Ray reached for it. He turned the arrowhead over in his hand a few times and looked up. “Wow.” His voice was solemn, respectful. I wondered if he imagined the brave as I did. “I can keep it?” he asked.
“Yep.” It was, for both of us, a serious gesture. Giving away a thing of such importance meant something. He’d stuck up for me more than once, so he rightly deserved an arrowhead.
“Thanks, man. I’ll take good care of it.”
I reached under my bed and pulled out a wooden recorder. “Let us now smoke the peace pipe.”
I tooted on the recorder. Jack’s ears perked. I gave the recorder another good toot and Jack howled like he was trying to harmonize. Ray and I laughed. He slipped his hand over Jack’s head and then took his turn on the recorder, accompanied by Jack. Jack’s lips formed a perfect O.
“Look,” I said. “Look at Jack!” But even our laughing did not interrupt Jack’s soulful baying. His mournful sound seemed ancient and primitive to me, like it was part of this mountain and these arrowheads and a history of things that only Jack knew. I put the recorder down and stroked Jack gently until he stopped.
chapter 16
“‘The Trouble with Tribbles,’ ” Millie answered. We sat at the table, lingering over our apple pie and debating the best Star Trek episode. Jack lay under the table, hoping for crumbs.
“No way! It’s ‘A Piece of the Action!’ ” Best episode ever.
Millie pressed her fork into the pie crumbs on her plate. “Which one is that?”
“The one where Kirk and Spock pretend to be gangsters in order to get the people on this other planet to stop fighting each other.”
“Oh, yeah.” She nodded. “But I like the Tribbles one better. It’s cute.”
Well, that’s what we want in our science fiction—cute. The gangster one was better. Still, I couldn’t believe Millie was such a big fan of Star Trek. I was about to ask her what else she liked about the show when Dad pushed open the back door and slung his briefcase on the counter.
“Hey, Dad—which Star Trek—”
Jack nearly turned over the table when he jumped out to greet Dad. I had to hold down my milk glass. Jack danced around Dad, yipping and pawing him, sniffing his feet.
But Dad didn’t lean to pet him like he usually did. His face was slack, his eyes rimmed in red. His whole body slumped with exhaustion. Sitting down, he dropped his head into his hands, raking his hair with his fingers.
My heart struck a fast beat. I’d seen him like this only once before and that’s when the doctor told us about Mom’s cancer. My voice cracked when I asked, “Dad—what’s wrong?”
Millie rose and patted his back.
“I talked with Stan Kowalski today. He got a visit from an NCO and the army chaplain—”
“No!” Millie clutched her arms to her chest.
Dad lifted his head and stared into space. “David was killed in action. They’ll be flying his body back.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Millie’s hands flapped in the air. “Poor Jan. Oh, my gosh …” Tears rolled down her face. She pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and wiped her cheeks.
The muscles in Dad’s jaw flexed. His eyebrows pressed down and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I drove over to their house.” He looked up at Millie. It seemed as though he were pleading or searching. “They lost their son …”
Bewilderment filled his eyes. I was younger when Mom died; I knew only how sad I was. Now seeing the grief on Dad’s face, I didn’t know what to do. Someone died. He wasn’t related to us, but he was connected somehow. He was connected through death.
Millie reached out and hugged Dad, and he let her.
Jack laid his head over my feet. I couldn’t believe that guy—David—I couldn’t believe David had died. I didn’t have to wonder what his family was doing right now; I knew firsthand. This can’t be real, they were saying to each other. I just sent him a card the other day, or, I thought he was coming home. They said he would come home. Yeah, I knew exactly what they were saying.
After a few moments, Millie broke off, poured a cup of coffee, and set it on the table for Dad. “I’ve got to call Jan, okay?”
We stared at the table, listening to Millie sob into the phone.
“Let’s get out of here,” Dad said, already climbing out of his chair, unbuttoning his shirt.
