by Inmon, Shawn
“Oh, you.” She flipped her apron at him. “Come in the house. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Dominick paused and sniffed the air. “Smells like a mincemeat cookie and pot roast surprise to me.”
“Joe, you told him!”
Joe grinned sheepishly and shrugged, then slipped past them into the house.
“Yes, smart boy, I made your favorites.”
One step inside the front door, he heard the beating feet of Connie running down the hall. She launched herself at Dominick with a cry of, “Bubby!” Dominick staggered back a step at the impact, but held her tight.
“Hello, Squig. I’ve missed you.”
For the rest of the day, Connie was never far from Dominick.
Sam was the only Davidner not thrilled to see Dominick return. He glanced at him, gave him a slight nod and said, “Hey.”
I think he liked having the bedroom to himself. No worry. I’ll be back at Hartfield soon enough.
`The two weeks of Christmas break passed quickly. On Christmas morning, Dominick opened two new Hardy Boys books, a football, and a canvas army surplus coat. His mother had sewn a name patch on that said, “Davidner.” Dominick had to admit the jacket was pretty cool.
That afternoon, they settled into their Christmas dinner, with ham, mashed potatoes, and lasagna. It was one of two meals each year, along with Thanksgiving, where even Sam was allowed to eat until he could eat no more.
Just as he felt settled back into family life again, it was time to return to the Academy.
Again, it was just Joe and Dominick on the trip. Dominick had been nervous on the trip down, afraid that he would feel like an outsider, but he had worried unnecessarily.
No matter what, no matter how stupid we are, or how much we screw up, family is still family, and home is where they have to take you in.
A hundred miles of pavement rolled under their wheels in silence. Finally, Dominick said, “Dad?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Joe answered without taking his eyes off the road.
“How much did it cost to fix Mr. Bratski’s shed and stuff?”
Joe glanced at him with a slight smile, a few months’ time had given a little distance and perspective. “Oh, there was no fixing that shed. You sent it to the great shed graveyard in the sky.”
“You know what I mean. I just want to know how bad I messed up.”
“Well, we had to buy him a new shed, which was almost a hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. Bratski is a nice man, though. He’s been letting us make payments to him.”
Dominick’s cheeks reddened. Oh, that’s great. Mom and Dad’s budget is already stretched to the limit, and I’m just adding to it.
“There was no saving his rose garden, though. You tore through those pretty damn good. Next summer, when you’re home, I’ve volunteered you to help Mr. Bratski with his lawn and hedges and also to try and rebuild his rose garden.”
Dominick absorbed that and nodded. “Good. That will be good. Dad, I’m sorry about the money. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. There’s just no way for me to earn money while I’m at the Academy.”
Joe didn’t say anything in reply, but didn’t turn the offer down.
“I just kind of ... I don’t know, I guess I lost my way for a while there. I’m back on track now.”
“I swear, Nicky, sometimes you sound like yourself, and sometimes you sound like an adult. Which reminds me. I don’t suppose you noticed while you were home, but I’ve quit chewing tobacco. It saves us a little money, and you just might be right about it being dangerous.”
Dominick hadn’t noticed, but he felt a load lighten inside him. His father had developed black spots on his inner lip in 1975. Numerous surgeries had followed, taking out parts of his lip and tongue, but none of it had stopped the spread of the cancer. It had killed him in 1979.
Maybe it’s not too late, Dad.
Dominick looked out the window and was quiet until he fell asleep. He didn’t wake up until Joe stopped the car in the circular drive at Hartfield Academy.
Chapter Eighteen
The last two years of the turbulent, cultural earthquake that was the 1960s in America passed Dominick Davidner by without leaving a mark. When he had first arrived in his family’s home in August, 1968, he hadn’t been able to find his center. He had no idea how to be a forty-year-old man, stuck in a child’s body. That imbalance had led him to be banished to Hartfield Academy.
