by Tess Grant
“No. It wasn’t going to work with mom going full-time at the hospital. I’m in charge of Sam and the house this summer.” The job at the farm market hadn’t been the best, but Kitty had enjoyed it. She hadn’t been happy giving it up. “Mom said she would pay me a little each week to make up for the money.”
Joe looked sympathetic. “As much as I hate oil filters and spark plugs, I would still hate to give up my job. Gets me away from baby brother.”
Kitty nodded. “I know. That’s the part I’ll miss most. Trapped at home all summer.”
The trees started to open up, and Kitty could see their little white farmhouse. The metal roof looked scabby and the porch railing half finished. The surrounding land made up for it though—a rolling field with dots of color from the Indian paintbrush and sweet peas. The wildflowers edged right to the hardwoods that marched up the slope beyond. The mailbox approached quickly. Sam had taped a palm-sized United States flag from last year’s Memorial Day parade to it. It snapped in the breeze, edges tattered into faded fingers. Joe swung the car past it into the turnaround circle in front of the house.
“Look, I’m sure Eric and Sam will spend most of their time together so you might get a chance at doing something else.”
Kitty grabbed her bag and clambered out. She doubted any such thing, but nodded anyway. “You’re right. I’ll call and work out some regular times for them to get together.” She swung the door closed and leaned in the window. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.” He pulled forward a few inches and stopped.
Kitty lowered her head to look in the still open window.
Joe looked down at the seat. “Umm, I don’t think you need to switch to frozen yogurt.”
Kitty blinked in surprise as he wheeled past her, so close she could have touched the dent in the trunk as it went by. He bounced out the driveway and shot up the hill, bearing right on the main road at the fork that split off to Phinney’s lane. Alone now, she turned to face the empty summer.
Chapter Four
Kitty stood for a minute listening to the drowsy hum. The insects’ buzz was noticeable if she thought about it; otherwise it receded into the background, fading into the soft thick heat. When she was little, she thought it was the sound of the heat itself, the hum of some great earth generator. The hay fields below their property were being worked, and the tractor droned too, a huge insect adding its voice to the thrum of the others. Gold-green round bales were scattered around the stubble. The big maple tree closest to the house twisted its leaves fitfully in the breeze that always blew here on the hill.
She dropped her tattered messenger bag on the ground and stretched, wiggling her fingers high. Summer break—she had always loved it. Dropping her hands to her sides, she considered the days drawing out before her. Afternoons of sandy windblown hours at Lake Michigan? Not this summer. Spending her paycheck with Joe and Jenna? Nope. Staying up late stargazing with her dad while Sam and her mom burned marshmallows in the fire pit? Not that either.
She sank down in the grass in the turnaround. Winding one sliver of green grass around her finger, she yanked it out, hand trembling. She couldn’t even see where it had come from; all the other blades leaned in, hiding the tiny spot of raw earth where it had grown. The hole in her own life wasn’t so easily closed over.
Her dad had left for Iraq two months ago. Ten months to go…if his luck held. She knew all about military schedules. Maybe he would be around to see her graduate, maybe not. And in the meantime, she was stuck babysitting and putting her own life on hold. Her mom was no help. Full-time work made her tired and cranky. She was always complaining Sam and Kitty needed structure in their lives, but put a little timeline in her own and she freaked out. And this was supposed to be such a great year for Kitty, her senior year of high school. Her mom was more excited about it than she was.
What garbage. Because it comes down to this, I’m the one left holding the bag.
She let herself into the cool darkness of the house. Dropping her bag by the door, she opened a few windows, hoping the breeze outside would worm its way in. The school bus brakes screeched out front and the door hissed as it opened.
Sam bounded into the house, screen door slamming behind him.
“School’s out,” he yelled, skidding into the kitchen. He shrugged off his backpack, and it thudded onto the linoleum.
“Got rocks in there or what?” Kitty asked smiling. She was seven years older than Sam—old enough that he wasn’t a rival. Most days, she truly liked him. And she was only half kidding about the rocks. Sam was a budding geologist.
