The guy on the porch held up both hands and began backing away. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought the Floyds lived here. Don’t call the cops, please.” As he swung around I saw a beat-up pack slung over his shoulders.
Cody, still in his socks, slid across the floor. “Who’s out there?”
Cass stared out the window over my shoulder. “Did that guy try to break in?”
“He was looking through the window. But he mentioned the Floyds like he knew them.”
“Wait!” Cass pressed a palm to the glass. “That looks like Uncle Paul.”
Cody grabbed the knob and tried to jerk the door open. By the time I got it unlocked, the guy had disappeared into the dark.
Cody fell out onto the porch in his pj’s.
“Uncle Paul!” he bawled. “Come back, Uncle Paul!”
Even after Cody had yelled him back onto the porch, Uncle Paul still seemed like he was ready to take off.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I didn’t call the police.”
He heaved a sigh and came inside. In the living room, he plopped down on the sofa and rubbed his eyes. “God, am I tired.”
I saw Cody bite his lips—he knew no one should take the Lord’s name in vain.
Uncle Paul glanced around. “Where are the big people? And where’s Shotgun?”
We told him about Ben and the accident in the woods.
“Wait.” He sat up straight. “Where did this happen?”
Cody sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “We better tell him the whole story, starting with the hat.”
“You tell it,” Cass said. “You’re the hat-finder.”
Cody went all the way back to the basketball game Ben wouldn’t let him play. Uncle Paul grinned and said big brothers could be a real pain, but when Cody got to the part about finding the boarded-up building in the woods, he slumped over and put his head in his hands.
Cody tugged the leg of his dirty jeans. “What’s wrong, Uncle Paul?”
“Nothing.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Go on.”
He listened to the rest of the story without looking up.
When we’d told him everything, he flopped back against the sofa, his legs out straight. “The nightmare never ends.”
Cody nodded once, like he knew what his uncle was talking about. I sure didn’t, but I wasn’t about to ask. Like Nana Grace would say, Uncle Paul didn’t seem quite right.
But maybe he was just tired and hungry—he was skinny as a stray cat. I fixed him some scrambled eggs, Cass made toast. Cody sat with him, talking.
While we cooked, Cass and me whispered about whether or not we should go home now that there was an adult in the house—but we weren’t sure if Uncle Paul counted as an adult, so we decided to stay.
When we came out of the kitchen with the food, Uncle Paul was staring at the ceiling.
“Think he’s asleep with his eyes open,” Cody whispered. “He’s been doing that for a while.”
“Not asleep,” said Uncle Paul. “Thinking.” We put the plates down on the coffee table in front of him and he said thanks. Then he patted his shirt pocket and slid out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, then glanced around. “Still no ashtrays.” He knocked the ash off into his own hand.
No one told him no smoking in the house, not even Mr. Floyd when he came home from the hospital.
At first Mr. Floyd just stood there staring.
But after a few seconds, he opened his arms and bellowed, “Welcome home, Paulie!” Then he suffocated his brother in a big bear hug, knocking ashes onto the rug.
Sunday
(Seven)
Cody
Cody’s skin itched with chlorine. No bath the night before. No “Good night, Sport!” from Dad. No knock on the wall between his room and Ben’s. No as-usual anything since G-mom came out to the pool saying Ben was in the hospital.
Cody threw off the sheet and sat up in bed. Today was his birthday, but it didn’t feel like it, not without a brother around to give him a pinch to grow an inch or a choke so he wouldn’t smoke. Dad had said Ben would be okay, but he’d looked worried. And he wouldn’t let Cody visit because they didn’t want him to see his brother getting stuff pumped into him with tubes.
None of this would’ve happened if he’d told Mom and Dad about Nowhere.
He didn’t think anyone was making breakfast pancakes, but he sniffed to make sure. He smelled cigarettes. That’s when he remembered Uncle Paul was here—today was Uncle Paul’s birthday too. He was downstairs right now, sleeping on the sofa—or else smoking.
