I scratched him behind his ears.

  “No more duffel for you, buddy,” I whispered. “No matter what. I don’t care.”

  Thunder rumbled again. The two-lane highway was empty except fo
r the puddles. I looked up the highway, the way the bus had gone. The sky was a great gray wall of cloud. I knew the mountain was there, somewhere, but I couldn’t see it.

  “There’s no point in going on, Beau,” I said, my voice hoarse. I looked out at the rain, at the skies that were getting closer and closer to black. I swallowed and crouched down and scratched Beau behind his ears with both hands. I held on to him like I was drowning. His mismatched eyes looked somehow brighter in the darkness. He was with me. He was always with me. “But there’s no point in going backward, either, I guess.” I wiped at my cheeks with my sleeve. I sniffed and flashed Beau the smile he deserved. He smiled back, in his toothy, doggy way. His eyes shone with everything good in the world. I lifted my camera and centered Beau’s eyes in the frame. I snapped the picture. Beau’s tail wagged harder.

  I reached down and scratched him behind the ears again.

  “Come on.”

  I pulled my fleece jacket out of my backpack and slipped it on. The rain was pouring down around me. I sealed my camera into the ziplock bag I’d brought along just in case and slipped it into my backpack. I looked at the narrow black ribbon of the highway stretching out between the tall, dark pine trees. And, somewhere in the darkness ahead, a mountain lost in storm.

  “Let’s walk, buddy. We may not make it. But we’ll walk until …”

  My voice got lost in a rumble of thunder. I didn’t know what ending I had planned for the sentence.

  Road stones crunched under the soles of my shoes.

  We’ll walk until we get caught?

  Beau trotted beside me, nose sniffing at the mountain air.

  We’ll walk until someone helps us?

  A burst of wind chilled down my neck, and I zipped my jacket up higher to my chin.

  We’ll walk until … we die?

  The bridge came closer, step by step, through the darkness. The metal girders looked like dull gray clay in the rain. My clothes were soaked. Rain had snuck down my collar and dripped down my back. I was shivering without stopping.

  It was dark enough to be night. It was almost nighttime, anyway. The few cars that passed had their headlights on. None of them stopped. I suppose I was glad they didn’t. Their insides looked warm as they disappeared, though.

  “That bus’ll be back any minute,” I said through chattering teeth to Beau. He looked up at me, still walking. “If he sees us, he’ll stop. We need to get out of sight. And we need someplace covered to spend the night, anyway.” When we got to the bridge, I stepped down off the highway and cut through the weeds down to the river that it arched over. The darkness was deepening by the second, and I had to squint to see.

  The riverbank under the bridge was dry, but there was no place to sleep. Jumbled boulders crowded the bank. My body already ached enough — I couldn’t sleep wedged between two rocks.

  I looked out over the river. Out in the white-crashing water, there was an island. It stretched under the bridge, out of the rain. It was small and mostly sand.

  A wide, fallen log reached over the foaming water, leading from the bank where I was standing to the sandy island. I chewed my lip and looked it over. It seemed wet but stable.

  “What do you think, Beau?”

  Beau’s tail thumped against my leg.

  “All right, then. Let’s go for it.”

  My shoe slipped on the wet bark on my first step, but I caught myself and took a more careful second step.

  It was a huge log, with a nice, flat top almost as wide as a sidewalk. I thought I could do it. I just had to take it slow.

  Four steps out, I looked back to call Beau. He was standing on the bank, his ears back and his tail down. He whined.

  “Come on, boy,” I called. “It’s not that bad. Really.” Beau hopped nervously from paw to paw. I looked him in the eye and dropped my voice lower. “Come on, Beau. We can do this.”

  Beau hopped up onto the log and followed me. I turned and kept going, step by careful step.

  The water roared underneath me. It churned black and white. It sounded loud and hungry.

  Halfway across I realized it had been a dumb decision, but I kept on going. I darted a quick look back to see Beau right behind me.

  I took another step. Two more. Three, four, five more. My legs were shaking. My stomach somersaulted with sickness and squeezing fear. The headache pressed on the backs of my eyes with rude, sharp fingers.

  I risked a look up, away from my feet and toward the island. I was almost there.

  A stupid smile snuck onto my face. I was gonna make it.

  Here’s what I don’t get: why people always think they can do something just because they want to.

  With my eyes still on the white sand in front of me, the log slipped wetly out from under my right foot. I helicoptered my arms, trying to catch my balance. My other foot slipped.

  Through the thunder of the rushing water beneath me, I heard Beau bark. The sky whirled in front of my eyes, then the bridge.

  Then nothing but angry water.

  A dark storm coming.