Sam yanked open a cupboard and grabbed the peanut butter. “I got a good one, Kitty. Some type of pudding stone.”
“I figured.” Kitty nodded, pretending she had a clue what a pudding stone was. Fishing the bread out of the refrigerator, she handed it over. Then she reached for a plate. Suddenly she stopped, listening. She had purposely left Maddie in that morning after breakfast. Mom must have caught the mistake. “Shoot. I forgot Maddie. Go let her in, will you?”
Sam talked around a mouthful of peanut butter, his voice sticky and thick. “You go get her. You were the one who forgot her.”
Kitty waved a fist at Sam as she headed out the door. Closer to the barn, she could hear Maddie whining. Throwing open the door, she bent down to greet the poor lonely thing. Tail pumping enough to shake her whole body, the golden retriever wound around her legs.
“Come on, girl. Time to come in.”
The rest of the afternoon drifted by as slowly as the puffy clouds. Sam used most of his time to pile and unpile his rocks, writing in a notebook as he worked. Maddie lay on the grass next to him chewing all the squeak out of a squeaky toy.
Kitty walked the edge of the woods. She couldn’t leave Sam, but it was like going to the lake. If she couldn’t swim, at least she could dip her toes in. The leaves fluttered over her head. Nothing dark could hide in there today.
* * *
“Mom?” Kitty strained a pan of baby carrots into a colander. As the steam rose, burning her fingers, she flinched and managed to dump a couple over the edge into the sink.
“Mmm.” Her mom was stirring mushrooms and chunks of chicken in a thick white sauce in the frying pan.
“What do you know about Phinney?” Kitty managed to transfer most of the carrots to a bowl and handed it to Sam.
“Put some butter on them,” her mother directed. “And applesauce on the table too.”
Kitty pulled the margarine out of the fridge and managed to flick a blob onto the moving target that was Sam and the veggies.
“It’s Mr. Phinney to you.” Her mother corrected her then continued, “He lives up the hill on the lane. Kind of a strange duck. Keeps to himself and likes it that way, I guess.”
Kitty pulled a jar of applesauce from the pantry shelf and handed it to Sam with a big spoon.
“Put it in a serving bowl,” Anne said, without turning around. “We don’t eat out of jars.”
Kitty opened the cupboard door and pulled out a bowl. Her mother could sense a jar heading to the table at twenty paces. “Do you know what he eats?”
Her mother turned from the stove with a questioning look.
“Well, that’s not quite what I mean.” Kitty rolled the bowl over and over in her hands, hoping it would help her think. “Have you ever…um…had any reason to think he might be living off the land? I mean what does he eat up there?”
“I would guess he goes to the grocery store like anyone else.” Anne turned off the burner and directed her attention to some noodles bubbling away on the back of the stove. “What are you getting at?”
“I saw a dead deer in the woods a while back. All ripped up and nasty. He was hanging around it and then hid when I looked at him. Why would he hide? Why would he be there at all? I think it was too far gone to eat.”
“You think he’s hunting out of season? A poacher?”
“Something else killed it. I just couldn’t think of a reason
why he’d be interested in the carcass.”
“All I know of old Phinney is that he’s pretty ornery. People say he never goes anywhere without a gun and a flask. Stay away from him, Kitty. And you too, Sam,” she said to the ten year old who, lured by the talk of gore, was hanging over the counter following the exchange. “If he’s living off the land, the natural resources guys will handle it, not you.”
Anne handed a bowl of noodles to Sam and walked to the table carrying the frying pan balanced on a hot pad. She set it down and Kitty saw her looking at the two of them, lips pursed in thought. “You know, I shouldn’t talk about him that way—guns and flasks. Your dad used to spend a fair amount of time up there, and he always said he was a good man. Phinney sacrificed a lot in his day. He can be as ornery as he wants, as drunk as he wants. He isn’t bothering anyone.”
Kitty opened her mouth, but Anne held out a finger.