Cody had heard his father and uncle talking for a long time after he was sent up to bed. Their voices had woken him up a couple of times, but now the house was quiet. He glanced at the pineapple bedpost. No hat. Dad didn’t like the hat. Maybe he’d told Ben to get rid of it while they were at the pool yesterday.
But probably not. If you were in trouble with Dad, you knew it, like the time Ben slugged a line drive through Mr. Baker’s window. Dad had thrown out the ball, the bat, and Ben’s cleats right in front of him.
Last night, even with Ben in the hospital, even with Uncle Paul in the room, he’d parked Cody before sending him up to bed and asked him why he hadn’t told about Nowhere.
Cody had answered that Ben said not to tell. And Dad had asked him if he’d jump off a cliff if Ben said to.
“Probably,” Cody whispered now, staring at the empty bedpost. “At least if he jumped first.”
Cody wished he could put the hat on now. Detective Dobbs was way smarter than he was. But if Dad hadn’t told Ben to get rid of the hat, he didn’t know what had happened to it. He just knew that it felt gone, like sometime during the day while he’d been belly-flopping and eating cookies it had flapped off the bedpost and flown away.
Sometimes he had wished the hat would disappear. He felt bad about that now. He’d thought that when he turned seven, he’d know what to do without it, but seven didn’t seem all that different from six. He needed the hat to whisper to him that Ben would be fine…and to tell him what to do next.
He pulled on his yesterday clothes, then stood at the top of the stairs and listened to the tick of the clock on the mantel downstairs.
He could see the sofa and the rumpled pink blanket. It didn’t look like anyone was under it, but he couldn’t tell for sure. He hopped down the steps on his lucky-left but slid his hand down the banister, resting his weight so he wouldn’t make noise.
When he got closer, Cody could see that the only thing on the couch besides the blanket and a pillow was Uncle Paul’s dingy green backpack with the frayed straps. He glanced out the window, and the car was in the driveway. Dad was still at home, probably sleeping in after staying so late at the hospital. But where was Uncle Paul?
Cody put a hand on the dirty canvas, and it was almost like he was wearing the hat. Suddenly he knew. Uncle Paul was visiting his nightmare. And Cody knew—just as if the hat had told him—that something bad was about to happen.
He let out a hiccup as he jammed his bare feet into the sneakers he’d kicked off next to Dad’s chair. Hiccupped again as he let himself out the door. He didn’t even leave a note. He was seven now and, like Dad had said, sometimes you have to decide for yourself. If he did the right thing and left a note, he’d get there too late—and that made leaving a note the wrong thing.
Cody closed the door real quiet, then ran. Way down the block, he realized that he should’ve asked Dad to come along.
He needed a grown-up—a grown-up would know what to do. Maybe he’d see Nana Grace in front of her house, but he didn’t. Mr. Barnett’s light was on, but Mr. Barnett didn’t like kids.
Cody’s shoes felt loose. When he looked down, the laces were flying—but he couldn’t waste time tying.
The more he ran, the looser they got, until the sneakers were flopping against his heels.
When he ran out of the left one, he stopped and retied both of them, but he didn’t sit on the curb even long enough to catch his b
reath. He jumped up, pounded across Rankin, and cut into the woods.
Cody hurried along the now-familiar path for the first time by himself. The rising sun flickered between the trees as he stumbled into the clearing where the burned-down house had stood.
When he got there he stopped, out of breath. “Uncle Paul?”
His uncle sat slumped, his back against the front wall of Nowhere—the hat covering his face. “Uncle Paul? Are you okay?”
His uncle shoved the hat brim up and peered at Cody.
“Hey, the hat found you!” Cody blurted.
“Nope, I found it near where your brother fell.” His eyes traveled to the spot where Dad’s chainsaw stuck out of the ground, then shifted back to Cody. “Just don’t go over there.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t go over there,” his uncle repeated. “By the way, happy birthday, Cody Paul.”
“Same to you, Uncle Paul Cody.”
Uncle Paul stared across the opening in the woods, his eyes on Cody’s monument. “Thanks, but I’d rather forget about my birthday.”
