by Minick, Jim;
“Thought you’d be sick of this place by now.” Ellie shook her head. “Betcha got pistachio, for old time’s sake.”
“Of course.”
They drove by the fence where Ada and Will had crossed. Somewhere buried there among the leaves rested her amulet.
WILL showed up at the Franklin farm a little before 3:00 that afternoon, Cicero on his backseat perch.
“Thought I’d come help with the milking before my shift,” he told Peter when he found him in the barn.
“That’d be great,” Peter shook his hand and thanked him. “This should be the last time. The plumbers’ll finish this evening, so come tomorrow, I’ll do the whole milking by myself in half the time. Come have a look at this new system.” Peter led him into the new milk room.
Will rubbed his hand over the stainless steel tank. “This is huge.”
“State of the art.” Peter pointed to the delivery lines, the pumps and strainers, the whole system that would milk each cow and pipe the milk one hundred feet into this tank.
Will peered into the shiny tank. “This thing could hold my whole apartment.”
Peter laughed. “You know we’re having a dance when it’s all done. You’ll have to come.”
Will imagined dancing with Ada. “That sounds good.”
“How’s that bird of yours? What’s his name, Sophocles?”
“Cicero.” Will said the raven was doing fine. “I brought him with me. And he’s learned a new trick.”
They headed out into the bright sun. “I best put that dog in the smokehouse for a bit,” Peter said.
Will yelled for Cicero, and the raven flew down from the shade of the maple to land on his forearm.
“Hello, ol’ boy,” Peter greeted him. “Mind if I pet you?”
“He likes his beak rubbed the best.”
Peter moved his hand slowly, touching Cicero’s chest feathers, talking softly. The raven settled as Peter stroked his lower bill. “So you like your chin scratched, do you? I used to have a pig that liked her chin scratched, too. She’d get real quiet, close her eyes, and go to sleep. Almost like you, Cicero.”
At hearing his name, Cicero raised his head and hopped onto Will’s shoulder. “I think you found a new friend.” Will pulled some bread from his pocket. “Ready to show off?”
Cicero bobbed and gurgled.
“OK, up you go.” Will pretended to fling the bread, and Cicero flew from his shoulder. Will broke off a chunk, swung his arm, and released the bread into the air. The raven flapped sideways and missed.
“My fault. Bad toss.”
Cicero circled, and Will threw the next piece. The bird snapped up the crust before it even peaked.
“How about that? Let me get Kate out here to see this.” He ran up the steps and hollered. Soon, they stood beside Will, who threw another piece, and again, Cicero caught it. He handed bread to Kate. “Here, you try.”
She tossed a piece only half as high, and the raven dipped to catch it. Peter took a turn, and Cicero swooped and burbled, while Kate clapped her hands. All three of them laughed, and suddenly, Cicero laughed, too.
“Will you listen at that?” Peter said. “He’s laughing just like me.”
Will shook his head. “That’s a first.” Then louder, “You’re something, Cicero.” The raven swooped and laughed, a deep, chortling hahaha, and this made Peter laugh so hard that he had to bend over and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He wiped tears from his cheeks and repeated, “That bird’s laughing just like me.”
Will tossed the last piece, and Cicero caught it easily. He held his empty hands up. “All gone,” he shouted, and Cicero descended to sweep Will’s face and land on his shoulder.
“I wish Nathan could see this,” Peter said.
Kate agreed. “You’ll have to show that to Ada when she gets home.”
Cicero chimed, “OK,” and that set all of them to laughing again, and once more, Cicero imitated Peter’s deep, bass guffaw.
“I swear to God, I haven’t laughed this hard in months. Well, since before the barn fire,” Peter said and blew his nose into his handkerchief. He thanked Will and Cicero. “Now, let’s get started on those cows, maybe get them done before Ada comes home from work.”
An hour later, at Ada’s arrival, her father and Will shouted hellos over the backs of the cows. “About time you showed up,” her father teased.
