A Moment in Magic Hour: A Coming-of-Age Story (Magic Hour Series Book 1)

by John Anthony

  “Got some big news over in your family, I hear,” Mr. Shaw called out as I walked across the street. His voice was rough, almost pirate-like. “Your granddad told me.”

  I nodded.

  “Not too happy ’bout it, I see.” He squinted in the sunlight as he pulled a drag on his cigarette, then tossed it into a big coffee can full of sand.

  I shrugged.

  Mr. Shaw nodded and looked down at his boot. He thumped it on the concrete sidewalk to knock mud from the sole. “It’s a lot to take in, I imagine.” He looked back at me. “But not too much for a boy like you, I reckon.”

  I tilted my head, like a dog that heard a high-pitched sound. “Like me?”

  He nodded. “Tough boys like you.”

  I shook my head. “Not me.” Mr. Shaw was probably confusing me with one of the other kids.

  “Naw, I think I got it right.” The sun was hot, and the air was heavy. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead with it. “Come for a minute. I’ll show you something.”

  I followed Mr. Shaw into the building. The damp, earthy sweetness of freshly cut lumber filled my nose as he led me deeper into the building than I’d ever been allowed before. The heat climbed the further in we walked.

  We stopped at a huge pole that reached all the way to the rafters. It seemed almost as tall as the pine tree in my front yard.

  “Here it is.” Mr. Shaw pointed at it. “This is you.”

  I stared at it, then I looked at Mr. Shaw. His fists were planted on his hips, and he was proudly looking up at the pole.

  “See how it’s holding everything up? If it weren’t here, the whole place’d come down on our heads.”

  I nodded and grinned.

  “Do y’think it knew it could do that when it was standing out there in the forest with all its friends?”

  I shook my head. “Probably not, but why would a tree even think about that, Mr. Shaw?”

  “It wouldn’t.” He wiped the handkerchief on the back of his neck. “Understand?”

  “Not really.”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder. “If that tree had taken the time to think Can I do it?, he might have scared himself into thinkin’ he couldn’t.”

  Slowly the thought started to flow through the deeper parts of my brain and sink in.

  “It’s not perfect. Maybe a little crooked in some spots.” He put his palm on the pole and patted the wood. “It’s got some big knots. Some might have said, ‘Don’t use that log. It can’t handle the load.’ But if you give it a little extra encouragement; if you believe in it . . .”

  He looked at me and saw the deep thought in my eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t totally understand just yet.” He nodded. “You will when you need to. Don’t worry about it none.”

  He was right; I didn’t understand just yet. But I figured I’d let it simmer along with the stuff Granddad had told me.

  I cocked my head, looking up at him as I asked, “You ever have people be mean to you?” My stomach tensed as I remembered the day in Granddad’s store when the other customers looked at him like he didn’t belong.

  Mr. Shaw’s eyebrows raised and he took a deep breath. “Yeah, now and again.” He exhaled. “When someone looks different than you do, it can be hard to think they’re the same.” He looked at me. “You got some kids being mean to you?”

  I nodded. “Mainly to Cubby. He’s the youngest one. There’s some kids making fun of him for being different.”

  Mr. Shaw winced and shook his head. “Pretty bad when kids gotta make other kids feel bad about themselves.”

  “Do you know a good way to make them stop? Tommy’s brother, Ryan, almost hit one of them in the nose one day. They haven’t bothered us since then.”

  “Well, one thing I know is you don’t want to go after them the way they’d gone after you. You don’t make people less mean by being mean to them yourself. You gotta be more diplomatic than that.” He walked over to a small hand sink and ran his handkerchief under the cool water, then slapped it on the back of his neck. “You know what diplomatic means?”

  I cocked my head. “Being fair?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “You got it right. Even when you might not want to be, or when you think it’s unfair to you.” He winked. “But that might be because I’m softer now that I’m older.”

  I looked at his midsection. It didn’t appear to be softer than Granddad’s, and he was lots older than Mr. Shaw.