“Are you kidding?” Cody whooped. “We’re going to have a party and cake and…you know…birthday stuff.” He trailed off when he realized his uncle was staring at the place where the burned-down house had been.
“Sorry, but ‘happy’ and ‘birthday’ just don’t go together for me. Haven’t for quite some time.”
Cody wanted to ask, Did you burn that house down? but he couldn’t ask an uncle he just met a question like that. He had to say something, though. “Hey, you know what? Your socks don’t match.”
As Uncle Paul folded his legs for a look, his knees poked out of the tears in his jeans. “They sure don’t. But I bet I have another pair just like this one in my pack.”
Cody trotted over and sat down opposite his uncle. “So, what should we do on our birthday?”
Uncle Paul shrugged, then lit a cigarette. But instead of letting the flame on the lighter go out, he watched it dance. “We could burn this old building down.”
Cody blinked hard. “For really?”
His uncle let the flame go out, but the lighter stayed in his hand. “I can’t shake this place, Cody Paul. I might feel better if it was gone.” His head fell back against the wall, and he stared straight ahead at the house that wasn’t there. “It’s not like anyone is in it. It’s just an old building stuffed with junk.”
“But you want to burn it down? After what happened…you know…the last time?”
“It’d do the job. This place is bad, real bad. Can’t you feel it?”
Cody put a hand on the wall, patting it like a dog. “It’s a good old building.”
His uncle snorted. “This ‘good old building’ has haunted me for years. I was sure it had fallen in by now.” He slapped the wall hard. “But nope, it’s still solid, still doing its stuff.” He opened his eyes so wide, Cody could see little red veins. “Yesterday it almost killed my buddy Shotgun.”
Cody thought about it. “The building didn’t make Ben take Dad’s chainsaw and use it up on a slippery wet roof, Ben did.”
“I can tell which Floyd brother you take after.” He sucked on the cigarette like it was the only way to get air. “Hope you’re not about to give me the ‘personal responsibility’ lecture.” Uncle Paul’s hand shook as he held the cigarette an inch away from his lips.
“Nope.”
“Good.” He took another deep drag. “I already got it last night.”
“From Dad?”
“Yup.”
“He gave it to me last night too.”
“Yeah, I heard it.”
Cody nodded. “He does it the best.”
Uncle Paul’s laugh exploded like a sneeze, then he rubbed his lips with the back of his wrist. “Sorry. It makes me kind of crazy being here.” He blew out a big cloud of smoke, twisting his lips so the smoke came out sideways, not right in Cody’s face.
Breathing shallow, Cody leaned toward him. “Uncle Paul, are you okay?”
“Sure, sure.” Uncle Paul stared at Cody’s monument. “Make that a no. If falling off the roof was Ben’s fault, then that”—he jabbed the cigarette toward the charred slab—“was mine.”
“How come?” Cody leaned toward his uncle, about to get the story the hat had only whispered about.
“My buddy Cole and I were sleeping in this good old building the night of the fire. It was my birthday.”
“Like today.”
“Yeah, just like today. Cole gave me a mess of fireworks. I set them off. I wouldn’t even let him light one since they were my birthday present, so I can’t say to myself, maybe he did it.” He dragged a hand down his face. “One of the spinners must’ve landed on the roof. I guess it took a while to catch on. When we woke up, the light through the window was so bright, I thought it was morning. Then I smelled the smoke.”
Cody leaned toward him. “It was an accident. You didn’t mean to set the house on fire.”
“Tell that to Lucy.”
“Maybe we can.”
Uncle Paul jumped. “Like how?”
Cody reached over and touched the brim of the hat with one finger. “I’ll need this.”
“The hat? Why?”
“It tells me things,” Cody said.
Uncle Paul took off the hat and held it in both hands. “It’s just a hat, Cody. I bought this for an interview for a job I didn’t even want. I thought they’d take one look at the hat and write me off as a goof, but they gave me the job.”
“Dad got you the interview.”
