by Linda Benson
I hear the door of the pickup open and slam shut behind me. When I turn around I see Aunt Trudy climbing the steps. Or attempting to climb them. She is hanging on to the railing on the side, like an old woman. Her face is all red, and she’s kind of staring off into space.
“I just remembered that we better get a sack of grain for the hors…” she mumbles.
I watch in horror as Aunt Trudy loses her grip on the rail and crumples to the ground, banging her head on the concrete steps and sliding backwards.
I jump down the steps. “Aunt Trudy!” I holler. “Help!”
I reach her, but don’t know what to do. She lies there, eyes open and staring at the sky, but it’s like they aren’t looking at anything at all. “Aunt Trudy! Aunt Trudy!”
There’s a sound of running feet, and a man with blue jeans and cowboy boots appears. “What happened?”
I cannot get my words out. I feel sweaty, and scared, and all alone. If anything happens to Aunt Trudy, what will happen to me?
Two people dash outside from the store. The man beside Aunt Trudy takes her hand. “She’s breathing, but she’s unconscious,” he says. “I saw her go down. She hit her head pretty hard.”
One of the women at the top of the stairs has her cell phone flipped open. “I’m calling 9-1-1 right now.”
Everything is a blur as I wait by Aunt Trudy’s side. She is the strongest person I know, but now she’s lying unconscious in the parking lot of the farm store.
“Honey?” The helpful woman is sitting next to me. “An ambulance is coming.”
I’m vaguely aware of sirens in the distance. Closer. They are coming closer. We have groceries in the car. We have milk and ice cream, and things to go in the refrigerator, and I can’t even drive yet. And Rags is at home, and all the puppies. They’ll be hungry soon, and Paintball and Shakespeare will be nickering for their hay. What should I do?
The woman is speaking to me, but I’m watching my aunt, whose eyes are still staring off into space. I finally focus on the words the lady is saying to me. “Do you have someone you can call?”
My head goes back and forth. No one. Nobody. Who can I call? Not my dad, not Pendleton, not even my own mother, because she’s in jail. But I can’t say that. I think about that boy David, but he’s not much older than I am and he lives in those big fancy houses. I don’t know. I don’t know who to call. Finally, a word forms in my brain.
“Swede,” I breathe, but I’m not sure if the word actually makes it out of my mouth.
“Swede Hanson?” the lady asks. “The one who lives up on Tucker Road and cuts hay for everybody?”
I nod.
“I know Swede,” she says. “Everybody knows Swede. Hang on, I’m ringing him right now, hon.”
26-David
I slump into the leather seat of my dad’s Lexus with a sick feeling. At the same time it’s almost a relief to finally get this over with. Whatever the outcome, it’s better than this guilt and worry about getting caught that I’ve been living with.
My dad has barely spoken to me since the fire chief left two nights ago. Now, as we head up the first hill on Upper Ridge Road, he clears his throat.
“You know this disappoints me, David.”
I don’t say anything. What is there to say? That I’m a screw-up? I hang out with the wrong kids? I’m not like Lincoln and Grant and I’m an embarrassment to the family?
“Basically, I’m disappointed that you didn’t come to me first with this. That you didn’t trust your own father to help you take care of the situation.”
I hang my head. Hey, he’s always got so much to deal with at work. Why did I want him to worry about me?
“We’ll see what we can resolve with Mr. Hanson. Hopefully he’ll be amenable to working out a solution to get this off your record, so it won’t interfere with your application to the Air Force Academy.”
Is that all he thinks about? At this point, I don’t even care if I go to the stupid Academy. I just want this over with—no matter what happens.
It’s weird going right past the place where Olive is staying. As we drive by, I glance over to the left but don’t see anyone around. Her aunt’s old house looks kind of run down. Just past her driveway, we turn onto Tucker Road and then into the front yard of a well-kept double-wide. Out back is a huge barn, maybe ten or twenty times as big as the one down by the river, and it’s stacked full with hay. A black and white border collie runs out to greet us.