Jack stirred at the movement. “Where to?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He wrested his air force shirt off. “But let’s go.”
chapter 17
We sat on the beach at Harveys Lake, sand crunching into our shorts because we didn’t have a blanket or even towels. When we headed out, Dad just wanted to drive; we didn’t know where we’d end up. At least he’d thought to change out of his air force clothes.
Jack lifted his nose in the air, sniffing different gusts. The fishy odor of the lake, the buttery popcorn scent from the concession stand, and the whiff of hot dogs breezed over us—a smorgasbord that smelled like summer.
Towels carpeted the beach. Brightly colored umbrellas looked like happy mushrooms sticking out of the sand. So many people laughing, playing, splashing in the water. Jack yanked at the leash. No sitting around for him.
“You want to go for a walk?” I asked.
He barked and jumped in answer.
“Dad?”
“Yep.” He pushed himself up and dusted off his shorts. He always looked younger out of his uniform, especially in shorts and a T-shirt. Sometimes people thought he was my bachelor uncle instead of my dad.
As we walked, I kept Jack close by. We stuck to the loose, white sand, away from the actual shoreline so as not to bother people. Jack zigzagged on the leash like a divining rod—nothing was getting by him. He’d smell every smell on this beach before we left. I grinned, but when I looked up at Dad, I saw he was lost in thought.
“What are you thinking about?” I bet I knew.
He shrugged.
We passed a huge building with white letters on the roof: SANDY BEACH. Good thing they spelled it out for me—I never would’ve known. Jack snarfed up the ketchupy leftover of someone’s hamburger without even stopping. His ears were erect, his step bouncy.
Dad sighed as we passed under the shade of the building. “I’ll be going to the funeral.”
I’d been to only one funeral, and I always tried not to think of it. Not to think of all the other ladies crying, not to think of the pastor who spoke but didn’t really know my mom. Not to think of her body lying there with everyone staring at her. Her favorite flowers rested on top of her coffin. Dad had bought them. She would have liked that, everyone said. No, she wouldn’t, I wanted to yell. It means she’s dead.
When someone dies, it’s weird because then there’s a kind of party afterward. People eat and some drink beer and then they actually tell stories and laugh. Laugh—while you sit there knowing that even right now, a hoist is lowering your mother into the grave. A backhoe is pushing dirt over her. I swiped at my eyes. I must have gotten some sand in them. “I’ll go with you,” I said to Dad.
He didn’t argue.
Jack pulled us along. Speedboats zipped out on the lake. The farther away we got from the building and paddleboats, the less populated the beach became. The arches of my feet were getting sore from pushing through the sand.
Dad pointed to some patchy grass and a lone tree. “Let’s sit over there.”
We caught a bit of shade. Some high schoolers were out chicken-fighting in the water, the girls on top of the guys’ shoulders tugging at each other and shrieking. Just as I leaned back to rub my foot, Jack took off.
I leaped up and ran. “Jack!”
He headed toward this boy and girl tossing a Frisbee. They didn’t even seem to notice him.
“Jack!” Behind me, Dad whistled.
Then I saw—as if in slow motion—Jack spring up and catch the Frisbee. He trotted to me with the Frisbee in his mouth, the leash trailing behind him. But as I bent to grab it, he took off, stopped, and waited.<
br />
The boy laughed. “That was a good catch!” The girl was smiling, too.
I neared Jack. “C’mon, boy. Give me the Frisbee.”
He huffed and planted his front paws in the sand, ready for takeoff. The boy and girl moved closer. Jack didn’t move at all, but his eyes darted between the three of us.
“Gotcha!” The girl lunged for the Frisbee.
Jack hightailed it out of there, running right over the blanket of some adults.
“Dad, get him!” the girl yelled.
By now, my own dad had joined the chase. Jack bounced between us like a pinball in a machine. His eyes shone with excitement and his ears were red. Like a deer, he leaped and darted; there was no catching him.
Finally, their mom stood up with a sandwich. “C’mere, boy!” She waved it around. “C’mere!”
Jack’s eyebrows lifted and crunched down as his gaze flitted over his pursuers. He took a halting step toward the lady, and she stretched her arm out with the sandwich. “Ham!” she called out to me, smiling.
