Me & Jack

by Danette Haworth

  I put Jack in the house. I grabbed my tape recorder, set it on the porch, and pushed the button to record.

  In a book I once read, some pioneers came across a ghost town in the desert. All the houses were still standing and even had furniture in them, but there were no people. The pioneers decided to leave their wagons and sleep in the empty beds of the empty houses. By morning, coyotes had eaten all of them and they were now just skeletons lying in beds.

  I was still waiting on the front porch when Dad pulled into the driveway. I sprang up and ran down the driveway to the car, ready to burst with news of the coyote.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Dad said as he stepped out of the car. His uniform looked rumpled, like it had been a long day.

  The car shone under the porch light. I tried to brush away some dirt clods from the back end, but then I realized they were dings. The whole quarter panel was pocked. “What happened to the car?” I asked. It looked like it had been through a meteor shower.

  Dad’s smile faded into his tired face. “Well.” He sighed and shook his head.

  I waited for him to finish.

  Dad wiped his face with his hand and let his shoulders drop. “Some people threw rocks at it.”

  “What?”

  Dad sighed again and fingered one of the dings as if to smooth it out. “I stopped by a job fair today. Some protesters were there.” He smiled at me, but it was that kind of upside-down smile people use to show you they’re not upset about something they really are upset about. “People are not happy about the war.” He rubbed his eyes. “They need someone to blame.”

  The air force insignia shone out from the driver’s door like a target. My chest tightened. “They threw rocks at it? Did you see them?” They’d drop their rocks and protest signs if they saw my dad coming after them.

  Dad looked at me. He stood there in his wrinkled air force uniform next to his bashed-up air force car. “I was driving the car when they did it.”

  My eyes widened and I stared at him. My dad. How could people do that to him? He was a good man. It wasn’t his fault there was a war going on—he was just doing his job.

  “It’s all right,” Dad said gently and cupped my head.

  “No, it’s not.” I shook off his hand. “They should be arrested.” How dare they do that to my dad.

  “Joshua …” He nudged me gently toward the house, but I stood my ground.

  “Did you stop? Did you get out of the car? What did you do?” I spat my words, I was so mad at those people.

  He hung his head. “It’s not like that, it—”

  “You let them get away with it?”

  “Joshua …” His bones seemed to melt, as if something had sucked all the marrow out. Then he turned toward the back door. “I’m going in.”

  I stared after the crumpled figure of my father. What was happening to people? Why were they acting this way? It made me afraid of becoming an adult. They seemed so full of hate. I did not want to be a person like that.

  Dad stopped on the back porch. “You coming?”

  I thought about telling him about the coyote, about the tape recorder on the front porch, but his shoulders were sagging under the weight of his day. I didn’t think I should add anything else.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” I trudged up behind him.

  As I lay in bed that night, I imagined myself tracking down the people who threw rocks at my father. They said they didn’t want war but then they opened fire on my dad. That sounded like war to me.

  chapter 20

  Sound crackled and popped, and a high-pitched note blared from the microphone as Pastor Danny stepped up to the podium. Jack whined, and I covered my ears like everyone else. Just about the whole town turned out for the Fourth of July Family Festival.

  “Happy Independence Day!” Pastor Danny said over the PA system. “Glen Myers is over there getting seconds on the ribs and I told my wife I’d better say the blessing.”

  Laughter rose from the tables. “Better hurry!” said an older man standing near the buffet with a plate.

  After the laughter died down, the pastor’s face took on a shine. “Before we say grace, I want to deliver some good news.” He smiled off to his side and gestured with his hand. A guy, college-age, got up and stood next to him. A few days’ whiskers covered his cheeks.

  A shriek went up from the crowd, then everyone around us broke into applause. The guy bowed his head and pushed his hand against his eyes before looking up again.

  The pastor stretched his arm across the guy’s shoulders. Then he faced us. “Folks, Mark Zimmerman is home safe from Vietnam!”