There’s a big Dodge pickup parked close to the house, and also a blue Ford Taurus. That must be James and his father. My dad motions for me to go up the steps first, and he follows.
I knock on the screen door and the man I recognize as Swede appears. He wears a blue Carhartt work shirt and blue jeans held up by suspenders.
“David,” he says, opening the door wide. He doesn’t offer to shake my hand but instead reaches for my dad’s. “Mr. Tellington,” he says.
“Call me Phil,” says my dad, completing the handshake.
I glance into the living room. There’s another man, who I recognize as James’s father, pacing back and forth at the window, looking outside. There’s a floral couch along one wall. A small television sits in one corner with a huge brown leather recliner and footstool facing it. Magazines and newspapers are spread haphazardly on a table alongside. Above the big recliner, a huge elk head with massive antlers stares straight at me. Sitting on the edge of the recliner, with the same captured look in his eyes as the stuffed elk, is James.
“Sit down,” says Swede, motioning that we can sit at a small table with chairs or the couch.
We all find a seat, but no one looks comfortable.
“I’m glad you could make it. The other boy involved, Sherman, is it?”
My dad nods.
“Well, they happen to be out of town. But Sherman’s dad agreed to be bound by whatever we decide here tonight.”
“Whatever it takes,” begins my dad. I know he likes to be in charge of the situation. “I’ve got my checkbook right here. You just tell me what the damages are, for the hay and for the barn, and I’d be happy to—”
Swede holds up his hand. “No sir. That’s not what I had in mind at all. That isn’t really going to help these boys understand about consequences, now is it, Mr. Tellington?” He looks straight at my dad. “Phil.”
My dad’s not used to taking a backseat in negotiations. The cords in his neck throb. “What is it that you have in mind, then?”
“What I’ve been puttin’ together,” says Swede, “is something they could do themselves to repay me. Something a little more physical.”
Physical?
“For starters, I could use some strong young men to help me rebuild the barn,” says Swede. “It’s going to be a job, but I imagine they could work at it for the rest of the summer and after school.”
The rest of the summer? But we’re going to Hawaii…
“We do have a family vacation coming up this month,” says my dad, who’s been listening closely. “The plane tickets and accommodations are already paid for.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Yeah, and we’re supposed to go to the lake!” says James, sounding like a whiny baby.
“Well,” continues Swede, “it could probably wait until September. Let’s say you start the second week and work every afternoon after school.”
Every afternoon? What about cross-country? I try to catch my dad’s eye, so he’ll realize I won’t be able to go out for the first sport of the season, but he’s focused on Swede.
Swede glances slowly around the room at each of us, as if he’s not finished. “Rebuilding the barn is one thing,” he goes on. “But there’s still the value of all the hay inside that needs to be accounted for.”
Ugh. He’s not going to let us off the hook easy.
“And I could definitely use a few strapping boys to help me on my hay deliveries. I believe if you worked at least one day of the weekend for me, for about three months, it ought to jus
t about wipe the slate clean.”
James jumps up out of the chair, and stands by his dad. “Weekends? That’s like the only time we have off at all. You want us to work after school and on the weekends, too? That’s ridiculous!” His face turns red, and he looks like he wants to explode. “It was just a stupid firecracker…”
Shut up, James. He’s such a hothead, he’s gonna blow it for all of us. Does he want us to go to juvenile court instead?
James’s dad pipes up, too. “That seems pretty excessive. You know, they’re just boys, and what happened was an accident…”
My dad stands up now, like he’s in charge. He’s an attorney, and I know he’ll get me out of this mess, like he does at court for his clients.
“I believe Mr. Hanson is giving you boys a fair shake,” my dad says.
What?
“As you remember, the alternative was juvenile court.” My dad doesn’t even look at me to see what I think. He just answers for me. “David will do it. Whatever it takes.”