Ada washed her hands at the spigot, the water splattering her feet. She grabbed her stool and pail and worked her way through the Holsteins. She loved the smell of these animals, dark and warm and earthy. Such a contrast to the sterile restaurant. Near Will, she started milking.
Will stayed hunkered down. He glanced at Ada, her long straight spine, her aqua and orange uniform bizarre looking among the black and white cows. When he heard the sloshing in her bucket, Will aimed one of his cow’s teats and squeezed. A long arc of milk crossed between them and landed on Ada’s back.
“Hey!” She jumped, startling her cow.
Will acted as if nothing had happened. When he glanced, Ada squirted him in the ear. He readied to shoot more milk when Peter shouted, “Enough, you two.” They both tried to hold in their laughter. When Will moved to another cow, he whispered, “Now we’re even.” He touched her shoulder, and Ada smelled the sweet scent of his sweat. She rested her head against the cow and closed her eyes.
After they finished, the three of them walked by the half-finished barn, the plumber’s truck still parked, the men inside working. Peter said, “I lined up the roofers to come next week. They’ll seal it up good, and then we can have us a dry dance.”
“That sounds good, Daddy.”
“And this will be the last time for milking by hand. Reese said he’d finish tonight.”
“That sounds even better.” Ada worked her tired hands.
“But you know, Ady, Will might miss this, don’t you think? We could hold ol’ Molly back for him, let him keep those hands in shape.”
“That’s mighty thoughtful, Mr. Franklin, but I think I’ll pass.”
At supper, her parents told Ada about Cicero’s new tricks.
“He can catch a crumb in the air,” her mother said.
“And that bird started laughing just like me.” Her father snorted.
For a moment, Ada was a little jealous. Her parents really admired Will and Cicero. Will nudged her and asked for seconds of her mother’s mashed potatoes.
“Have you all heard about the eclipse?” Will asked.
Ada shook her head, but her father said, “Tonight, right?”
“Between midnight and two.” To Ada he said, “You should set your alarm and get up, have a look.”
“Why ruin a good night’s sleep? Besides I don’t want to wake Mama and Daddy.”
“You won’t wake us,” her mother said. “With Peter’s snoring, I’ve learned to sleep through anything.”
“She’s learned to snore pretty good, too,” he added.
“Just drink some water before bedtime,” Will said.
His excitement amused her. “Oh, all right. I’ll try to have a look.”
On the porch, Will asked, “How ’bout I take you to the fireworks tomorrow evening?” Ada said that sounded terrific. Before he left, he kissed her long and slow. He wanted to stay longer, but already he was late for work. Ada hugged his lean body and sent him on his way.
Will worked 6:00 to 2:00, an oddball shift created to give the graveyard a little company, or so Woody told him. The two men leaned on a pump and looked down the valley, the sun’s last rays glinting on a distant silo, the day slowly cooling.
“By ten, the traffic slows to a sputter. By midnight, it doesn’t even sputter, so it gets boring as all hell,” Woody said in his quick voice. “And the people that do roll in, well, they’re a scary shit-load. You’ll see all kinds of scumbags—drunk, unshaven, bleary-eyed, mumbling. Hell. And the women, they’ll be half-dressed.”
Will looked at him.
“I’m serious,
Whip. I’ve had more looks at titties in one night shift than in a whole summer of day shifts.” He leaned to the side and spat. “But watch your pecker. Any guy catches you looking at his woman, he’ll jump you like that.” Woody snapped his fingers.
Will shook his head.
“The worst, though, are the truckers. Any of them driving at night are high and jitterier than jackrabbits. They’ll hop down from their cabs, get in your face, and yell at you to hurry up and fill both tanks and wash the windows. Then they’ll march off and go jack off in the bathroom. You won’t see them for another two hours.” He spat again, and a car rolled in, so they walked across the lot.
“Those truckers are so damn crazy. One night last winter during a blizzard, this guy pulls in and asks for firewood, like we sell that shit. He scrambles up that bank in the snow to slide down with some sticks. Then the crazy bastard builds two fires, one under each of his tanks. He doesn’t want the diesel to jell up, you know. And to make sure the fires don’t go out, he rolls out his sleeping bag and goes to sleep underneath that damn truck between those damn fires. Can you believe it?”