  Wind whips rain against windows.

  Thunder getting close.

  Jessie held the phone in her hand and watched lightning flashes light up the distant hills. Through the open window she could smell the rain. The world outside looked cold and dark. Her friend was out there in it, somewhere. Alone except for a little mutt. With the clock ticking down.

  Her fingers traced the numbers on the phone, touched them without pressing them. It would be so easy just to spill her secret. She could call the hotline, tell them what she knew without saying her name. His parents would never know she’d known and hadn’t told them. Mark would never know she’d betrayed him. And then all the great squeezing twisting that was inside her would be over. And then Mark would be home.

  She was the only one who could do it.

  Her finger pressed on the first number. The phone’s screen lit up, ready for the next number. She swallowed with a dry gulp and pressed it. Then the third number. There was a lightning flash, and at almost the same time a crash of thunder. Jessie jumped and cried out.

  A breeze swept in through the window. It carried the scent of the storm.

  The burnt-air smell of lightning wafted into the room and brought with it a memory.

  From years ago. Third grade. The hospital. Things were just getting bad. His hair was gone; he was weak and sick and tired. She’d visited him whenever she could. He hated missing school. He hated missing Beau. He hated being alone. They’d played cards on his bed with his mom and dad, and they’d all acted cheerful. Even Mark. And then his parents had left the room to grab them all some food from the cafeteria, leaving Mark and Jessie alone.

  When the door clicked shut, Mark grabbed her hand so fast and hard she jerked and tried to pull it away. But his grip was hard and hot. She looked up into his eyes and was surprised to see tears there, brimming up and then spilling down his face. She stopped pulling away.

  “I don’t like to cry in front of them,” he said, his voice shaking. “I know how sad it makes them. I don’t like to tell them how bad I feel. Or how scared I am. I don’t want to do that to them. Do you understand?”

  Jessie nodded, though she wasn’t sure she did understand.

  “It’s like a secret,” he went on, still crying. “I can’t hold it all by myself, Jess. It’s too much. Can I cry with you? Will you hold my secret?”

  Jessie squeezed his hand. She looked into his green eyes and nodded again. “Yeah,” she answered. “I’ll hold your secret.”

  “Always?”

  “Always. I promise.”

  And he cried, into her shoulder. And he told her how bad he felt. And how scared he was. And by the time his parents got back, they were giggling and playing cards again. She’d held his secret. And every time she visited, she held it again. So his parents wouldn’t have to. So he wouldn’t have to hold it alone.

  Then, the summer her parents had gotten divorced. She’d cried every day. Her dad left
and moved back to Mexico. Her mom did nothing but mope around and watch TV and drink a bottle of wine each night. Jessie was alone.

  Except for Mark. He called her. He came over. He left notes and candies in their secret spot. Jess had spent the night at his house and she’d cried, and it wasn’t even embarrassing. He’d cried in front of her before, after all. “It’s not fair,” she’d sobbed. “You’re supposed to be able to count on your mom and your dad. You’re supposed to be able to count on them.”

  Mark had put a hand on her shoulder. “Count on me, Jess,” he’d said. “And I’ll count on you. We’re the ones we can always count on. Right?”

  Jess looked out at the storm, out at the new darkness. Even with his life on the line and the whole world looking for him, he’d stopped to leave a note for her. So she’d know. And to say good-bye. Because he knew she would count on him to do that.

  She looked at the note, crumpled on the table. She’d read it so many times that she didn’t have to read it again to know what it said.

  To my truest friend,

  I’m so sorry. And good-bye.

  Hold my secret now.

  She blinked back her tears.

  Mark was counting on her now.

  She put the phone down.

  At the last second, just before my body hit the black water, I gulped one great big breath of air. I filled my lungs, and then the freezing water grabbed my body and did its frigid best to stop my heart.

  The water was more than cold. It was ice that moved. It was strong and fast, and there was nothing I could do. I would have screamed, but the cold was squeezing my lungs like a black fist. For one second I saw Beau looking down at me from the log, getting smaller as I rushed away, and then the water spun me and I was gone. The last I saw of him, his front legs were already in the air. He was jumping in after me.

  My feet hit the bottom, bumping boulders and scraping rocks, and I realized the river wasn’t deep but it was fast and my feet couldn’t stop me from being swept away. I saw the island spinning past my eyes; I was still alongside it. If I was carried past it, I was gone. I dug my feet harder, but they could find nothing to hold on to. I flailed my arms wildly, trying to stroke toward the sandy shore. Water rose up and covered my face, and I jerked and kicked up off the bottom with both feet and all my fear. I popped back up into the thundering darkness and finally managed a heaving breath and one wild scream.