My hands clamp into a fist and I seethe inside. I thought this was a meeting where everybody would agree. But once again, the adults are calling all the shots. It seems like I have absolutely no control over anything that happens to me in my whole stinking life.
“Great,” says Swede. He looks over at James’s dad, who gives a curt nod but doesn’t say a word. “Then I’ll make out a schedule. The fire chief suggested a written agreement. That way, if any one does not comply, the chief still reserves the right to press charges against you boys.”
Trapped. That’s how I feel. The summer has already been pretty much a waste, and school starts in a few weeks. I was really looking forward to cross-country, but now I have to give up my free time after school, as well as my weekends.
But maybe it’s still not too late. We haven’t signed anything yet. “What if we build the barn on weekends,” I say, “and—”
The phone rings and Swede reaches for the receiver. His face changes, and his jaw sets. “Be there quick as I can,” he mumbles. “Gentleman,” he says. “Glad we came to an agreement. A friend of mine’s had an accident and I’ve got to run.”
27-Olive
My throat feels tight as I pace the gravel parking lot in front of the feed store. I can barely breathe as two men load Aunt Trudy on a stretcher and place her in the back of the ambulance. What do I do now? Swede isn’t here.
I can hear voices all around me, but I’m barely aware what they’re saying. Finally the lady from inside the feed store comes over.
“I put your groceries inside and your ice cream in our freezer,” she says. “Do you want to ride in the ambulance? Or wait here for Swede?”
I can hear the ambulance engine now. They’re getting ready to leave. “Go with Aunt Trudy,” I say.
The lady guides me to the front seat of the ambulance. The siren turns on and it’s loud in my ears. My heart beats hard against my chest. Please don’t die, Aunt Trudy, I say to myself, over and over. Please don’t die.
I can hear them talking to her in the back. She’s still lying on the stretcher, but she’s awake now. She must be feeling a little better, because she’s starting to get feisty.
“My groceries are going to get all ruined,” she grumbles. “The ice cream’s probably already melted. Where’s Olive?” she asks, as if she finally remembered me.
“Are you Olive?” asks the driver.
I nod.
Aunt Trudy still lies flat on the stretcher, hooked up to cords and monitors, and tries to sit up, but she cannot turn around to see me.
“Olive is right up front there, ma’am, and someone is taking care of your car and your groceries,” says one of the attendants. He has on a blue shirt with Paramedic on the pocket. “You just need to relax.”
Aunt Trudy lies back down again.
“Is she gonna be all right?” I whisper to the driver, who is driving fast, weaving in and out of traffic and going right through red lights on the way to the hospital.
“She woke up quickly after passing out,” he says. “That’s a good sign.”
We park right in front of a sign that says Emergency Room. I follow as they wheel Aunt Trudy’s stretcher inside. Then they take her through a set of swinging double doors, and I have to wait in the hard chairs in the waiting room. There are a few magazines, but I don’t feel like reading anything. All I do is get up, sit down, get up, sit down. What should I do?
Should I call Swede again? I don’t even know his phone number. I just know his last name is Hanson and he lives on Tucker Road. I wander over to the counter but the lady who sits behind it is on the phone. She wears red lipstick and her hair is piled on top of her head in a style that’s really out of date. She holds up one finger, like she’s only gonna be a minute. I wait, but she takes forever.
Finally, the main doors from outside open and a familiar silver-haired man strides through. He has on work boots and a blue shirt with suspenders that hold up his blue jeans. Swede! I am so glad to see him, but I just stand there, because Swede is really just our neighbor, and I feel suddenly shy.
But Swede walks right over and pulls me into a giant bear hug. I wipe away a tear.
“Pretty scary for you, huh, Olive?”
“Yeah,” I say, wiping my nose on my shirt sleeve. “What’s going to happen now?”
“Well, let’s find out.” He leans over the counter. “We’re here to see about Trudy Alfresca,” he says, as the woman sets the receiver down.
“Are you a relative?” she asks primly. “I can’t divulge any information unless you are, and we need some ID.”
I’m a relative, I think. But I don’t say anything. How can I prove it?
“Now, Deborah,” Swede says to the receptionist in a no-nonsense voice. “You know darn well that Trudy lives alone. This,” he says with an arm around my shoulder, “is her niece Olive. And I’m gonna make sure she gets back there to see her aunt.”
Deborah pats her beehive hairstyle and eyeballs me. “In that case, I suppose we can make an exception. Just this once.” She waves toward the double doors where they wheeled Aunt Trudy’s stretcher. “Let me call someone.”
“Never mind, we can find our own way.” Swede heads through the doors and I double-step behind him to keep up.
There are only a few rooms in this section, with curtains partially drawn across each one. Aunt Trudy is in the second one. She wears a thin hospital gown, and she looks pale. There’s a needle in her arm with a long plastic tube attached to a bag of liquid.
“Well, look who’s here,” she says with a small smile. “The both of you.”
I walk up next to her, almost afraid to touch her. “Are you okay?” She seems so frail without her regular clothes on.
“Now, Olive,” she says in a strong voice. “Don’t be scared. I feel perfectly fine, but they’re telling me I can’t go home for a few more hours. I feel like a human pincushion, the way they keep sticking me with needles.”
I shiver, but stifle a laugh at the same time.
A doctor strides into the room and shakes hands with Swede and me. “We need to see if she’s had a concussion,” he says matter-of-factly. “She hit her head pretty hard. But we’re also going to run some tests on her heart. See if we can get to the bottom of some of these other symptoms—dizziness, shortness of breath, and now passing out.”
Tests? Aunt Trudy is so strong. How could anything be wrong with her?
“They’re just routine tests,” pipes up Aunt Trudy, likes she’s reading my mind.
“One thing you need to know, Doc,” says Swede, talking to the doctor in a low voice. “She’s usually a ball of fire, just working herself into the ground, but she hasn’t been herself lately. She’s a hard-headed woman, too. Maybe you can talk some sense into her, get her to slow down a little bit.”
“Quit your frettin’, Swede Hanson,” says Aunt Trudy. “Nothing for anyone to worry about. Now you two go get some dinner or something, and I’ll be out of here in no time at all. Git. Both
of you. No sense hanging around here waiting on me.”
“Bossy. Bossy. Just like always,” says Swede, winking at me. “Fine. We’ll just swing by your place and feed that mixed-up bunch of critters you got up on the hill. Darndest assortment of strays I ever did see,” he mutters under his breath, biting back a smile.
He holds the door open for me and I duck underneath his arm. For some reason, I don’t mind when Swede uses that word—stray—like I did the first time he said it.
28-David
Dad turns around in his seat on the airplane to look at me. “You doing okay back there?”
I nod. That’s only about the fifth sentence he’s said to me since our meeting with Swede. Now our luggage is all stowed and we’re settled into the big jet for the long flight to Maui. Mom and Dad are in front of me, I’ve got the window seat, and next to me is a businessman studying the screen on his laptop.
Vacations used to be fun when my brothers still lived at home. I glance at my fingers, at the spot where Grant’s ring was before I lost it. I try to imagine Grant and Lincoln on the flight with us, goofing around and getting loud. My dad would probably shush us, and Mom would reach into her bag and pull out a deck of cards or something delicious she had packed for us to eat.
Now my mom just sits half-asleep with her head propped against the window as we fly over what seems like an endless ocean, toward the islands of Hawaii. She doesn’t even rouse when the stewardess offers us something to drink.
“I’ll have a diet soda,” my dad says, giving my mom a wistful look.
“Coke,” I say when it’s my turn. I can tell this is going to be a fun vacation.
After landing and picking up a rental car, my dad drives us to a tall pink building surrounded with tropical plants and palm trees. “Cool,” I say. It is a pretty ritzy-looking place, I have to admit.
“You like it?” My dad seems genuinely excited. “What do you think, Carolyn?”
