When Zachary Beaver Came to Town

by Kimberly Willis Holt

Juan scowls. “Man, that kid’s a brat.” He lifts up the box, and I notice a pants leg and a shirtsleeve hanging out of it. Right away I recognize them as Wayne’s. The box must be filled with his clothes.

  Juan notices me looking at Wayne’s clothes and quickly stuffs them back into the box. For a second he looks embarrassed, but then he jerks back his head and walks out the gate.

  Then it hits me that maybe the reason Juan didn’t go to Scarlett’s grandpa’s fancy party wasn’t because he had something to do, but because he had nothing to wear. I watch him walk away in his soiled T-shirt and flip-flops worn thin at the soles. And I don’t know if it’s because of his old clothes or because I feel lucky to have every bone in my body in one piece, but I take off and catch up to him. “Juan, can you be in front of your house in a half hour?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “You’ll see.” I head back home, then turn around. Juan is already a few houses away. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I holler, “Hey, Juan, you might want to clean up real quick.”

  With Mom’s green nylon scarf tied to my handlebar, I ride my bike down Scarlett’s street. A few doors from her house, I pass Tara in a neighbor’s driveway. She’s holding hands with a little girl and the girl’s mother. They’re new in town, and I guess they haven’t gotten to know Tara the Terror yet. “We’re going to the Dairy Queen,” Tara tells me as she heads to the car with them.

  “Have fun,” I call from my bike. A new Dairy Queen has opened up in the next town over. It’s a few miles away, and that means I won’t have to worry about Tara tagging along behind us.

  After parking on the sidewalk, I tuck the scarf in my pocket and find Scarlett playing solitaire on the steps of her front porch. “Hi.”

  Scarlett glances up and looks back down to the cards. “Hi.” She turns over a seven of hearts and places it on top of the eight of clubs, then keeps playing like I’m not even there.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Toby,” she says. “No more gifts, please.”

  Her words kill me, but I swallow and say, “You’ll like this one. Trust me.”

  I pull out Mom’s scarf. “I have to tie this around your eyes.”

  “Toby.”

  “Trust me.”

  She giggles as I tie on the scarf, trying not to smell her shampooed hair or perfume. Then I take small steps, guiding her to my bike. “Swing your leg over,” I say, holding my bike steady.

  She starts to raise her leg, then puts it down. “What are we doing?”

  “Come on. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

  She swings her leg over, and her ankle hits the pedal. “Ouch.” It leaves a white scrape on her tanned skin.

  “Sorry,” I say, helping her onto the banana seat. “I should have tied on the scarf after you were on the bike.” I slip in front of her. “Hang on.”

  She locks her arms around my waist, and I try to push back thoughts of our dance at Gossimer Lake. I launch with my feet, and after a wobbly start we’re off, pedaling down the street and heading toward the highway.

  Scarlett squeals and her grip tightens. It’s hard to tell if she’s petrified or loving the adventure. Once the coast is clear, I cross the highway and the railroad tracks.

  “Oh, my gosh!” She giggles as we ride over the bumps. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  This is the moment I’ve dreamed of—riding through town on my bike with the girl of my dreams holding on to me for dear life. As we cross over the railroad tracks, Scarlett lets out three short shrieks. I have no idea which house is Juan’s because Mom never let me ride through this neighborhood. But down the road, Juan is in his yard, swinging the golf club like a pro. He’s wearing a red sports shirt I recognize immediately as Wayne’s.

  When Juan catches a glimpse of who is sitting behind me, he grins. As I get closer, I notice he’s standing in a long strip of mowed weeds with a few golf balls scattered about. All along I guess Juan used the number-five iron to practice golf. I remember Juan’s T-shirt with Super Mex scribbled across it and feel stupid that I didn’t know what it meant before. That must be his big plan, to be like Lee Trevino—Super Mex.

  I stop inches from Juan’s feet, carefully step off the bike, and pull off Scarlett’s blindfold. When she sees him, she smiles, then quickly frowns. “Toby, you shouldn’t have done this. Take me back.”