Will shook his head and washed the windows while Woody got the gas. “And just to warn you,” he hollered over the top of the car. “Dino has the night shift tonight, and he hates it more than anyone else. You’ll probably be out here by yourself from eleven to two, while he works on his truck in the garage.”
Will moved to the back window. “He pulls his truck into the garage?”
“Hell, he does more than that. He’ll wash the whole thing, change the oil, and rotate the tires.” Woody slicked down his hair. “You gotta remember, Dickson never comes around during night shift, so all rules are off. Just pump what gas you have to and try to stay awake. For Dino, that means working in the garage. He’s gotten into refinishing furniture, so he might even do that tonight.” He topped off the tank and collected the customer’s money. Then they leaned against the pump and waited. Hank Williams came on the radio singing “Lovesick Blues,” and Woody reached into the booth to crank the volume.
“Did you hear about the eclipse?” Will yelled.
“Unhuh, can’t say that I did.”
“Supposed to be a full lunar eclipse from midnight to two.” Will tried not to sound too excited.
“Guess you’ll have a front-row seat.” Woody moved to another car.
By 10:00, Woody’s predictions had turned true, the traffic nothing but a few scattered cars. To the east, the full moon took its time, hiding for a while behind HoJo’s. Eventually its white chin rested on the restaurant’s roof, and soon it shined as bright as the pole lights around the lot.
Will’s feet felt weighted as they slid across the pavement. By now on most nights, he’d be heading to bed, and that’s all he really wanted to do. He yawned, and Woody said, “Can’t have that now, Whip. You got four more hours. Better drink some coffee.”
Will held up his thermos. “Already doing that.”
“Well, drink some more.”
The coffee made his heart jittery. He didn’t want any more.
They finished another car, and Will asked, “Can I ask you something?”
Woody spat. “Shoot.”
“Why hasn’t the army come calling for you?”
Woody grinned and lifted his left foot with the special shoe, layers added onto the sole. He’d always known this about Woody but never really thought about it.
“All my life, I hated that foot. Doctors said I couldn’t play football, but I did anyway. Uncle Sam, though, he wants his soldiers to have perfect feet, so when the recruiter saw that shoe, he put a big 4F by my name and called ‘next.’
“I was pissed for a while, even though Dad said I would’ve just been cannon fodder. I didn’t believe him. Then I heard about that boy over in Perry County who came home blind. And Jacob Swartz, who might come home without a leg. I guess I could call this my lucky foot.” He glanced at Will. “What about you?”
Will shrugged. “I don’t have any lucky feet. I already passed the physical.”
For a long while, they watched the traffic in silence.
“Teacup brought in a new batch of magazines. Have you seen them?” Woody asked.
Will shook his head, not sure what he was talking about.
“Let’s go have a look.” They walked into the garage.
In the locker room, Will asked, “What if a car comes?”
“He can wait.” Woody opened a locker. “Well, look at that!” He held up a magazine from the huge stack, a buxom, bikini-clad blonde underneath the title, Glamour Models Gone Bad. Woody flipped through the pages, whistling. “Man, whoda believe?” He shoved the magazine into Will’s chest and pulled out another. “There’s some good reading in there, buddy. You might need to check it out later tonight. Always helps the night shift hurry along.” Will shook his head. A car honked, and he threw his magazine into the locker. Woody slammed it shut.
At a few minutes before 11:00, Woody headed home as Dino pulled into the garage. In the back of his truck was an antique pie safe. Dino had a grim smile, his red hair puffed up from driving with his window open. He greeted Will. “Looks like you and me are tending this fucker tonight.” He grabbed his lunchbox. “I hate this more than rich folks. They drive away, while this night shift crap just rolls back around.” Dino untied the pie safe. “I’m gonna do a little refinishing. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not a bit,” Will replied. “Did you hear about the eclipse?” Dino shook his head and set up his sander. “It’s supposed to start around midnight and totally cover the moon.”
