Me and Jake

by Boo Riley

  Cameron ran a hand over his head. “Well, they took that in the olden days. Barbers hadn’t been invented yet.”

  “I suppose. Quite the story about that Joseph feller. His brothers selling him to them camel guys like they did. Then they lied and said he got killed. Their daddy cried.”

  “We ought to be in there. Mom sold us into slavery for a drunk and a job at a bar.”

  Sometimes Cameron had a way of making me feel let down. “I wonder where Dad is.”

  “Who cares? Let’s walk. It can’t be more than four, five miles at the most. Good thing you wore your old shoes.”

  26

  Nighttime settled in black as roofing tar. Above, a sky full of stars twinkled in a moonless sky.

  Rabbits, coons, skunks, possums, rats, mice and other critters went about their business, mostly rustling the bushes to make me wonder and quicken my pace. Meeting a skunk would be bad. It would take more than a squirt of deodorant to get rid of that smell. A flutter from a tree or the quick sound of wings on the wind told of a bird’s travels.

  I found myself behind several paces. “Sure not too many folks out this time of night, but I was thinking…we ought to hide if someone comes. Too many questions to answer.”

  “You’re right. But what if it’s Dad and we miss him? I know. We’ll hide if they come from behind us.”

  I put my hand to my hip pocket to make sure my Bible was still there. “What did you do with your Bible?”

  “It’s in my pocket. Why?”

  “Just wondering. You know it has red letters in it. I wonder why?”

  “Not all of them are red, but some are. I seen it too.”

  “Reckon what they mean?”

  A screech owl cut loose back in the woods. Irritating critters when they sat in a tree outside the window at night. They’re good as any guard dog. The boogieman would have a screech like that if there was such a thing.

  “Who knows,” Cameron said. “I know what red letters mean on my tests and homework, but after that…I suppose we’ll find out soon as we read some.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Didn’t think about that.”

  Cameron let out a good puff. “I’m about ready for bed. How far we come you think?”

  “Couple of miles maybe. The road down to the Thompson’s house should be up here on the left. It’s black out tonight. The white stripes are longer than I thought.”

  “Where’d that come from, T?”

  “I don’t know.” I counted the paces from one end of a line to the next in my mind. “They seem shorter when we’re riding in the truck. A car’s coming.”

  We jumped into the borrow pit and ducked down. Just in time. Headlights topped the rise behind us. A pickup. Too quiet to be Dad’s and coming from the wrong direction. The light grew brighter by the second. Shadows of grass and weeds grew bigger and darker on Cameron’s face then moved quicker and quicker as the pickup approached. Then, just as fast, night returned. We stood to watch it speed away, two red lights with a small white light over the license plate between them. The air following it hit us in the back. It cooled the sweat and carried a hint of exhaust fumes.

  “Look there, T. Jake’s coming.”

  Sure enough, Jake padded up the road about sixty paces distant, illuminated for a second in the lights of the pickup.

  He trotted straight to me, his tail going ninety. I gave him a hug.

  Cameron bent over and scruffed him on the head. “That’s some dog. How’d he know where we were? He came right to us.”

  “Cameron, I already told you.”

  “T, you get out that red-covered book tomorrow and get to reading. If it mentions an angel named Jake, then I’ll listen.”

  “I’m just saying. He knows everything. How else do you explain it?”

  “Not going to try. Just a good dog looking for his master.”

  Uh-oh. Lights hit us. It was too late to run. Someone drove up on us while we talked. The glare of lights wouldn’t let me see who, but I knew it couldn’t be Dad. Jake’s tail wagged, slow and easy.

  The top of the car exploded in blue and red lights. May as well have been Dad because my heart reacted the same way.

  A voice came from behind the lights, deep and husky but nice. “Boys, you’re out walking the roadway late. Should you be hunting coons on a school night?”

  I held up a hand to block the lights, but I still couldn’t see past them. “No, sir, we’re not coon hunting. We’re walking home, that’s all.”

  The headlights dimmed. Then the officer stepped into view. A dark man with no features. His gun, handcuffs, and the like, stuck out at his side—obvious with so much light behind him.