  Mr. Shaw laughed. “Not that kinda soft, now.” He gave his forehead a swipe with his palm. “It means they don’t be as mean and hard as they used to be. They get nicer and kinder when they get older. Handle things different.”

  “What would you do if there was some kids being mean to other kids?”

  “Well now,” he said, “they usually pick on someone because they’re alone, or because they think they’re young and weak. If you show them bullies that you’re not alone and that you’re strong, you’ll scare them off pretty fast.”

  “Like if we got all the kids together?”

  “Yep, that’d do it.” Mr. Shaw nodded. “Friends ain’t gonna let you stand there alone.”

  My stomach tightened as I thought about how I’d stood behind the comics in Granddad’s store that day. I was afraid to let people know I knew Mr. Shaw. I didn’t stand with him like a friend should have—like Granddad always did. Granddad wasn’t afraid of what other people thought; he just did what he knew was right. And so did Mr. Shaw.

  “I’m sorry I hid behind the comics that one day, Mr. Shaw.” I rubbed my chin. “I shoulda stood by you.”

  “No need for you to say you’re sorry, son.” Mr. Shaw’s head dropped and he stared at his boots. “But I’ll tell you, that’s the most special apology I ever got in my life.”

  And just then, my stomach stopped aching. “You’re my friend.”

  He looked at me and smiled. “Now go and play, you rascal, before you start making an old man cry.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  One night, the bitter smell of smoke drifted through my open bedroom window, and for a second I thought Tommy and his older brother had started a bonfire in their backyard again. Then I heard someone yell, and not like two boys horse-playing, but with genuine fear.

  I jumped up out of bed and ran to my bedroom door. Mom was rushing out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe around her as she told me to stay put.

  “There’s something going on at the end of the block, honey,” she said.

  “Is it a fire?”

  “Yes,” Mom said. “It appears so. There are fire trucks there right now.”

  “What house?” I rubbed my eyes, aware now that they were stinging from the smoke in the air.

  “Dad said it looks like the end of the block. Maybe the Petersons’.” She continued down the stairs, looking at me through the banister railing. “Stay there, honey. There’s a big commotion outside.”

  The Petersons’ house? Oh my gosh. That’s where Becky and Lucy live.

  I rushed back into my room and pulled the window closed. I didn’t want any more of that smoke smell getting into the house, especially with my sisters sleeping in the next room. After a quick check of the windows in the other bedrooms, I sat on the upper landing of the stairs and listened.

  I’m not disobeying. I’m still upstairs.

  The smell of smoke drifted up the stairwell, probably from the front door my folks had left open.

  “Mom.” I tried calling down the stairs to let her know the smoke smell was coming in. “Mom. Dad.”

  No response.

  I slowly eased my way down the stairs, but couldn’t hear anything.

  It won’t hurt if I just go down to tell them about the smoke smell. They’ll think I’m being helpful. Right?

  I walked across the living room and could see the flashing red lights shining on the big pine tree out front. Everything else was dark.

  The front door was open a crack, and the smell was sneaking in through the gap. />
  I could see Mom out at the end of the front sidewalk, her hand over her mouth and shaking her head. Dad wasn’t there; he must have gone down to the end of the street to get a closer look, or offer help.

  “Mom.” I didn’t yell because I didn’t want to scare her. She didn’t hear me.

  I pushed on the screen door and stepped out, the concrete step cold under my bare foot. Rather than letting the screen door slam behind me like I usually did, I gently eased it closed and made my way down the front steps and across the damp, dewy grass to where my mom stood.

  “Mom.”

  I startled her, but she put her arm around me and pulled me close. “Honey, I told you to stay inside.”

  “I know, but the smoke smell was coming in the front door.”

  She didn’t respond and just stood solid—kind of like the big pole Mr. Shaw had shown me—with one arm around me, holding me against her side. The tip of her index finger from her other hand rested on her chin as she watched nervously down the street.