There were other people who seemed as strange as he felt at Hartfield. Especially Michael Hollister, who Dominick had come to believe might be in the same predicament he was in. Over the first two years he spent at Hartfield, pieces of the puzzle had fit together. Michael’s preternatural perspective on events as they happened and his genius achievements in the classroom—but more than anything, there was a natural bond Dominick felt with Michael—a brotherhood he had never felt with Sam.
In the summers, away from Hartfield, Dominick committed to being an ideal son to his parents. He told them he didn’t want an allowance any more—he wanted to earn his own money. The first summer back, he took over lawn mowing responsibilities from Sam, which pleased his older brother to no end.
He also mowed Mr. Bratski’s lawn and trimmed his hedges, still trying to make up for his misadventure from the summer before. A few weeks into mowing the Bratski’s lawn, their mower choked to a halt and wouldn’t start again.
“Huh. Looks like you’re off the hook for today, Nicky,” Mr. Bratski said. Despite their near-collision and the damage to his beloved roses, Ivan Bratski liked Dominick. “I’ll have to load it in the trunk and take it down to Wilson’s Small Engine shop.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Mr. Bratski. Do you mind if I take it home so my Dad and I can look it over?”
“Oh, sure, fine. I guess I won’t be able to take it in until tomorrow, anyway.”
That night, Dominick and Joe tore the engine apart, tuned it up and made it purr. Dominick did his best to pretend not to know what he was doing, but Joe had to admit he had clever hands, and his small fingers were able to fit into spaces that Joe couldn’t.
The next day, Dominick proudly rolled the mower across the street. Mr. Bratski came out with a slight grin, cradling his china coffee cup, and said, “Give up?”
Dominick answered by yanking the pull chord in one smooth motion. The engine fired and idled smoothly. Mr. Bratski’s eyebrows shot up. “She didn’t sound that good the day I brought ‘er home from Sears! You’ve got a talent, young man.”
“My Dad did it. I just helped.”
The next week, when Dominick returned to mow the Bratski’s lawn again, there was another mower sitting next to the shed.
“That’s Dimitri’s mower, from down the block. He says he can’t get it running. Want to give it a try?”
Just like that, Davidner and Son’s Small Engine Repair became a viable business. Five or six times a week, someone would show up in their driveway with an old mower in the trunk. Initially, some people were reluctant to leave their mower or rototiller off with a kid, but as their reputation spread, that concern evaporated.
The business helped Dominick begin building a little nest egg for his future plans, all of which revolved around Emily, and gave him the chance to pay back part of the money he had cost his parents. More than any of that, though, was just the opportunity to spend long hours in the shop with his father, listening to him whistle under his breath, mumbling, and at the end of another project, saying, “Give ‘er a go, Nicky.”
The next summer, there were mowers lined up outside the shop when he returned from Hartfield Academy, and they never stopped appearing. Dominick gave up on the appearance that his Dad did all the work and just set to work every morning. It made the business of being a middle-aged man in a child’s body more tolerable, and the time pass more quickly.
Plus, the scholarship he had been offered at Hartfield was only good for the first two years. If he wanted to go again, he needed to earn enough money to be able to help his parents c
over the extra outlay.
All summer, as he worked, he planned.
Get through Hartfield Academy and graduate. Then I’ll be eighteen. I should have enough money saved up from fixing engines that I can buy a car and begin my search for Emily.
Dominick had managed not to mention Emily to anyone, but she was never far from his mind.
During that second summer, Dominick often thought of Michael Hollister, as well. The more he thought, the more he came to the conclusion that Michael might be exactly what Dominick himself was—a soul relocated in time, for some unknown purpose. He came to the decision that when he saw him again, at the start of their third year at Hartfield, he would find a way to broach the subject.
The summer of 1970 flew by in a never-ending parade of long days bent over lawnmowers, and before he knew it, Dominick and Joe were back in the car for another trip to Hartfield.