Taking another step and then another, Jack inched closer until his nose was almost touching the bread. I moved slowly in. His nose twitched, being that close to the ham. He dropped the Frisbee and I snatched the leash.
“Yay!” The girl threw up her arms.
Their mom smiled at me. “Can I give him the sandwich?”
“Yeah, of course!”
She glanced over at Dad and me. “Y’all boys look hot. Whyn’t you join us for some lemonade?”
Dad said, “No, no, we don’t want to bother you. Thanks for helping us get the dog, though.”
Waving him off, she pulled out paper cups and poured us some lemonade. “No bother a’tall.”
Oh, man, that cold lemonade right then was the best thing I ever drank in my life.
She invited us to sit down and eat, so before Dad could protest again, I had my butt down and my hand on a plate. The boy and girl came over, asking if I was from around here. Their accent was about as strong as their mom’s, and I was sorry to hear they were just visiting their grandma and heading back to North Carolina in a few days.
But, for a moment, as Dad and I sat eating their ham sandwiches and tangy potato salad, we were all in one spot, talking with our mouths full and laughing. There was no war here, nobody dying, no one being mean. We threw the Frisbee until we couldn’t see it anymore. The sun turned orange and drifted behind the mountains, and everything became dark again.
chapter 18
I burrowed in the foxhole. Lying down, I couldn’t see out and I hoped that meant no one could see in. “Well?” I asked Ray.
I heard his footsteps circle the fort and stop. “It’s solid,” he said. “I can’t see in at all.”
We’d worked on the fort almost every day and now we were finished. It was important that the fort blend in with the woods; we didn’t want anyone discovering it. After digging out a burrow, we’d stuck big branches upright into the corners to serve as posts. We used Dad’s tools to saw branches off trees and nail together parts of the walls. The gaps we filled with bushes and vines, weaving the brambles in good and tight and overlaying them with loose twigs and pine needles.
I climbed out of the fort so I could admire it again. From the outside, you could barely tell there was a fort there—it just looked like a patch in the woods. A covered trapdoor was the only way in. A pioneer couldn’t have done better.
“This is going to be so cool,” I said. I had plans for the fort. Ray and I would be the chiefs of a secret club with secret meetings. We’d induct frightened new members in the glow of our campfire. I inspected the fort thoughtfully. We’d need to build a chimney.
For now, we were going to play cards. Just as I lifted the trapdoor, Jack huffed and I heard a twig break. I snapped my head around and there was Prater, standing just a few feet behind us. The big, bad wolf. I faced him and dropped the trapdoor behind me.
He jerked his chin toward our fort. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“Nothing,” I said, but at the same time Ray answered as well.
“It’s our fort.”
I heaved my shoulders and blew out a big breath. “Ray!”
“What?” His face was innocent and relaxed. He really had no idea.
I moved quickly away from the fort to the blueberry bushes. I didn’t want Prater looking at it. He might think he could be a member, too. “It’s nothing. Just an idea we had. The real fort is going to be on top of the mountain. If we even build one.”
Ray looked confused. I flashed my eyebrows at him and hoped he got my message.
“What’s this, then?” Prater said. He stepped closer to the fort and pushed on the walls. Some of the pine needles tumbled down.
“Don’t do that!” I snapped.
“I thought you said it wasn’t anything,” he said, his eyes narrowing. He pushed on it again.
I stepped closer to him. “It’s not. Just leave it alone anyway.”
“Yeah, Alan,” Ray said. “Don’t crush the walls; you’ll ruin the fort.”
“Ray!” I stared at him with my mouth open. What good was a camouflaged fort if he went around telling people about it—especially Prater.
“This is a fort?” Prater smirked. “It looks like a bunch of sticks first graders put together.”
“Do you have to make fun of everything?” Ray said. “Besides, look how good it is.” And before I could stop him, he opened the trapdoor and led Prater inside. Prater lumbered in like a bear for hibernation. I untied Jack and brought him into the fort with us, too.