  That’s when I looked for the first time and saw Becky and Lucy’s house covered in flames.

  Without even thinking, and ignoring Mom yelling at me to stop, I ran down the sidewalk as fast as I could. Sharp pebbles poked at my tender bare feet, but I kept running.

  It felt like it took me an hour to run the length of the block. When I got as close to their house as I could before crossing the line the firemen had put up, I could feel the fire on my face. The heat was worse than any bonfire I’d been to, more than when Mom would pull cookies out of the oven. It felt like the worst sunburn I’d ever had, and I wondered if my skin was peeling off.

  A hand clamped on my shoulder, and I turned to see Granddad.

  “You shouldn’t be over here, Shorty. You could get hurt pretty bad.”

  I looked up at him but couldn’t speak. My face probably told him I was afraid, but he knew well before that.

  “Your dad is right over here, talking with the neighbors.”

  Granddad led me over to where my dad was standing. Dad didn’t yell at me for going down to the fire, like I thought he would. He just pulled me in front of him and put his hands on my shoulders as we watched, hoping that no one was hurt.

  Becky was the first person I saw, sitting in the back of an ambulance. She had a Darth Vader kind of mask on her face. Dad said it was because of smoke getting in her lungs, but he figured she’d be all right.

  Mr. and Mrs. Peterson were there too, breathing into masks. Mr. Peterson kept trying to get back to the house, but the firemen pulled him back, saying it was too dangerous for him to go in.

  But Lucy was nowhere to be seen.

  “Do you see her, Dad? Lucy?”

  Dad shook his head. “They’ve been trying to find her. Becky said she ran when they saw the fire. She must have been scared.”

  Flames burst through the upper-floor windows. Black smoke poured out the front door.

  And just like that, I knew where she’d gone.

  “She’s under the stairs. Tell somebody, Dad,” I yelled. “You’ve got to tell someone.”

  Dad quickly jumped the boundary and found one of the firemen. When Dad turned back and gave me a thumbs-up, my heart started racing even faster.

  Lucy always talked about a magic place in her house, where she’d go if she got scared. It made her feel safe. She showed me once, a small wall panel that was loose near the foot of the stairwell, and told me it was a safe place. She didn’t realize she’d given away her secret, but I never had any reason to tell anyone.

  At least, until now.

  Before long, we saw a fireman coming out carrying a bundle of blankets, and poking out the top was that familiar head of brown hair in pigtails.

  It was Lucy. She was safe.

  I took off like an arrow shot from a bow and ran back toward my house with tears running down my face. Sobbing and unable to control myself, I shot right past Mom, who had been left standing guard of the house when I ran off.

  “Jack!”

  I bolted through the front screen door and took the stairs two at a time, then pushed open the door to my sister’s room and stood in the doorway.

  They were both still sleeping, not a hair out of place. At least, no more than usual. Heather was sucking her thumb, and Jenny had one leg sticking out from under the covers.

  They were okay. They weren’t hurt.

  And they wouldn’t be, as long as I could help it.

  Mom gently grabbed my arm and turned me to face her. She wasn’t speaking, for fear of waking the girls, but when I looked up at her face, she was crying. Confused, I cocked my head.

  She let out a relieved chuckle and knelt to pull me into a hug. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  I pressed my face against her shoulder. Even though the smell of smoke was on her, the scent of her Breck shampoo was still in her hair. It was familiar, and made me feel safe.

  When Dad ran up the stairs yelling for me and Mom, the girls started stirring in their beds.

  “Thank God, there you are.” He was breathing heavily from having run from the end of the block. “Why on earth did you run away like that? You scared me half to death.”

  Mom looked at me and wiped my cheeks with her thumbs. “What’s going on, Jack? First you took off and ran down there, and then you took off and ran back?”

  I didn’t know what to say because I wasn’t quite sure why, myself. I could only say what I knew for sure. “I just wanted to make sure everyone was safe.” Why I was crying, I didn’t know.