  “You’ll have to walk,” I say. “I’ve got to get home.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” Juan says. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

  Scarlett doesn’t move, and I’m thinking I’ve made a big mistake. Now Juan and Scarlett will be mad at me.

  “Como sé llama?” Juan says.

  Scarlett shyly smiles at Juan. “Me llamo Scarletta.”

  “Muy bien,” Juan says. “You remember.”

  Slowly Scarlett gets off the bike and steps toward him. My chest feels like it’s squeezing my heart.

  I turn my bike toward town, but before I can take off, Scarlett touches my shoulder, leans over, and kisses my cheek. She whispers, “I still think you’re the nicest boy in Antler.”

  I start pedaling and I don’t look back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m drained and exhausted from playing Cupid. I don’t want to do anything tonight but turn on the television and watch The Flip Wilson Show. Inside, Dad strings his fishing pole at the kitchen table. Another one lies next to it. “Toby,” he says, “get your grubbies on. We’re going fishing.”

  Lake Kiezer is quiet. All the water-skiers have quit for the day. Some campers load up and drive off. Except for a boat filled with old men fishing, Dad and I are the only ones on the water.

  We sit across from each other in Dad’s dinghy, which we’ve rowed to his favorite spot. Usually fishing makes me want to jump out of my skin from the stillness of it all, but today the quiet calms me.

  I never liked fishing, and I’ve managed to avoid it for the last three years. The first time Dad took me, I must have been four or five years old. He always let me play with the worms in the shed while he worked. Back then, I had fun playing with their wiggly bodies and burying them in the dirt. The first day he took me fishing, I cried when he stuck one of my pals on a hook. He tried to show me how much fun it was to catch fish, then turn them loose, but I wasn’t happy until we packed up and went home.

  As I got older, it wasn’t the worms on the hooks that bothered me as much as the boredom of it. There’s too much waiting involved.

  The sun sits low in the sky, and I figure we’ve got another full hour of daylight. Dad reels in a bass, and it’s a looker. I can even imagine it cooked up on the skillet with a side order of Ferris’s hush puppies.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Dad says, holding her up for me to see. “At least four pounds, I expect.” He slips his finger in her mouth and frees her from the hook, then gently lowers her into the water.

  “Why do you do that?” I ask, annoyed.

  “Throw her back?”

  I nod.

  “She’s done me a favor, now I’m doing her one.”

  “What favor did she do you?”

  “Let me enjoy the thrill of catching her.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s thrilling, all right.”

  “Not exciting enough for you?”

  I shrug.

  He rebaits his hook, then casts out beautifully, his line gliding through the air and diving gracefully into the water. He reels in the line, taking up the slack. “Toby, I grew up with enough excitement to last two lifetimes. When he wasn’t working, your grandfather constantly entertained clients and politicians. Our house swarmed with important people. His schedule was filled with things that had nothing to do with his family and everything to do with getting ahead. I would have killed to have had one moment like this with him.”

  I don’t know what to say because my life seems to have been filled with moments like this with Dad and I’ve always felt they were too quiet, especially now with Mom gone.
I reel in my line to check my bait. The worm is still there. I cast toward a big rock and watch the ripples smooth out on the water.

  “Nice cast,” Dad says. “Antler offered me something that Dallas never did. I can be myself here. Maybe it’s dull to you. I’m sorry about that. I guess it was too dull for your mom.”

  “Why did you marry her?”

  He frowns as if he’s angry, but he looks toward the horizon and his lips slide into a smile. “The first time I ever laid eyes on your mom, she was singing in a rodeo at Caprock Arena. That tiny little thing was filled with so much life.” He keeps looking at the horizon, and it’s as if he’s not talking to me, but to himself. “Passionate about her dreams, even back then. I guess I thought like me, her dreams belonged to her youth and that she’d be happy with the simple life. But that was my dream. It wasn’t right for me to expect her to change.” He turns his head toward me. “So if there is any blaming to do, aim it my way.”