“I mean it. Don’t haunt him. He’s got enough ghosts hanging around up there.”
Chapter Five
“Kitty?” her mom called from the kitchen. “It’s nearly eleven. I’m going to bed. What time is that movie done?”
“Big finale to go.”
“Okay, then straight to bed. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Kitty.
Her mom came around the corner from the kitchen. She leaned over and kissed Kitty on the top of her head. She turned to the TV where snow engulfed one of the big East Coast cities after some environmental disaster. “Are you watching that one again? Isn’t there some new stuff out?”
“Please, Mom,” Kitty pointed at the dark-haired actor on screen. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”
Her mom grabbed some clean laundry from the sofa arm. “He is cute. Even if he looks like he’s twelve. But I like that guy who plays his dad.” She smiled as Kitty grimaced. Walking to the stairs, she turned on the bottom step. Leaning back, she called, “Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“Please put Maddie out in the barn before you come to bed. I don’t want to find her in the house again in the morning.”
Kitty sighed, rubbed her foot in Maddie’s fur where she lay stretched at Kitty’s feet, and nodded. There could be no more forgetfulness. That excuse had reached its limit.
In the background, she could hear her mother moving around her empty room; finally, it was quiet upstairs. It wasn’t silent in the old farmhouse; it never was. Besides the TV noise, the house creaked as it settled down for the evening. The night breeze rattled the tree branches right outside the window, and crickets and tree frogs trilled their way toward midnight.
The survivors in the movie were beginning their triumphant hike away from the frozen wastelands when suddenly Maddie picked up her head and perked her ears. She woofed short and deep, before she jumped to her feet. She went first to the open window nearest Kitty, sniffing suspiciously at the night breeze then trotted for the door growling low in her throat.
“What is it, girl?” Kitty pushed herself off the couch cushions. She didn’t pause the movie; she’d seen it before. “There’s nobody out there. Maybe some old skunk. Wouldn’t that be great? Get you in even hotter water than you are already.” She leaned down to rub behind Maddie’s soft ears, but the dog shook her hand off, a growl vibrating in her throat.
Kitty frowned. Whatever was out there was driving Maddie nuts. The neighbor’s dog from down the hill really bugged Maddie—he bugged Kitty too. It was probably him. He came around occasionally to pee on the retriever’s territory then Maddie had to run right out, smell every blade of grass and re-mark everything. “We’ll take a look, okay, Mad?” Kitty walked back into the living room and shut down the movie. “One look around, then off to the barn with you, ol’ critter.”
She slipped her feet into her shoes and opened the big storm door. Maddie pressed forward impatiently, growling and shaking with eagerness. Popping the latch on the screen door was enough for the retriever. She butted her nose through the widening crack, hit the door with her shoulder and launched herself off the porch before Kitty could grab at her collar. Kitty ran out the door in time to see a dark shadow loping along the edge of the cone of light thrown by the mercury-vapor bulb hanging near the barn. Maddie streaked across the yard toward it. Whatever it was, it was big and it didn’t move like a deer.
“Maddie! Maddie!” But the dog was gone, already out of range of the light and nearly into the woods.
Without thinking, Kitty turned toward the road and began jogging slowly, gravel crunching under her feet. Phinney’s lane split off the main road not more than a quarter of a mile up the hill and carved the woods into a triangle on its near end. The easiest way to catch Maddie would be to cut her off by going up the lane while the dog labored through the woods. Calling as she went, Kitty could hear barking to her left. The moonlight made the road nearly glow under her feet.
Oh, crap. Kitty stopped for a minute and peered upward through the gap in the trees above. The full moon. Her mom was going to kill her. Kitty grinned and started jogging again. Yeah, only if the crazies didn’t get her first.
Kitty kept going until she came to where the road curved right and took Phinney’s lane higher up the hill. She had expected to intercept the aging retriever by this point. Most things didn’t hold Maddie’s interest that long anymore. The concentration of her youth was gone, and she usually opted for a good long bark and called it quits. Kitty couldn’t see the dog and the barking wasn’t getting any closer, so she figured she had two choices. She could either cut through the woods and hopefully catch the dog’s attention, or continue farther up the lane and maybe miss Maddie altogether by following the bend up and around.