  “Where you been?”

  “Down to the white church for Wednesday night service,” I said.

  He walked up to us and turned, his face in the light. His pants had sharp creases down the legs, shirtsleeves buttoned at the wrists and creased like the pants. A neat, dark mustache curved downward beside his mouth. A cowboy hat shaded his eyes.

  I watched his lips.

  “You boys always take your dog to church?”

  Cameron seemed happy to let me talk. “No sir. Dad took us, but he didn’t come back when it was over. He said he’d be there, but I don’t know…maybe something happened.”

  He leaned over to rub Jake’s head and ears. “This your dog, then?”

  “He’s mine. His name is Jake. He came to meet us. Knew we were walking, I guess.”

  “I’m Sheriff Bowles. What are your names?”

  “I’m Ty, Ty Ray. This is my brother, Cameron.”

  He pulled a small pad and pencil from his shirt pocket and scribbled in it.

  “Well, I tell you what. You boys bring your dog and get in. I’ll take you home.”

  Boy, we were in for it now. I felt like arguing, but what do you tell the sheriff? We crawled into the back with Jake between us. Jake sat in the seat, looking out the window like he’d done it before.

  The car had a metal screen between the front and back and no door handles in the back. The radio squawked; it was a lady’s voice. “Don and Willamina Ray, children Ty and Cameron, fourteen, no address, only a P.O. Box, no warrants.”

  Sheriff Bowles said, “Roger,” into his police radio. “Point me in the right direction, one of you, please.” His eyes appeared in the mirror. “Cameron, you’re not much of a talker.”

  “No, sir,” Cameron said.

  I gave directions. Then I leaned over and whispered to Cameron, “What we going to tell Dad?”

  “Let Dad tell the sheriff how come he didn’t come get us. We don’t got to say a word. You watch.”

  Here it was again, plain and simple, laid out in Cameron’s knack for stating the obvious. Simple always seemed to baffle me.

  Our house loomed dark as the night around it. The living room light came on about the time the sheriff opened the door for us.

  Jake hopped out and plodded off toward the barn.

  Dad, dressed in khaki britches and white undershirt, stepped onto the front concrete steps. “What’s going on here?” he yelled.

  “I brought your boys home, Mr. Ray.”

  “Oh,” Dad said. “Well, you boys go get your chores done and get to bed.”

  The sheriff’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute. You boys stay right there.”

  Cameron got it right again. Dad was in for it.

  The sheriff pulled out a small flashlight, clicked it on and pointed it at Dad. Dad’s hand flew up to guard his eyes. “Sir, I picked up your boys and their dog nearly two miles from here. They said you took them to church.”

  Dad walked off the stoop two steps and puffed up. “So? What of it?”

  “You dropped them off and they were supposed to walk home? Four miles on a school night. Am I missing something, sir?”

  “Well, I…I got truck problems.”

  The sheriff opened his mouth then closed it. He turned away from Dad, paused, looked into the night then turned back. “So, you go to b
ed and let them fend for themselves? Boys, step into the house. Never mind your chores for now. Mr. Ray, you step out here. I want to look you in the eye a minute.”

  27

  We knew when the sheriff left. The walls shook with the bang of the front door slamming.

  My Bible lay secure under our mattress. If Dad decided to vent his foul mood on us, I didn’t want him to find it and take it away from me out of spite.

  He never came to our room, but we heard his rant, venom muffled by walls and distance.

  I knew better than to leave chores. “I’m going to go feed right quick.”

  “It’s after ten, leave it for morning. I’m sleepy.”

  “I’m sleepy too, and tired from walking, but Dad would have at us and you know it. Besides, imagine you’re an animal penned up with no food and water. I know Jake’s hungry, and so am I for that matter. Momma Ray left pork chops and corn on the table.”

  Cameron perked up. “There’s been a lot happening, but it’s not like I forgot to be hungry. You’re right, let’s go.”

  We finally got to bed, and night passed before I got my eyes good and closed. Momma Ray stuck her head in our door to announce breakfast much too early for me.