  When he says that, I realize that’s exactly what I’ve wanted to do, but now I feel numb and I don’t know who to blame. So after a long moment I say, “I don’t blame you, Dad.”

  “Then don’t blame her either. She loves you, Toby. You need to let her love you.”

  A lump gathers in my throat. “Do you think you’ll get back together?”

  “I can’t answer that.” His temples pulse and he looks out onto the water, where the sun glistens. “I can tell you this, though. You’re a lucky person if you go through life and have one person need you. And you’ve got more than a couple that do.”

  I wonder if he’s talking about Cal.

  He looks straight at me. “I know Wayne meant a lot to you, Toby. But he was Cal’s brother. Not yours.”

  His words sting, and I feel a rush of anger rising in me.

  “Hear me out,” Dad says. “I’ve let you slide on a few things lately. I know that your mom leaving has had a big effect on you. But you should have been at that funeral.”

  I nod because the lump crowds my throat and won’t let me talk.

  “Cal needs you.”

  “But I messed up. I can’t go to the funeral now.”

  Something tugs at Dad’s line, and his shoulders tense. The fish pulls the slack out of his line, and Dad slowly turns the handle on his reel. Then his shoulders relax in place. “Ah, he let go.”

  He pulls in his line to check the bait. The worm is missing. As he digs for another one, he says, “You asked me the other day if I ever wanted to be a lawyer. I did. Only to make my dad proud. But I messed up and failed the bar exam. Twice.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I’ve always thought Dad was kind of boring, but I never thought about him failing at anything.

  Dad hooks the worm, then casts again. “You’re right, Toby. It’s too late for the funeral. But today is another tough day for Cal. Today his family is getting the rest of Wayne’s stuff.”

  My head swims. “You mean like letters?”

  “Yeah, letters, clothes, books, whatever he had. Cal will need you. Don’t let him down now.”

  My line starts to bob, but all I can think about is my letter to Wayne and if Cal will ever forgive me.

  One nice thing about fishing with Dad is there are no fish to clean after returning home. I smell fishy, though. I think about taking a shower before dinner, but when I look out the window over my dresser, I see Cal coasting his bike down the driveway.

  I slam the drawer shut and rush outside to get my bike. I take off after him. He’s already turned off Ivy Street, and I wonder if he’s headed right or left. I choose right and pedal fast. I catch a glimpse of him on Elm Street and race toward him. He rides at a slow pace, but as I get closer, he glances back and speeds up. I pedal harder, trying to meet his pace, but he’s faster than me and becomes a blue blur way down the road. I lean forward, working with the wind at my back. Finally I gain enough speed and we’re just inches from each other. If I reach out, I could grab him.

  Cal stands, breathing hard, pedaling like mad. Ignoring me, he focuses straight ahead on the road. He turns left. I turn left. He turns right, and so do I. I am his shadow. Then Cal turns sharply back to the left, but this time when I try to follow, I fall. The deep scrape on my knee throbs and blood pools to the surface. Instead of stopping and helping me as Cal would have a week ago, he presses on.

  I study my knee and think about giving up. What use is it to follow? But I ignore the scrape, straighten my handlebar, then hop on my seat again. Cal heads west toward Gossimer Lake. I know he’s going to the lake because that’s the only thing worth aiming for out there. By taking the shortcut through the alley and crossing the road to the other end of the lake, I reach it the moment he does.

  But when he sees me, he keeps pedaling and doesn’t stop even when he reaches the water. He plunges in, bike and all, disappearing under the murky surface. I hop off my bike and run in, searching for him. He stands, his curls wet and clinging flat to his head like a bathing cap.

  “Get outta here!” he yells, kicking water in my face.

  And when I don’t, he slugs me on the arm. I still don’t move, and he punches me again. My arm throbs in pain. He starts to swing toward me and I step back and yell, “Are you crazy? Cut it out!”

  “Where’s my bike?” He squats and his arms hunt frantically through the water.

  I join him in the search, and finally I feel a handlebar jabbing my stomach. “Here!”