  Shouts and whooping filled the air. Dad stood up and clapped, and so did several other men, and finally, everyone got to their feet. The pastor joined in, then motioned for people to sit down.

  He leaned up to the microphone. “Mark, we are so happy to have you home. I know I’m speaking for your family, especially your mom, when I say a day didn’t pass without prayers being said for you.”

  Mark shut his eyes and nodded.

  “We’re proud of you. We love you. And we thank you for what you did in the name of this country.” The pastor stepped aside. “You want to give us a few words?”

  Mark gripped both sides of the podium. Applause and victory shouts greeted him. He turned his back and pressed his hand against his eyes again. When he faced us, head down, silence fell in the tent.

  “Thank you for …” His voice crumbled. I willed my strength to him. After a few moments, he picked up his head and looked at us straight on. “Thank you for welcoming me back. Thank you for being kind to my mom and dad while I was away. I can honestly say not every guy coming back from ’Nam comes back to a picnic.” He stared at us like he was going to say something else; instead, he broke down again.

  A man and a lady rushed up. The lady was crying.

  “Ah, Mom.” They hugged each other, and the father wrapped his arms around both of them.

  Then the soldier squared himself up. “All right, no more tears. I’ve got a few people to thank; I hope you’re all here. Tyskos, the magazines you sent me got passed around till the pages fell out. Millie Thompson, best chocolate chip cookies ever, next to my mom’s. Pastor, ladies of the church, Mom and Dad, all your letters, all your prayers …”

  “We love you, Mark!”

  Looking out at all the people sitting in front of him, he didn’t seem to know where to go from there. He took a deep breath and glanced at the pastor.

  Pastor Danny took the podium, gave the blessing, and then it was all the ribs, corn on the cob, and baked beans you could eat. Barbecue smoke drifted under the canopy, reminding you of how good it all tasted and making you want to eat more. I shared some ribs with Jack as Dad and I sat at a picnic table.

  Something fluttered through the back of my hair. I swatted at it and kept eating. Again, a definite ruffle, then giggling. I reached back real quick and grabbed a little hand. “Gotcha!”

  “Joshua!” CeeCee squealed. She whirled around and sat on the bench next to me.

  Dad leaned backward. “Who’ve we got here?”

  “I’m CeeCee!” She faced Dad with her pumpkin smile, swinging her legs back and forth. Then she bent under the table. “Hi, Jack!”

  Jack sniffed and licked her hands. How could she be so cute and her brother be such a jerk?

  “What are you up to?” I asked. And more important, “Is your brother here?”

  “Yeah, he’s over there.” She pointed off in some direction.

  I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, Mrs. Puchalski, and a couple of kids from Sunday school. One kid waved to me and I waved back. I didn’t see Prater. I put my head down when one of the mothers from the ice cream store walked by.

  “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  She tipped her face up. “I have a dog, too.”

  “What?” This was news to me. “I didn’t see a dog at your house.”

  She dropped her shoulders exaggeratedly like I should know bette
r. “Not a real dog—a doll dog. He’s pink. There’s Missy!” She popped off the bench and disappeared.

  Other people brought their dogs—real ones—but Jack didn’t enjoy meeting them. He jerked himself away when they sniffed him, and he yapped at their snouts if they got too close to his face. I knew exactly how he felt.

  My plate empty and my stomach full, I held my fingers under the table and Jack licked them clean. I gathered up his leash and turned to Dad. “I’m going to find Ray,” I said.

  Jack and I wove through tables and clusters of people until I spotted him.

  Ray smiled when he saw us and pointed at Jack. “Look at his mustache!” A ring of barbecue sauce framed Jack’s lips. We laughed and sat at an empty picnic table at the edge of the pavilion.

  “Prater’s here,” I said. I wondered why he wasn’t hanging around Ray.

  “Yeah, I know.” Ray kicked at the dirt. A black spider scurried off. “He’s mad at me.”

  “Why?”

  Ray shrugged his shoulders.

  A truck hauled up and some kid and his mom got out.

  “Jimmy Schwartz,” Ray said.