We had to sit on the ground once we were inside. Ray and I did, anyway. Prater crouched as if ready to spring up if needed. I noticed his earlobe—it was misshapen. From the dog attack. I started to feel bad for Prater, but then he turned and made a sour face at me. “Do you have to bring that dog everywhere? I hope he doesn’t pee in here.”
My face heated up. “I hope you don’t pee in here.”
Prater rolled his eyes and curled his lip. He looked around the fort and gaped at the ceiling. “So what do you even do in here?”
Like I would really tell him. The deck of cards was in my back pocket. I shrugged my shoulders. “Lots of things.”
“It’s going to be a secret club,” Ray said.
“Ray!” He was telling Prater everything.
“Yeah, right,” Prater said. “A secret club. I saw it as soon as I came in the woods, so that’s how secret your stupid fort is.”
Ray looked irritated. “It’s not stupid.”
“If it’s so stupid, why don’t you just leave?” I said.
Prater leaned forward. “I didn’t come to see you anyway.” Then he turned to Ray. “I went to your house to see if you wanted to play basketball but your mom said you were here.” He sneered at me. “It was easy to find you and your dumb fort, if you want to call it that. Just a bunch of sticks in a hole. How boring.”
Ray started to say something, but I moved in quickly. “At least we did it ourselves. We didn’t let Mommy and Daddy make us a little playhouse so we could play in it.”
Prater frowned. “You better stop it.”
“You better stop it,” I said in a perfect imitation.
He glared at me. I stared back evenly. The worst he could do was punch me. I realized I’d rather get punched than back down from him. Finally, he shook his head and then looked at Ray. “If you want to come over later, don’t bring him.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got better things to do anyway,” I said before Ray could even answer.
Prater slammed the trapdoor open and stormed out. “Air force brat!” he called out from the edge of the woods.
“Mama’s boy!” I yelled from the trapdoor.
When I slipped back down in the fort, Ray had a strange look on his face. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You and Alan.”
My expression dropped. “What do you mean?”
“You guys make me feel like I have to
pick one of you.”
He was right, of course.
chapter 19
Dad was late coming home from work one night. I’d already eaten, scraping most of my supper into Jack’s bowl. It was some kind of rice-and-corn tomato casserole that made me feel like puking. Jack seemed to love it.
Jack and I sat on the front porch steps as it grew dark. Usually when Dad was late, he called. The sky swirled with pink and purple, and the trees were stark black against it. I couldn’t see through to the fort.
Crickets and frogs twanged their rubber band melody, and every now and then a lone bird called out. It was real peaceful. I slouched on the steps and closed my eyes. These were the sounds that used to lull Indians to sleep.
Suddenly, Jack yipped. I snapped to attention.
“What?” I didn’t see anything, but I sure didn’t want Prater to take me by surprise again. “What is it, Jack?”
Then I heard it, a faint howl lifting to the moon, followed by another. Prickles rushed over my head and the back of my neck. I held on to Jack, who had become rigid.
“That didn’t sound like a dog,” I said. One look at Jack’s face told me he agreed. Even in the evening light, I could see the blush seeping into his ears and eyes. His body tensed, ready for action. He stood and curved his skinny tail over his back.
The howl echoed from deep on the mountain once again. Jack leaped against my arms, but I held him tight. Shifting and prancing, he struggled against me, huffing in frustration.
“No, Jack!” I yelled. I grabbed his leash and he dug in with his front paws, pulling and pushing his neck in the collar, almost slipping out of it. I threw my arms around his body and he bucked me off, but not before I got ahold of his collar. He jerked hard down the stairs and we tumbled to the bottom. Before he could scramble away, I wrapped my legs and free arm around him, pinning him like a wrestler.
Then we heard it again, a howl rising out of the mountain. I froze. Even Jack was still. Seconds went by, then minutes; then all was quiet again. It didn’t matter. I recognized the sound from every cowboy movie I’d ever seen. It was a coyote.
Me & Jack Page 8
