Caleb had been working more than usual lately. Double shifts at the factory, where he operated massive, scary-sounding machines. Evenings in the fields, from dinnertime until bedtime. And even then he’d stay up late—listening to talk-radio programs with urgent-sounding voices, or studying mysterious maps and diagrams he kept in fat binders. Sometimes Jory wondered if he ever slept at all.
“He’ll be back before noon,” Mom replied. “There’s toast. Or pickles.”
Jory scrunched up his face. Pickles were a running joke between him and Mom, because there were always pickles. Mom liked making food that kept—food that stayed good, even when shut in a cupboard for months. After this summer’s harvest, the family had enough sweet pickles, stewed tomatoes, and canned pumpkin to last months and months.
“Do you need any help?” Jory asked, biting into a slice of toast.
“Sure,” she replied.
He hoped she wouldn’t ask for help with Ansel. Jory was still waiting for his little brother to develop a personality beyond shrieks, squeaks, and wails. Just then, he was pawing at the pencil mark Mom had made.
Jory covered it with his hand. “You’re going to smudge it off,” he said.
“I can always make another.” Mom picked up Ansel and put him in his high chair. “Why don’t you help Kit with the bread?”
“Sure.” Jory dipped his finger in the flour, then tapped Kit’s nose. She made claws with her floury hands and roared silently. As he reached for a wad of dough, the phone rang.
Brrrrrng.
All four of them stared at it, even Ansel. The phone never rang.
Finally, Mom picked up the receiver. “Hello?” She listened for a moment, then turned to Jory. “It’s for you.”
He blinked. “What?”
“The phone’s for you. A girl—she says it’s about homework. Take it in your bedroom.” She paused. “And be quick.”
Jory grabbed the receiver and raced upstairs into his room. “You can’t call my house!” he whispered into the phone as crossly as he could.
“Sorry,” Alice said. “I just thought we could—”
“Caleb never gives out this number. Where’d you get it?”
“It was listed.”
“Listed? Where?”
“Online!” She sounded indignant. “I just put in the name of your street. Everybody knows where you live. Who’s Caleb, anyway?”
“My stepfather. Listen, you—”
“Where’s your real dad?”
Jory’s mouth went dry, like it always did when people asked about his father. “He’s a salesman. A traveling salesman. He travels. Look, I’ve got to go.”
“But what about—”
He hung up. When he turned around, he saw Kit in the doorway. Her hands were still covered with flour, and she had a blob of dough on her cheek.
“Yes?” he said.
She looked at him inquiringly.
“It was nobody important,” he said.
Kit put her hands on her hips, leaving dusty handprints. She peered at him until Jory sighed.
It was his own fault—he never kept secrets from Kit. Though Kit seemed happy enough in the farmhouse and the fields, Jory did what he could to bring bits of the outside world home. He told her nearly everything that happened in class: lessons he learned, funny things the other kids did, stuff he read about during computer time. He told her the stories of The Giver and Coraline, how to determine the volume of a cube, about the Tollund Man and the Haraldskær Woman. He told her when Erik Dixon slipped on a pencil and landed on Danny Park’s tuna fish sandwich—they acted it out several times, alternating who played Erik and who played the sandwich.
But for some reason, he wasn’t sure how to explain Alice Brooks-Diaz. He didn’t want all her questions to make Kit feel self-conscious. Jory felt self-conscious enough for the both of them.
“Just…this girl,” he said. “From school.” Kit waited for him to go on.
“She’s so nosy. Yesterday she wouldn’t shut up about our house being haunted.”
Kit raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t worry! It’s not haunted. Ghosts aren’t real.” Jory tried to usher Kit from his room, but she wouldn’t budge. “Look,” he continued, “even if they were real, you wouldn’t have to worry about them. They’re not tangible. That means you can’t feel them—they can’t hurt you. But it doesn’t matter, because they’re not real. Got it?”
She nodded.
“And even though it’s never going to happen—if you wake up and there’s a chalk-white face floating over your bed, punch it.”
She grinned.
Hours later, Jory still felt annoyed. It wasn’t because of Kit, though; it was because Alice had asked about his dad.
He didn’t remember much about him—probably because Jory had spent so much time trying to forget. The memories had lost their color, like chalk pictures left in the rain. His dad watching noisy sports games on the television. Insisting Mom leave the house to run errands, even though she hated to. And, of course, kneeling down to say good-bye.
Jory remembered everything about Caleb, though. Especially the day they met.
After Dad left, Mom worked at a crummy coffee shop to pay for food and bills. “Crummy in a literal sense,” she said. “Crumbs are everywhere.”
She hated working there. Her back always ached and her feet always hurt. But she could handle that, she said, if it weren’t for all the people. Hungry people. Shouting people. Overly caffeinated people who snapped their fingers in her face. Though the bustle didn’t seem to bother the other workers, Mom said she felt like a sparrow in a flock of seagulls cawing and pecking for food.
The coffee shop’s manager, a man with a shiny bald head, had no patience for Mom’s anxiety. Or for Jory, even when he colored quietly at a corner table, nursing a mug of milk. Mom didn’t have the money to pay a babysitter, and was far too timid to ask the neighbors in their apartment building.
Jory didn’t mind, though. Especially when Mom stopped by and ruffled his hair.