  A couple of boys ran out to greet him and his face grew serious as he spoke to them. Whatever he said, it wasn’t good, judging by the shocked expressions he received in response. His mom split off to talk with the ladies. The boys stopped by us.

  Jimmy had red hair and greenish freckles. He nodded to Ray. One of the other boys elbowed Jimmy and said, “Tell him what happened.”

  I leaned forward. I saw Prater coming up out of the corner of my eye. The other boys acknowledged him with a nod as he sat at the picnic table across from us. I did not look at him.

  “Some kind of fox or something broke into the chicken coop and killed a whole bunch of chickens,” Jimmy said.

  He stepped over the bench and sat down, hunching his shoulders as he leaned on his elbows. “When we ran outside, most of the chickens were lying around bleeding. He ate a couple of them, too.” His face screwed up. “Dad had to kill the others; they were too hurt for living.”

  “Were the chickens screeching?” Ray asked. “Is that why you ran outside?”

  “No, we heard the trash cans banging around and—”

  “Trash cans?” Prater asked and moved to our picnic table. My heart quickened. Trouble.

  “Yeah, we heard them getting knocked down or something. Then we—”

  Prater pointed at me. “His dog knocks down trash cans.”

  They all turned in my direction and their eyes fell to Jack, who sat beside me.

  “He didn’t knock down any trash cans,” I said. “Nobody actually saw him do that.”

  “Yeah, and remember at the ice cream store?” Prater said, his voice getting louder. Other kids were gathering. “He killed that rabbit. We all saw him do that, even you,” he sneered.

  My mouth went dry. Prater seemed to be enjoying this.

  “I heard he chopped it right in half,” one kid said. A couple of other kids nodded.

  “That’s not what happened,” I said. I stood up and gripped Jack’s leash.

  “Jack didn’t do anything wrong,” Ray said. “Even cats hunt.”

  “But that’s mice,” a girl said.

  “Speaking of hunting,” Prater said. His eyes lit up with excitement and his mouth dropped open. Suddenly I knew what he was going to say. I stepped over the bench and backed away from the table.

  “That dog is a hunter,” Prater said, then pointed at me. “He got a letter that says so. That dog is trained to bring meat to the table.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Jack didn’t do anything.”

  “Of course you’d lie for him.”

  “I’m not lying.” I couldn’t bear all those faces looking at me and Jack like we were criminals.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” Prater yelled. “Why did you say it was a fox?”

  Jimmy looked bewildered. “We saw these paw prints—”

  Prater flashed me a triumphant grin.

  I ducked away from the table, pulling Jack into the crowd. Ray called me, but I didn’t stop. Prater was the biggest idiot on the planet. He was trying to get everyone to gang up on me and Jack; that wasn’t fair. Ignoring Prater didn’t work because he was looking for a fight. I let myself say a cussword, but only loud enough for my own ears to hear. It didn’t make me feel better. The only thing that would make me feel better was getting out of here.

  chapter 21

  I reined Jack in close and tripped through the crowd until I spotted Dad, leaning his crossed arms on a picnic table. Mark Zimmerman hunched over the other side. He was looking down while he talked, but I could tell it was an intense conversation.

  Normally, I wouldn’t interrupt Dad, and even now I reconsidered it, but all I could think of was shaking this place. I jerked Dad’s arm hard.

  “Hey!” He smiled up at me. “Mark, I want you to meet my boy. This is Joshua.”

  “How’re you doing?” Mark said. He looked younger up close.

  I gave him a quick nod. “Dad, come on. Let’s go.”

  “In a few minutes. I’m talking right now.”

  I groaned.

  I could see him trying to figure me out, but I didn’t feel like explaining right then. I just wanted him to get up.

  “Let me have a few minutes with Mark.”

  I threw my head down. “I’ll be by the car.”