  Mom leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

  “You should be proud of yourself for telling the firemen where Lucy was hiding.” Dad took a deep breath and held it a moment as he looked at me. “She’s safe now because of that.”

  He quickly told Mom what I’d done, and she brushed the hair from my forehead and smiled at me. Her whole face lit up.

  “That’s our little Jack.”

  And at that very moment, my new little sister decided it was time.

  Dad walked Mom into their bedroom and helped her get comfortable on the bed. She was breathing funny—quick breaths in and out—and looked like she was in pain.

  And then it stopped.

  “Jack, I need you to sit with Mom while I go downstairs to call Aunt Jo.” He tucked another pillow behind Mom’s head. “She’s going to sit with you and your sisters while Mom and I are at the hospital.”

  I nodded and climbed up on the bed next to Mom. Dad rushed out of the room, and I heard him running down the stairs.

  “Does it hurt?”

  Mom smiled and brushed the hair off my forehead. “Not too bad.”

  “What’s gonna happen when you go to the hospital?”

  “Well, silly,” she said, “I’m going to have your new little sister.”

  Oh boy. No longer was this something that was going to happen, but life was changing right now. And I got scared.

  “Are you gonna be okay?” I could feel my bottom lip start to tremble.

  “I’m going to be just fine, Jack.” She put her palm on my cheek. “There’s no need to worry about that. Not a bit.”

  I nodded, and the tears started coming a little harder. It seemed I couldn’t control them.

  Mom put her finger under my chin and raised my head. “It’s going to be okay, honey.” Her eyes were all sparkly like a princess.

  Dad burst back into the room and started throwing things into a small suitcase he pulled from the closet. Things that Mom would need for the hospital.

  I wiped my eyes, leaning on Mom’s shoulder as I watched Dad grabbing items from drawers to pack into the suitcase.

  “Aunt Jo will be here shortly, Jack.” Dad wiped his forehead and took a deep breath. Between the fire down the street, and now Mom going into labor, it was a lot going on. “Could you go down and watch for her through the front window?”

  I nodded and gave Mom a quick kiss on the cheek. She mouthed the words, Everything will be okay.

  I jumped
down off the bed and ran across the hall to check on the girls. They were still sleeping, so I headed downstairs.

  As I sat on the radiator under the front window, waiting for Aunt Jo’s car to pull up outside, I began to feel different. Not like a stomachache kind of different, but like a deep-down-in-my-heart kind of different.

  I was checking on my sisters, watching for Aunt Jo so Dad could take care of Mom, and I told the firemen where to find Lucy. I was doing important things, older-boy things. Maybe even adult kinds of things.

  This must have been the moment Mom told me would happen—when I’d realize I was a good big brother.

  At that thought, I sat a little bit taller. And it felt good.

  Chapter Fourteen

  September 1977

  The house was quiet. Mom was home from the hospital, and my new little sister, Angie, was asleep in her bassinet at the foot of my parents’ bed. I thought she was pretty cute, regardless of what I said.

  Mom had let me bring Cubby and Tommy upstairs to introduce them the day they got home.

  “She’s got curly blond hair,” Cubby said. “No one’s gonna know she’s your sister.”

  Mom had laughed and held her belly. “Cubby, you’re a stitch.”

  “She’s gonna be a heartbreaker,” Tommy said. “Especially with those curls.”

  Tomorrow was moving day. Boxes lined the hallway and were stacked throughout the entire house. It already felt like we didn’t live there anymore.

  And after the long Labor Day weekend, school would be starting.

  I couldn’t sleep. I wanted the night to last forever so I never had to leave my room. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my gaze wandered around the room. It didn’t feel like mine anymore. The light from the hallway used to bounce off my dresser mirror and shine a ray of light next to my bed. Now, the mirror was wrapped in a soft blanket, ready to be moved, and the light didn’t have the power to reach any further than the corner.