  I washed my face and gave my pits a good scrubbing and a squirt of deodorant before going to the kitchen.

  Dad walked through about the time we finished an egg with toast. He never said a word. His pickup cranked up and left the yard.

  He’d told the sheriff a big fat whopper last night. There wasn’t a thing wrong with his old truck. He left us to fend for ourselves just like the sheriff said.

  I made sure to put my Bible in my hip pocket before leaving for the bus stop.

  A million questions floated in and out of my mind. We didn’t get to hear all the story of Joseph. I wanted to know what happened to him. What happened to his brothers? They needed to get their hind ends warmed up for what they’d done.

  I’d barely think of a question before another would pop in and replace it. I found myself looking forward to seeing Jason. He seemed to know about the Bible, or at least he knew more than I did for sure. He might have answers for me.

  There had to be a way to get Dad to take us back to church. Working up the nerve to ask him was the biggest obstacle.

  Jake led us down the lane to the bus stop. His tail moved left and right, not like a wag, but like a rudder, taking his backend with it to track first to one side then the other side.

  “You know, T, you missed something last night.”

  “Like what?”

  “Willamina, Momma Ray’s first name.”

  “Oh, man, that’s right. I thought I was hearing things.”

  Cameron’s nose wrinkled as if the smell of a skunk had drifted through. “I bet she don’t like her ma and pa for hanging that around her neck. No wonder she wants to be called Momma Ray.”

  “Yeah.” I danced a little jig on the road. “Momma Willamina gotta get her purse ’fore she come to see ya.”

  It was dumb, dumb, dumb, but we laughed at it.

  Cameron had a stick and was whacking rocks into the woods again. Each click of rock on wood was followed by an angry whiz as the pebble sailed away.

  “Too bad we don’t live in town. You’d be a good baseball player.”

  He hit another one to prove my point. “I wouldn’t mind. I like it when Jimmy brings another glove, so we can play catch before school.”

  “Jimmy who?”

  “Jimmy Thompson, down the road?”

  “He plays baseball, in town? No kidding. I wouldn’t have thought.”

  “Yep, sure does.”

  “We can forget baseball or any sport. No way we’ll ever play.”

  Jake had his nose to the ground. A scent led him into the bushes. Maybe where a coon crossed the road.

  Cameron bent to pick up another pebble to whack. “Hey, look at this.” He dropped down and sat on his heels, one knee out to the side, elbows on his knees.

  “What is it?”

  “Looks like a motorcycle track. Turns into the woods right here. Jake’s on it. See.”

  Sure enough. Someone had driven a motorcycle almost to the house then turned off the road.

  “Let’s see where it went.”

  “Cameron, we can’t miss the bus.”

  “I know, we won’t. Let’s just look for a second.”

  Heavy dew covered the leaves and made the venture a wet one. We walked off the road no more than thirty paces and hit a dead end. No trail, just a wall of undergrowth.

  “Cameron, this don’t make sense. Who’d come park their motorcycle here by the house? I’ve never heard a motorcycle around here. Ever heard of a coon hunter riding one?”

  “No, I haven’t, but look at Jake. He’s looking toward the house like whoever it was got off and walked that way.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not letting on like it just happened. It’s not fresh.”

  “Let’s go to the bus stop. Maybe Jason has one. We’ll ask him if he rode up this way.”

  “I got a bunch of stuff I want to ask him too.”

  “Like what?”

  “About church last night.”

  Cameron quickened his pace, slapping the stick against his leg in time with each step. “I don’t know about the Bible. I read some last night after you went to sleep. Lots of words like ‘shalt’ and ‘doeth’ and ‘thee.’ And stuff about living on words, not eating no bread. Bunch of skinny folks around in those days I bet, not eating and walking everywhere they went.”

  “You turned the light back on?”

  “Yep, sure did. You drool and snore like Jake too. I never noticed you drool. Like sleeping with a dishrag.”

  “Cameron, what if Jason doesn’t have a motorcycle?”