  I had plenty of time to think while waiting for Dad. Like, why didn’t I stick up better for Jack? Why didn’t I tell them about the coyote? I hadn’t heard it since that night, and my cassette player hadn’t picked up anything, but I knew this like I knew Jack’s bark—a coyote roamed somewhere on that mountain and he was coming down to hunt.

  I whiffed on that. I should’ve told them. Instead, at the height of trouble, I froze—I hated that about myself. Now, of course, I could think of all kinds of great comebacks, but it was too late for that; the moment had already passed. How dare they blame Jack for those chickens.

  And Prater. What a complete—

  “You want to tell me where the fire is?” Dad came tromping through the field. “You were disrespectful not only to me but also to a soldier who just got home.”

  “I didn’t mean to be.”

  “Well, you were. Next time hold your horses when I tell you to.”

  “Yessir.”

  We piled into the car.

  “So you gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dad asked as we drove home.

  “I just—they’re blaming Jack for everything,” I said. I told him what happened to Jimmy’s chickens and how Prater had twisted everything.

  “Well …,” Dad began. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Like what? What do you mean?” I turned and faced him as we slowed to a stop for a red light.

  Dad stared out the windshield. “Didn’t you take Jack for a walk this morning?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly, unsure of where this was going.

  “Did Jack get loose?”

  “No!”

  “You can tell me if he did.”

  “You don’t believe me! You believe them!”

  Dad raised his hand, waving it like a stop sign. “No, no, no—I’m just saying that …” He paused and sighed again. “I’m just saying that maybe we should keep a better eye on Jack.”

  “Jack didn’t hurt those chickens. There’s a coyote on the mountain. I heard it with my own ears.”

  “A coyote?” Dad lifted his eyebrows and shook his head. “This isn’t the Wild West, Joshua. I know you love Jack and you want him to be innocent, but you can’t make up stories to protect him.”

  “I knew it!” I said. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. You think I’m lying!” I folded my arms and glared out the window.

  “Stop,” Dad said with a sharp voice. “Maybe you think you heard something, and maybe you did. But last month you told me you saw a bear up there.” I didn’t turn from the windo
w. He softened his voice. “I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you.”

  I twisted around and looked at Jack in the backseat. His head stuck out of the window and his eyes squinted against the wind. His nose twitched like crazy. He looked even more golden with the sun lighting up his fur.

  Turning back, I looked straight at Dad. “He didn’t do anything,” I said. “He’s a good dog.”

  chapter 22

  Ray called about an hour after we got home. I picked up on the upstairs phone and dragged the handset into my room. He was saying I should’ve stayed at the picnic table. “In a couple of minutes, they would’ve all forgotten about it. But when you left, everyone was all like, ‘Yeah, it was his dog—that’s why he’s leaving.’ I had to stick up for you all by myself.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “Well, if it hadn’t been for Prater—”

  “He’s a blowhard, man, everyone knows that.”

  Even though he couldn’t see me, I shook my head. “They believed him.” It had been like being encircled by the enemy, with Jack and me at the center.

  “I don’t think Jimmy did. Anyway, you missed my yo-yo routine.”

  “Oh, man.” Some friend I was. Silence buzzed over the wire. “You know what? I’m an idiot. I should have told Prater to shut up.”

  “Not that he would have listened.” Ray laughed. “Maybe I could have done a looping trick and popped him in the head with my yo-yo.”

  First he called Prater a blowhard, now he was popping him in the head with a yo-yo. Something was up. “Remember you said he was mad at you? What was it for?”

  “I showed him the arrowhead!” His voice raised, full of disbelief. “I told him we could probably find one for him, but he got all mad about it. He thinks I can only have one best friend.”

  Best friend. Words of gold to a new kid. I had to be careful here, didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I just kept my mouth shut.

  Ray sighed into the phone.

  I pictured him yo-yoing. “How’d your routine go?”

  “Great! My new trick—that one where I jump over the string—it was so cool. They blasted the music so loud, it was like a concert!” He paused for a second. “Are you still going to the fireworks at Harveys Lake? We’re all going to Hanson’s Park afterward. You have to go on the roller coaster.”