“That right?”
“I figure the best place to see it is up on the hill, away from these lights.” Will stood at the mouth of the garage, trying to pick the darkest spot. Then to himself, “Wish I had a camera.”
By 11:30, so few cars had stopped that Will took a seat in one of the swivel chairs. Dino pulled a chair out to put his feet up on the tire changer. “Come on out here. The view’s better.”
Will scooted over and rested his feet on the changer. He liked this chair—how he could swivel side to side or rock like a rocking chair. He might need one in his apartment. Dino drank a soda, and they talked about the softball team and their Fourth of July plans.
“You ever sell any batteries?” Will pointed to the stack.
“Oh, every now and then. More often, we have to give the poor fools a jump.” Dino nodded to a square machine beside the batteries. “Ever use that charger?”
Will said yes.
“I’ll have to give you a lesson. You put the cables on backward, you’re liable to get a bunch of sparks, maybe even blow up the battery, so don’t use it the first time without someone showing you how.”
“I’ve hooked up battery cables before.”
“Good.” Dino smiled. “There’s hope for you yet.”
“What’s that red switch right outside this door?”
“You mean Dickson didn’t tell you about that already?” Dino stepped outside. Will followed. “Hell, ol’ Dickhead needs to retire. He should’ve told you about this on your first day.”
They faced the narrow block wall that separated the two garage doors. Halfway up sat a small, red square box.
“This is the emergency switch for all the pumps.” Dino belched loud enough that a trucker walking by looked. “Excuse me. Dr. Pepper likes to come back for a visit.” He belched again, even louder. “Like I said.” He scratched his belly. “Now hopefully you’ll never need to throw it, but if there’s some kind of accident, you run down here and hit this handle and that’ll stop all the gas. Got it?”
Will nodded. A car pulled in, so he headed out to fill it up. The moon looked just like every other full moon he’d ever seen—big, round, bright, and grinning. The sky was clear, the brightest stars puncturing through the station’s glare. He checked his watch. The appointed time had brought nothing, so he went back to watch Dino work.
Fifteen minutes later, another car pulled Will out to the pumps,
and this time, he found a slight shadow on the moon’s face, a nibble, as if someone had taken a bite out of the white pie. Will leaned to the driver and asked, “Have you seen the eclipse?” The sleepy man shook his head and craned his neck, but he didn’t get out.
The shadow was so slow, Will had to keep looking away and then back. “Give it time,” he whispered aloud. “You’ll see it soon enough.”
Another car stopped, a station wagon full of parents and kids, a beach ball and umbrella in the back. Again, Will asked. The young man yawned and stretched before he reached in and roused his wife. They stood beside Will. The shadow of earth had eaten over half of the moon, the white becoming thinner and thinner. They decided to wake their kids. “I think you’d get the best view up there, away from these lights,” Will said. He topped off their tank, and the father pulled the station wagon away. They spread a blanket on the grassy hillside.
Will jogged to the garage, where the smell of paint remover burned his nose. Dino wore rubber gloves and sloshed on the chemical.
“How’s it going, kid?”
“It’s time, Dino. Come have a look.”
“Give me a moment.”
“Not sure how long it’ll last. You might miss it, you wait too much longer.”
“OK, OK.” He put down the can and pulled off his gloves.
Will walked backwards, Dino huffing to keep up. “You act like you’re going to see the man on the moon get killed or something,” Dino said.
“You never know.”
They reached the hillside, where the family sat on their blanket nearby. The father greeted them. “Quite a show.”
The moon had become just a slender curve, like a fingernail.
“Well, looky there,” Dino said.
The slip of white shrank even more, to just a sliver, like a tiny feather. Will expected the whole thing to disappear, but it didn’t. Instead, the moon reappeared, slowly, all of it glowing orange. “Whoa, look at that!” he whispered, and the family oohed and aahed. “It looks like it’s on fire,” he said to Dino. “Like some owl flew up there with a torch in its beak.”