“You’re a regular,” she told him. “The brightest part of my every day. If the manager scowls at you, ignore him.”
Caleb was a regular at the coffee shop, too. Same table daily, same time. He sat alone and read hardbound books over six coffee refills, or examined binders thick with paper. Whenever he caught Jory’s eye, he’d smile with his eyes.
Jory didn’t know what to make of him.
Until the day Mom had one of her migraines. They arrived like swift thunderstorms, with flashing lights, stomach sickness, and pain spearing her head from temple to temple. She begged the manager to let her leave, promised she’d work overtime tomorrow.
“Not happening,” he said, shaking his shiny head. He handed her a tray crowded with heavy mugs of coffee. “Take these to Table Six.”
She made it halfway across the room before the crash. People screamed. Fireworks of sludgy brown coffee spiked all across the floor. The manager marched straight to Mom and hollered in her face—ignoring her coffee-splattered skin, her eyes squinched in pain.
Jory had to protect her. “Leave my mom alone!” he shrieked, throwing his crayons at the manager’s legs.
The manager made a swipe for Jory’s collar. “Quiet, you little—”
Suddenly, the manager toppled onto his back, sprawling in the mud puddle of coffee and broken mugs. Caleb stood over him, his eyes furious. He’d shoved him! Jory stared in awe.
“I’m pressing charges!” the manager shrieked. He tried to get up, but skidded onto his belly, where he flopped like a beached fish.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Caleb said.
He helped Mom rinse her arms in cool water. Then he drove her and Jory home to their tiny apartment. Mom’s head ached so badly, she barely spoke. She climbed into bed as soon as their front door shut.
The next morning, Jory found her staring out the window.
“There’s something about that man,” she said.
Mom married Ca
leb a few months later, and they moved into the old farmhouse on the outskirts of town. With his soldier’s pension, and by working the occasional double shift at the factory, Caleb decided Mom didn’t need to work anymore. Instead, she could stay home, where she felt safe. She would try her hand at homeschooling Jory, too. That way, they’d know exactly what he learned.
It all happened so fast, like a fairy tale.
Ever since Jory’s dad had left, it was as if they’d been living in a dark, windowless room. And Caleb had led them out. He knew so much. And he’d experienced so much.
The first family meetings were for stories.
Like the desert snake Caleb found cooling off in his tent. “Fangs as thick as your thumbs,” he said. “Eyes like marbles. A rattle like a maracas factory.” He’d lured the snake to strike a hunk of wood. Then, once its fangs were stuck, he’d stomped it with both boots until it was dead, dead, dead. “Another reason boots are a man’s best friend,” he said.
Or the cave he’d gotten stuck inside, wedged head-to-feet between other soldiers.
Or the enemy ambush in the alley. Stay and fight! the superior officer had ordered. But Caleb had hidden—and the stubborn superior officer had been killed. “There’s no shame in hiding,” Caleb advised. “No shame in biding your time. If you’re not impulsive—if you stay back and keep your eyes open—the enemy can never catch you unawares.”
Caleb’s whole demeanor changed as he spoke. He sat taller. His eyes sparked and flashed. His stories filled the air, snakes and storms and other enemies stalking the space behind them—but the family felt safe, always, tilting like sunflowers toward Caleb’s sun.
That was when they loved him most.
But other times the war raged behind his eyes. Memories too heavy to bear. Untold stories that drove him late to bed and early to work in the mornings, leaving behind a darkness Jory could practically touch.
That was when Jory feared him.
Or not Caleb, exactly. Jory feared whatever it was Caleb had seen. What he knew.
Life with Caleb had more colors. But it also had more angles. Everything could have a hidden meaning, a different story.
Everything could be a sign.
THE KNOCK CAME ON SUNDAY.
The family was eating dinner: mashed potatoes and the last of the fall squash, roasted with butter. Mom had pickled the rest that morning. Just a normal evening in the old farmhouse, until—
Rap. Rap. Rap.
A blink-filled moment of silence followed. Then Caleb stood. “Probably one of those neighbor women,” he muttered.
The neighbor ladies irritated Caleb, who claimed there was no such thing as being neighborly—only nosy. They’d knocked before. One time, to talk about the weather. And it was sunny out! Another time, to share a couple of jars of blueberry preserves. Caleb had accepted them grudgingly, then disposed of them as soon as the neighbor ladies left. “We have plenty of our own preserves,” he’d said. “And it’s best to be wary of food from outside our family. You never know.”
From the front door, Jory heard the low rumble of voices. Caleb’s and a woman’s—but also another man’s. So it wasn’t the neighbor ladies. But who could it be?
“Who’s—” Jory began.
Mom shushed him.
“You’re interrupting my family’s dinner,” Caleb said, raising his voice. “Do you have a search warrant? I didn’t think so.”
A search warrant? It reminded Jory of police raids he’d seen on TV, back when they had one. He remembered snarling dogs with grizzled snouts. Men in black uniforms bashing down doors. You have the right to remain silent!
Jory met Kit’s eyes across the table. He shrugged one shoulder.
There was a longer pause. Another indecipherable rumble.
“Two,” Caleb replied. “Two boys.”
Before Jory could hear anything more, Mom scooped up Ansel, grabbed Kit’s arm, and dragged them from the kitchen. