by Noah Harris
She pulls a little chair up to the table, industrious on her little chubby legs, and sits down with her hand on her chin, looking at me. I sip the tea in what I hope is a nonchalant way.
“How’s it going, Rosemary?”
“Scooter,” she says seriously. “I live on your arm.”
I laugh, confused.
“Like in a little house?”
She’s unamused and thinks it over.
“Shoulder. I live on your shoulder. So I can see for miles.”
Ah, it’s that thing Christian was saying. I wish I lived on your shoulder.
“Yes. So you can tell me everything you see, right here in my ear.”
She nods, pleased that I’m getting it.
“Scooter. I saw a bird at Daddy. A big crow.”
She seemed taken with it at the cemetery, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Then or now.
“It was huge. Maybe a raven.”
She stipulates that this is possible but doesn’t seem to think it’s relevant. I wait for the rest of the story, but she just pours some more tea and sips it delicately.
“Human said the Silly Man was going to hurt you. He said that.”
Intriguing. She seems to find it interesting, but not shocking.
“Why’s that? What did Huckleberry think was going to happen?”
She shrugs.
“Creature thinks the bird was Daddy. The big crow.”
“I must admit, that’s where I thought you were going with that.”
Shrugs, again.
“Creature looks like Goodboy in the eyes. Like you in the eyes.”
I nod, considering her from another angle.
“That makes sense to me. Does it make sense to you?”
“I have a wolf in me,” Rose says carefully, as if anxious I’ll understand her precisely. “And I love her. But you love yours more.”
That’s true. She has Christian’s easy relationship with herself, I can see that. And she didn’t have to fight for it like he did. You want your kids to have a better life than you did.
“And Creature is…she is a wolf. Dressed up like a baby.”
I have to laugh. She’s not wrong. It’s a nice way to think of Poppy, and probably safer.
“And that’s you. Goodboy, too.”
“Maybe that’s why I try so hard to be good. Because really, I’m just a wolf all the time.”
Rosemary stands up, leaning so far into my eyes our noses almost touch.
“Then you can’t. Mess. Up.”
She sees the momentary fear in my eyes and cracks up. Kisses me on a cheek, and she’s gone. No pressure.
Jonesy asks for some one-on-one time, which I gratefully give. During the immediate post-hospital time he was a lifesaver. I think all that time watching Goodboy must have rubbed off. There was a time not that long ago I was privately glad Jonesy never had kids with his ex-wife. But now, I’d be happy moving him into a third bedroom, if he needed it.
The kids don’t adore him the way they do Christian, or Goodboy. They don’t dote on him. But they take him seriously and believe what he says. Generally they don’t question him, which is more than any of the rest of us can say, particularly with Bodhi, so there’s a little jealousy there. Or mystery.
He slaps the stool next to him when he sees me, sliding a beer across and waving down the bartender to order a burger.
“You look good, Jonesy.”
Notably so. The first thing I thought when I walked in was, “Felix would love this.” It’s the standard sandals and cargo shorts Jonesy uniform, but everything including him seems new, fresh. Off the rack. It’s astounding how much younger he looks, too.
He smiles. “I feel good, man.”
“So what’s up?” I hope I sound casual, but not so casual that my curiosity doesn’t come across. I’m happy to spend time out of the house, and especially with him, but this feels like an occasion.
“Well, it’s a big day,” he clinks our glasses and looks me in the eye, unreadable. “I’m unmarried. I’m a single man. As of about three o’clock this afternoon.”
“Okay, wow. So, that’s all done.”
He laughs, nodding aggressively so I’ll take him seriously. And I do, there’s no underlying falsehood here. He’s a little sad, but it’s all on the surface. This scenario always had a lot more danger implicit in it when Christian and I have discussed it in the past.
“I mean, it’s not fair. Most of my friends, when they get divorced they always say it’s because she was crazy. Bad in some way. So I don’t know how to talk to them about it, because she’s not bad. She’s not unreasonable. I didn’t even believe that when I was saying it. I just didn’t know how to talk about it, otherwise.”
“But now you seem to think it was a worthwhile use of your time. What did you get out of this? Did you learn something?”
He looks at his hands, nodding. He knew that would be my question.
“She was a perfectly lovely person who happened to be in love with somebody I wasn’t. That bothered me for a long time because I felt like she was telling me who to be or trying to trick me into changing. Or like it was some version of me from high school. Which I guess is me tricking myself.”
I hate how well I know what he means sometimes.
“But dude, the thing is so simple. It doesn’t matter which one of those it is, or something else entirely. I wasn’t the person she loved, and that’s all that matters. It’s so much easier when you stop caring about who wins. Who is the better person, or the more hurt person, or…”
I’m sure my smile is big enough to look unhinged, but he’s just making me so happy. I’m nowhere near grown up yet, but that’s not anything I ever expected to hear from him. I’m not sure how to respond.
“Anyway, I just…I wouldn’t have figured that out, I don’t think. I’d be like every other one of my friends and just sit on the couch blaming every bad thing on her. And talk about how women are terrible, all of them. Just because of this one thing that faded out.”
“What’s different?”
What changed? Besides everything, of course. Because you’ve only been pretending to be a douchebag all this time. Because that’s the costume they handed you and told you it was your skin.
“When you told me what really happened back in school I thought it was the worst thing I’d ever heard of. You’d say it was okay or that you learned a lot or got tough and I’d just think you were probably lying. It’s the kind of thing I’d lie about.”
I laugh into my beer and reach across him for a napkin to dab the foam off my nose.
“And then I thought it’s just because you were so crazy about him back then, and you came back here because you were still crazy about him. But then no matter what the fight was, you’d always deal with it. Talk about it. You’d both think about what the other guy was saying, and then you’d change. The next time I saw you, it would be a different fight. Or no fight. I can’t think of anybody else who ever did that. At least in front of me.”
I’m impressed. He’s wildly oversimplifying, of course, but it’s still remarkably observant.
“And so, when I knew the divorce thing was happening for sure, it was surprising because I realized I wasn’t hoping for anything else. I’d gotten so used to thinking this was temporary and we’d get back together that I didn’t even notice when I stopped wanting that. I signed those papers today, and it just felt good. Not like I was free, or revenge, but just like…what’s the next thing? What does it look like? What’s going to happen?”
He’s incandescent for a moment. The most beautifully shining thing in this sports bar.
“And? What’s next, what’s going to happen?”
He laughs, shrugging with a wild smile.
“No idea. Isn’t that cool?”
It really is.
“So, then I just hoped you’d be able to come out here with me for a bit. Because you were the person I wanted to talk to about it, and you’d understand why I was happy. But al
so, to say thanks.”
“Thanks?”
I get uncomfortable, clench up, but no. I need to breathe through it. Listen to him.
“Yeah, bro. Thanks. I was a piece of shit to you when we were kids. When you got into town I was lonely garbage and I saw you and I thought, Oh, it’s that loser. He’s gotta be lonely too. Like there was no way you could afford to blow me off like everybody else.”
At that, I really crack up.
“Jonesy, that’s awful.”
He squeezes my shoulder, trying desperately to connect.
“I know that! I know it is. But that’s what I’m saying, I didn’t know it then. I was wrong anyhow. You weren’t a loser, and you could have blown me off. But you didn’t.”
That’s true, mostly. I decided to give him a shot as a mental exercise. Which isn’t any better than what he was trying to get out of me in turn. So, we’re even. Again.
“I absolutely cannot imagine my life without you in it, Jonesy. This place was a haunted house, just a town full of nightmares. I came here to do an exorcism or something like that. To make this place safe. But I never meant to stay here, I just wanted to neutralize it.”
He nods, and I can see the wheels turning. He never even got to leave and come back, because he never left.
“But the first thing that happened was, I met you. I knew by the time we were done that day we were going to be friends. And that was the exorcism. Just liking you made me feel safer about everything else. That made me strong enough to stick around.”
He cocks an eyebrow, thinking.
“If I hadn’t been so pathetic you wouldn’t have liked me, and if you didn’t like me, you would have just gone back to Los Angeles to do drugs and be a dick. So really…”
“Yeah. No you, no Salt Flats, because it would still be poison. No Goodboy. No Christian.”
He shivers, smiling. But we both know how cold that possibility was, and how near it came. For us both.
Which is how I find myself, fairly early in the afternoon, sitting in a sports bar with the biggest bully of my childhood and, I’ve been told, one of the greatest menaces in this town until not that long ago, laughing until we’re red in the face, his hand in mine, like we’re the only two men in the room.
He brought me here to say he loves me, and to thank me for saving his life. I owe him the same, and more. I never really realized it until he put it into words, but one of the most exciting things about the world, right now, is getting to see what his next chapter does look like. Because I seriously, literally, absolutely have no idea what it could be.
“Felix is going to be thrilled that you’re back on the market,” I laugh, and for a millisecond his eyes seem almost troubled.
“Not Goodboy?”
Oh, brother.
“Goodboy too. Rest assured!”
He nods, slurping the head off another beer, and gives me that shit-eating grin, and I could just kiss him. I really could. Jonesy effin’ Kirkendall.
About a week before the full moon, I’m driving back from dropping off supplies at the ranch when the phone rings. It’s the house line, so I pull over and answer.
There’s nothing for a while, no sound. Then a fumbling clicking, and finally breathing.
“Hello?”
“Hello?” says Huck, like he wasn’t sure I’d answered.
“Huckleberry, boy. What are you up to? Are you okay?”
“I wish you would come home.”
“Oh my way, little man. I’m just driving back from the ranch now. Who’s around?”
He giggles, sounding totally carefree for the first time in a long time.
“Everybody is around! Goodboy is here. I just thought of you.”
“What made you think of me?” I ask, curious as ever how his little mind works.
“I looked out the window. There was the garden. I thought about you and Daddy in the garden. It was so hot, and we had lemonade. You were making each other laugh, and that made us laugh. Watching you. Then I called you, because I wished you were home.”
I don’t know what to say. That’s some prime Huckleberry.
“Buddy, I am definitely coming home fast as I can. But is it okay if I make one stop first?”
“No,” he growls, then reconsiders slyly. “Wait. For why?”
What he means is, ice cream for everybody?
And he’s absolutely correct.
Bodhi’s waiting for me on the porch when I arrive, looking solemn. Lately he’s been getting funny about the other kids, not jealous exactly, but very protective of our time together. Nothing like Poppy’s territorial obsession with her papa, but along those lines. He wants so much of me that having other kids around just dilutes it.
But I don’t mind because what he wants isn’t particularly demanding. We barely even talk. He’s just better with me around, as Christian and the others put it. It’s flattering and it’s a great responsibility. But what I’ve known since I moved in is that I’m better with him around, too.
There’s ice cream in the truck, so it’s a bit of a risk to sit down with him on the steps, but the way he reaches out and pats my knee gently tells me it was the right call.
“How are we doing, kiddo?”
He smiles, serene. But there’s still that seriousness behind it and it makes me curious. Bodhi doesn’t tend to get into moods, he tends to deal with his feelings as they happen. So anything that requires this much deliberation is probably pretty intense.
He watches the birds on the lawn across the street for a while, and sighs.
“Human wanted you to come home, so he called you. And you came home.”
“That’s accurate. It was sweet of him.”
“He’s sweet. I think he is the nicest out of all of us. But he keeps it secret.”
Also accurate. Huckleberry is so attuned to the moods around him, so observant. Half the time, you don’t realize until later that whatever bizarre thing he’s doing is actually for the benefit of everyone, moving tiny details around, causing little distractions to make things go smoothly.
But it means he’s the most wounded by chaos, which I couldn’t have known coming into things, because they were all pretty wounded.
“Papa used to wake all of us up and make breakfast, and then take a shower. So I was in charge.”
I nod, smiling. It sounds like his ideal situation.
“But now I don’t have to be in charge of anybody. I get to just eat breakfast.”
“Didn’t you like being in charge?”
He nods, easily. “But it made me tired. I’m just five.”
He’s four, for another month, but, sure.
“I don’t think your Papa would have let you be in charge if he knew that.”
Bodhi stares at me. I’m not getting it.
“I knew the best way to help, after Daddy died. I did everything I could think of that he did. I made a list. In my head. And now I don’t know the best way.”
There’s an anxiety behind his eyes that breaks my heart.
“Oh, buddy. You’re doing it. You don’t have to figure out things like that. Your job is to just be Bodhi. And you’re very, very good at it.”
He nods, but he’s not satisfied.
“I think that I should have a job.”
I crack up, a little bit to his irritation.
“A chore. I think I should do things in the house. You could pay me.”
Ah. There it is.
“What do you like to do most?”
The chances that it’s going to be something he can actually do, with his little hands and tendency toward overexertion, are minimal. But who knows? He’s an industrious kid.
“I like sweeping. And the chickens. But I’m not tall enough to do very much sweeping before I get tired. I’m not strong enough yet. So, chickens.”
I nod. The other kids have mentioned missing the chickens on more than one occasion, and I have no trouble imagining just how impossible it must have seemed for Christian to replace them.
/>
“How do you take care of chickens?”
Half because I’m curious, half because I have no idea.
“Wake up when the sun comes up. Throw the feed and open the gate so they can run around. Watch for dogs. Change the water. Then they follow you back in and you close the gate. Same thing before dinner.”
Sounds valid.
“Look for eggs, also. But I don’t like reaching under them. So look for eggs while they’re running around.”
“Sounds like you have a handle on it. What would you charge for this service?”
He looks up and to the side, thinking hard. I can see the wheels turning. Motorcycle? Pony? Trampoline? We want them to think big.
“How much do chickens cost?”
“I’m not really sure, but I don’t think that’s…”
“That’s how much I want, though. I just want chickens. And to bring in the eggs.”
For a second, the sweetness of that is pure enough to knock me off my feet. That’s a Goodboy move, right there. Or maybe…
“Bodhi, sweetheart? Where did the first set of chickens come from?”
He smiles brightly.
“That was Daddy’s chickens. He loved them. And bringing in the eggs, too. Scrambled eggs with cheese on toast, that’s the food we love the most.”
His high voice bursts with pride, and I can’t help grabbing him to my chest and holding him tight. Ernest Greendale, you wonderful man, just look at what you made.
And thank you. For all of it.
Gifts
“I’m six,” Bodhi says from under his blankets, growling. “And I can read, so I don’t need kindergarten.”
None of that’s true, but he’s getting there.
He needs to live in the world. I knew homeschooled kids growing up and some of them turned out to be among my favorite people. But my son’s a shifter who’s spent five years among shifters almost exclusively. He can’t afford to have any illusions about the outside world.
Bodhi’s birthday present will be the world. But he’s going to need support.
So, after several weeks of deliberation, and more than a little negotiation, I’ve managed quite a trick. Goodboy’s agreed to bring Jonesy Kirkendall into the pack, teach him about shifters and their ways. Something that hasn’t happened too many times since the founding of the country, and never in the Salt Flats pack. But the world is changing. We need to change with it.