  Together we manage to drag the bike out of the mud and water. We flop down on the grass, soaked to the bone. “That hurt,” I say, stroking my arm.

  We look at each other and laugh. And it’s not just a chuckle, but a great big belly laugh. It feels good to laugh together like old times—like before Wayne died. But as much as I’m enjoying the moment, I stop and say, “I have to tell you something—something I did.”

  Cal’s face drops. “I already know.”

  “You know about the letter?”

  He nods, looks away, and rakes his fingers through his damp hair. “It should have been me. I should have written him.” He swallows, and I hear it slide down his throat.

  “I … I should have gone to the funeral.”

  He picks up a rock and skips it across the water. “The army gave us a flag.”

  “Cool,” I say, thinking that’s the least they could do.

  “Want to see it sometime?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  And for a long time, we don’t say another word. We just listen to the cicadas and the crickets while the setting sun beams down on our soaked bodies. Then Cal grins, his black tooth showing. “Well, I guess you finally got baptized.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Now if only Zachary could.”

  We laugh, but then we stop dead cold and stare at each other, wide-eyed. And in this moment, I realize one reason it’s so great to have a best friend is sometimes, like right now, Cal and I are thinking the very same thing.

  Chapter Twenty

  The baptism must be done tonight because tomorrow the lady from social services will come for Zachary. It’s our going-away gift to him. Cal says he’ll take care of recruiting Kate. I’m assigned Malcolm and Ferris.

  First I’ve got to mow the Pruitts’ yard. Instead of starting at eight, I set my alarm for five-thirty so I’m at their house by six. After letting myself in through the back gate, I begin picking up apples. There are less than usual, and I’m able to start mowing by six-thirty.

  One minute into mowing, Miss Myrtie Mae stands on the porch, her hands planted on her hips. She wears a green terry-cloth robe and a hot pink scarf tied around her head with a few pinwheels of hair bound by bobby pins sticking out. Her arms wave high, crossing each other at the wrists. I cut the engine and walk over to her.

  “Tobias Wilson! What on earth are you doing out here at this hour?”

  As I get closer, I notice her face and her collarbone shine like she has bathed in corn oil. She sees me studying her and pulls the scarf over the exposed pi
n curls.

  “You caught me in my beauty routine. I always grease up with Oil of Olay on Thursday evenings.” She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “Are you trying to wake up the entire town?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve a long day ahead of me and I figured since Mr. Henderson next door is practically deaf, it wouldn’t bother him much. And you live on the corner, so there isn’t anybody on the other side.”

  Her face pinches up. “You reckon you could start with the weeding first? Then Brother can get a few more winks.”

  I’d forgotten about the Judge. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, Miss Myrtie Mae. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Well, see to it that you do next time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I look down and notice her bare feet. It’s weird to see her without those pointy shoes. And the funny thing is her toes form a V as pointed as her pumps. She turns back toward the house, adjusting her scarf on the way.

  By ten, I’m finished. After Miss Myrtie Mae points out the patch of mint I accidentally mowed over, she tells me to come in the house so she can pay me. While I wait for her, I study the pictures on the round table. When she returns, I ask her about the pretty girl.

  “That’s a girl I used to know a long time ago. Now she has to grease up with Oil of Olay once a week to look halfway decent.”

  I’m almost afraid to ask about the two boys in the picture, but I do anyway. “One of them is Brother. But don’t you recognize the other?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “It’s your grandfather, Toby. Theodore Joseph Hopkins. Or as we knew him—TJ.”

  “I didn’t know the Judge and Grandpa were good friends.”

  “Heavens, no! They couldn’t stand each other! It was just the best picture we had of Brother as a boy.” She squints, studying me. “You know, Toby, you kind of favor your grandfather.”

  As I step onto the porch, a baseball rolls to my feet. I look over, and it’s the Judge who has bowled it my way. He’s a mere skeleton wearing tan pajamas and leather slippers. I glance at my watch, knowing the tasks I have ahead of me. But something won’t let me take that next step off the porch.