She opted for the woods.
There was a small trail angling off the lane into the woods at this point. Kitty had made it in her younger years, playing Daniel Boone while hanging out in the woods with her dad. Even though she had swapped out her raccoon skin cap for lip gloss she and Sam still walked the woods enough to keep it from growing over.
Ducking under some low-lying branches, she headed into the trees calling Maddie as she went. Pale moonlight shot down in ribbons between the dark trunks, lighting the trail for her. Looking up, she could see tree limbs swaying up above her head. There must be wind up there somewhere, but down here the air didn’t move much. Turning her attention back to her feet, she worked her way as well as she could toward Maddie’s voice. Brambles snagged at her shorts and her legs.
“Ouch,” she hissed.
She scraped her cheek on a low-lying branch. Lifting it up over her head, she let it go. It snapped her in the back of the head as it dropped back into place. She stumbled over a root and banged her knee hard on the ground.
Claustrophobia was beginning to set in. The peepers had grown silent, though she hadn’t noticed when. The trees still tossed their heads, but there was no sound below. The whole woods held its breath, waiting, and the only sounds Kitty could hear were her ragged breathing and the beat of her heart in her ears.
Waiting for what?
The tangles grabbing at her feet and legs started to panic her. She heard Maddie give a squeal of…what? Pain? Fear? Not the brazen barks of a dog in hot pursuit, that much she knew.
She saw a silver oval of grass in front of her. A small clearing lay ahead, a natural bowl of sorts, rimmed on the far side with a heavy granite outcropping. She would make for that. She could call Maddie without the damper of the trees. A short scramble up the other side and it would be a quick walk to the lane, and the two of them could circle around the bend and nearly be home.
She broke into a shuffle, some primal thing in her gut telling her to get out of this dark brooding wood. She burst into the clearing under the heady light of the full moon. The brightness momentarily confused her.
“Stop. Don’t move any further.” Any other time, the voice would have been low and comforting, but here in the silence it fell like a heavy stone into a stagnant green pond.
Kitty froze. Her heart pounded in her chest, and
there was a painful emptiness where her belly used to be. In the inky shadow under the granite bowl, she could barely make out a vague human shape and some individual floating points of reflected light. Her mother had been right, and now she was about to die at the hands of some insane guy with screwed-up biorhythms.
“Don’t move. You’ll get hurt. Put your hands up in front of your face and walk forward real slow.”
In front of my face? I thought it was hands above my head.
“And if I run?” she managed to squeak out of her dry throat.
“You’ll die.”
That was enough for her—she did as she was told. A sharp jab in the palm of her left hand told her when she had gone far enough.
“Alright,” he said. “Now wrap your hand around that stick, bring yourself in close to it and use it to guide yourself in.”
“Into what?” Kitty’s voice was shrill, louder than she expected.
“Shhh. Do it quick. What’s chasing your dog will be here soon.”
“Chasing my dog? Other way around.”
“You heard her same as I did. Tables have turned now,” he replied, and the way he said it made Kitty wish she were home under the covers. She drew herself in tight to the stick. Nearly against her face and glinting dully in the moonlight was a silver tip, honed to an icy edge. It was secured to a heavy wooden pole, a good two inches in circumference.
“A spear?” she blurted in disbelief.
“More like a punji stick. Now get in here, sit down, back against the rock, and for God’s sake, hush up. It’s coming.”
It? she thought with foreboding. Not him or her but it, like a thing not worth naming. The thing the trees were waiting for.
She moved then, propelled by the pain in her belly, not empty now but fluttery and hot.
She found the wall of rock, a good ten feet high and undercut, forming a shallow shelter. Pressing her back tight against it, she inched downward. Her shirt slid up her back and the rough granite bit into her skin, but the pain lasted only an instant.