When they passed the Shell station just before the academy, Joe turned to Dominick, and ruffled his hair, which had grown out quickly over the summer. “Ready to go under the razor for another year?”
“Yeah. I don’t mind it. Easy to take care of it, that way, and it saves on my comb budget.”
“I’ll really miss you, Nicky. I know why we started this whole business with the Academy, and it was important at the time, but now, I don’t know ... “
“I know, Dad, and I’m glad. Back then, I thought maybe I didn’t deserve to be in the family anymore. I know that’s not true, now. But I started something at Hartfield. I have brothers here, now, too, and they depend on me. I can’t just leave and let them down.”
“I only want you to know it’s up to you.”
“Thanks, Dad. Gotta finish what I started, though, right?”
Joe turned down the long driveway and onto the broad, circular driveway. As soon as they pulled to a stop, Dominick saw Michael Hollister standing on the curb, waiting for him. He looked at his father.
Joe smiled. “Okay, I get it. When you’re twelve years old, nothing is more important than your friends. Go on. I’ll be here to pick you up for Christmas.”
“Love you, Dad,” Dominick said, and clambered over the backseat to get his knapsack, then jumped out the back door.
“What’s up, genius?” he shouted at Michael, who was only a few feet away.
Michael smiled. “Nothin’, hothead. It’s been a long, boring summer around here without you to help me get into trouble.”
Dominick and Michael had never really talked about what Michael’s home situation was, but since that first Christmas, Dominick knew Michael had never gone back. It had surprised Dominick when he learned that Michael was from Middle Falls, Oregon, since that was where Dominick himself had been living when he had been shot and killed, albeit not permanently. Eventually, he had put it down to a cosmic coincidence.
Dominick smiled and slapped Michael on the shoulder. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that!”
Dominick looked at a frightened first year, clinging to his mother and shook his head. “No way we were that scrawny when we got here.” He stopped, gave an appraising look up and down at Michael, who was at the beginning of a growth spurt. “Well, maybe you, Hollister.”
Michael straightened up to attention and said, “Don’t look now, Dom, but I might have you by half an inch or so.”
“You might end up taller, but let’s face it. You’re always gonna be slow.”
“Slow? You know that’s no insult to a Turtle!” Michael snapped his fingers, “Oh, hey, you know what we get to do this year, right?”
Dominick rubbed his chin. “Torture another prefect?”
“Well, yeah, obviously. But mostly, we finally get to play in the Game.”
Dominick nodded. He had forgotten all about the Hartfield Game, where all the classes competed against each other. “It’ll be our first year, though. You know we’re gonna be meat.”
Michael shrugged, then flashed his sly smile. “Maybe, maybe not. I had a lot of time to think and poke around the Academy this summer. I think I’ve got a plan.”
Dominick looked around and acted like he was speaking to an audience. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I like having a genius for a best friend.”
Michael just shook his head.
They walked away from the front lawn, toward the barracks. When they were out of earshot of all the other cadets, Dominick said, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about all summer.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Crap. Why do I start things and then wish I hadn’t? “I know this is going to sound weird, but, do you believe in ghosts?”
An odd expression crossed Michael’s face—part dread, part fascination. “I didn’t used to, but I guess I do now. That’s a weird thing to think about all summer. Did you see a ghost in your house?”
“No, not really. It’s just ... I know you’re going to think I’m crazy—“
“—I already do—“
Dominick punched him gently in the shoulder. “—but I kind of feel ... like I’m a ghost.”
Michael stopped. Even though no one was nearby, he lowered his voice and said, “What are you talking about?”
Now that I’m here, I have no idea how to explain it. What can I say? “It’s hard to explain. It’s like I’ve lived this life before.”
“Like reincarnation, or something?”