“He did.” Uncle Paul ran the brim between his fingers. “Your dad may not believe this, but once I got the job I tried to make it work. I knew what it meant to him, but I just couldn’t.” He plopped the hat on Cody’s head. “Here. It’s all yours now. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” Cody pushed the hat back. “But it’s…well…a big responsibility.”
Uncle Paul leaned back on his arms. “Felt that way to me when I wore it too.”
“Really? Did it…tell you stuff?”
“Yeah, it told me I was going to work in an office without windows for the next forty years.”
“Not stuff like that.”
“That’s what it said to me. What does it tell you?”
“Secret stuff. Didn’t it ever do that to you?”
“Can’t say that it did. I just remember it made me feel like a kid wearing my dad’s hat.”
“Me too.” Cody’s head began to sweat under the hat. “Or my uncle’s.”
Uncle Paul leaned in so close Cody could smell stale cigarettes on his breath. “So what’s the hat got to say for itself now?”
“Just a sec.” Cody tapped the hat, dropping it over his face. He closed his eyes and waited for some hat wisdom, but no words came to him. The hat hardly ever flooded his head when he needed it to.
With no word from the hat, he started to worry. Back at the house, Dad was probably waking up. Maybe even walking into his room singing “Happy Birthday to You!” Dad would be scared when he found his son’s bed empty.
“Anything?” Uncle Paul asked.
Cody crinkled his face, concentrating, stalling. “I’m beginning to…you know…get something.” When he looked down he could see his uncle’s hands, the cigarette shaking in his fingers, his fingernails chewed worse than his own.
“Well?”
Cody was getting something, but it wasn’t coming from the hat. It was coming from his uncle.
Uncle Paul was sadder than any of the dead people’s stuff in the monument. That sadness seemed washed out like a road-chalk drawing after it rained. Uncle Paul’s sadness was right now. The lighter clicked and the flame danced.
“The hat says they forgive you,” Cody blurted out. “Especially Lucy.”
Justin
It’s here at last, Cody’s big day. Seven! The countdown is over. But the countdown isn’t the only thing that’s over. Having a place of our own is over. Me having a piano—over. Ben being ungrounded�
��history.
Jemmie called me last night after babysitting the little dude while the Floyds were at the hospital. She’s never called me before, but does it count if all she had to say was that Ben would be okay and that the mysterious Uncle Paul had mysteriously reappeared?
I’m relieved about Ben, and sort of neutral about the uncle, but I know the call from Jemmie was nothing personal. With Ben out of commission and Nowhere off-limits, it’s like summer’s already over, even though it’s hardly begun.
I’m walking aimlessly around the neighborhood when I find myself on Jemmie’s block. The girls are sitting on Jemmie’s porch swing. I say, “Hey.” They hey me back, but they sound like I feel.
Jemmie invites me up and we sit awhile, the three of us crammed together on the porch swing. She glances at me a couple of times. I know because we glance simultaneously. Finally she says, “You were really brave yesterday.”
“More like scared,” I admit.
We swing some more, acting like the three of us jammed together isn’t awkward.
I suggest we go say our goodbyes to Nowhere while we still have the chance, mostly to get us off the swing. But when we reach our old hideout, Cody and a guy I figure must be the missing uncle are already there, sitting with their backs against the outside wall. The man needs a shave and a trip through the heavy-duty washer at the Laundromat.
Cody handles the introduction. “Jus, this is Uncle Paul.”
I nod because I don’t know what to call him. “Uh…happy birthday.”
Cody thanks me. The uncle says, “Happy unbirthday to you, Jus.”
The girls and I go inside. In a second, Cody and the hat follow.
I stare at the piano, thinking how much I’m going to miss it, even if it is out of tune and has lots of silent keys. I turn away, blinking, just as a face appears in the half-open door. “Looks different.” The uncle is still outside, but he leans into the room, just a little. “New shelves?”
“Ben did it.” Cody slaps one of the shelves his brother put up. “He’s like Dad. He builds things.”
His uncle leans in further. “Curtains? What’s with curtains in the Cave of the Secret Brotherhood?”
Some Kind of Magic Page 16