  “I’ve been thinking on that. We’re going to find out about that bike. Tonight, after chores, we’ll take a walk and just see for ourselves who’s hiding in the woods.”

  28

  Jason walked up to the bus stop the same time we did. He had on a new pair of jeans, a blue shirt, a brown belt, and the same white tennis shoes.

  “Where’s your earphones?” I asked.

  “It’s not my earphones. I still got them. It’s the cassette player. I had them on doing chores last night, bent over to scoop leaves out of a water trough, and it fell in.”

  Cameron laughed. “That’ll do it every time.”

  “Sure will. It’ll be awhile before I can save up enough to buy another one.”

  That surprised me. I glanced toward their place with its big red barn and brick house. “Your mom and dad won’t get you another one?”

  “No way. They give me an allowance. I save it, and if I want something, I have to buy it with my own money. They stopped giving me stuff—heck—I don’t remember. A couple of years ago, I guess. Said I needed to learn the value of money. Besides, Dad warned me about doing chores with it in my pocket. I didn’t listen.”

  Cameron looked him up and down. “You got to buy your own clothes too?”

  “No, just play things, like the tape player, or if I want to go to the show, or a circus and the like. They have a disc player out and I might get one of those, but it’s bigger, and I have lots of cassettes. I don’t know yet.”

  “What’s an allowance? Like…they pay you? I never heard of such a thing,” I said.

  “They give me twenty dollars a week for doing chores and helping around the house. I have to put some in savings. The rest is mine to spend or save or whatever.”

  Cameron laughed again but with no humor in it. “Our dad’s on an allowance. We give him a hundred dollars just the other day.”

  Jason’s forehead wrinkled, pulling his eyebrows together, but I broke in before he could ask what Cameron was on about. “Do you have a motorcycle?”

  His face relaxed as his eyes lit. His voice went up. “I wish. Do you?”

  I shook my head. “No, we don’t have one neither.”

  Jason waved toward his house. “My mom is scared t
o death of them. Dad had one for chasing cows and wrecked it. He has a four-wheeler now. Why?”

  Cameron pointed down our lane. “We found tracks by the house. Leads off into the woods, into nowhere, like it disappeared up a sweet gum tree.”

  “You know what.” Jason held a finger up and shook it. “When we left for church last night, we passed a man on a motorbike. I don’t know what color, didn’t pay attention to it. Wouldn’t think about it now except my dad mentioned how fast he was going. Said they were going to peel him off a tree one day. You think he went to see your folks or something?”

  “No.” I shook my head and scuffed a foot in the gravel. “This is different. First, we don’t get people down to the house, and the tracks didn’t go that far.”

  “Hey, T,” Cameron nodded and motioned with his hand, “look who’s coming.”

  Sheriff Bowles topped the hill in front of the school bus. He pulled over and stopped, holding up the bus, and lowered the window. “Good morning, men. Ty, Cameron, beautiful day.”

  Jason looked between me and Cameron without moving his head, and then he replied, “Yes, sir. Beautiful day. Yes, sir, it sure is.” He hooked his thumbs in his pants pockets and shuffled his feet.

  The sheriff pulled off his hat, put it on the dash, and ran his fingers through his crew-cut hair. The radio squawked and he turned it down. “Ty, are you and Cameron doing OK this morning? Did you get some rest last night?”

  I looked at the bus and Mrs. Adams shaking her head, then back at the sheriff. “Yes, sir. We got some sleep after doing chores.”

  “Well, OK then. I’ll be checking on you two. Stay out of trouble and tend to your school work.” He looked across the road where Jake sat watching us. “I see your dog’s keeping an eye on you.”

  Jason looked lost for words.

  Cameron had words, just didn’t feel the need to share them.

  “Well, yes, sir,” I said. “That’s all he’s got—one eye, I mean.”

  The sheriff reached for his hat and put it back on. He grinned and ran his thumb and finger down his mustache, one to each side of the mouth. “Ty, that’s funny, real funny. Yes, sir, you’re a funny kid. See you boys.”

  “Yes, sir, we’ll see you.” I gave him a short wave as the window went up.