Does living the same life over again count as reincarnation, or would that mean I show up as someone else... Or maybe a cat? I wish I knew. Dominick opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. What the hell. There’s just no way to explain this, is there? He opened his mouth again, but shut it, frustrated. “You know what? Never mind. It’s too damn weird. So, tell me about how we’re going to win the Hartfield Game as first-year players.”
Michael wasn’t one to be easily put off a scent. He still hadn’t moved, and stared at Dominick long and hard. I can tell he wants to ask me more, but he won’t. He never snoops into my life, and expects the same in return. I’m good with that.
Finally, Michael looked away and shrugged, a gesture that said, Okay, if that’s the way you want it.
“I’ve been working on strategy all summer. Here’s what I think we need to do...”
Chapter Nineteen
The Hartfield Game was held the third week of October, and all cadets who were Third Year or older participated. The rules were deceptively simple. Every cadet was given a flag belt, and they were in the game until an opposing player pulled their flag, or until an opposing player pulled their Flag Bearer’s flag. The teams played on until only one team had a Flag Bearer still in the game, and that team was the victor.
The Third Year cadets were only eleven or twelve years old, though, while the Tenth Years were seventeen or eighteen, nearly full-grown, and ready to go into further military academies or the armed forces. It was typically a slaughter for the third and fourth year classes. No Third Year class had ever finished higher than 4th, but no other class had the advantage of having Michael Hollister.
The first week of October, Michael took Dominick for a walk at the back of academy, along the ocean cliff that marked the western border of the school. To the south was a dense wood that was dark and foreboding. They walked along the cliff’s edge, and Michael gestured out over the Pacific, then pointed down at a trail that crisscrossed down about forty feet, then dead-ended.
“Stand here with me for a minute and look down at the trail, like we’re making a plan. I don’t think any of the upperclassmen are worried about us, but in case they’re watching, I don’t want to give them an idea.”
Dominick nodded and followed the direction Michael was pointing with his eyes. They stood there for several minutes, then casually walked to the point where the woods and the cliff intersected. Michael led Dominick thirty feet back from the cliff, then stepped onto a small game trail and disappeared. Inside the dense woods, it was dark and quiet, as the near-ceaseless winds that came off the Pacific couldn’t penetrate
the trees and underbrush.
“Come on,” Michael said, breaking into a jog. They moved a hundred yards along the trail, then Michael stopped. “Here. Look around. What do you see?”
Dominick looked down at the trail, up at the trees, and along the ledge of a rock wall that marked the southern border of the campus.. “I don’t see much of anything.”
Michael smiled, a rare expression on his face, which softened his sometimes stern demeanor. “Exactly.”
There were long hanging vines that dropped down the face of the rock wall, and Michael stuck his arm right through the vines, then gently swept them back.
“It’s a cave!”
“Yes. Not much of a cave, and it doesn’t lead anywhere, but I don’t think anyone on campus knows about it. The Third Years always get picked off early because we’re smaller and slower. That’s why they always look for a place to hide, but the upperclassmen know all the hiding spots, because they’re passed down year after year. I’ve been looking through all the records of the history of the Hartfield Game in the library, and there’s never been mention of a cave. I don’t think anyone’s ever stumbled on this place.”
“Except for you, Genius.”
Michael shrugged. “When I first got here, I spent a lot of time walking around the grounds, trying to get the lay of the land. I came upon this place by accident, and I’ve just been saving it. We’ll only be able to use it once, though, so should we use it this year, or save it?”
Dominick took a moment and let the possibilities run through his head. “This will give us our only chance of survival, and it would be so cool if we won as First Years. I think we should go for it.”
“Okay. Since the Turtles elected me Captain—“
“—of course—“
“—I’ve got to write our strategy up in advance and turn it in to Captain Peterson.”
“Okay, who’s our flag bearer?”
“You’re the fastest Turtle, Dom, so it would make sense to be you. But, I need a second in command in case I get captured early. I want that to be you. No one else is very fast, but I think we can count on Will to keep his head.”
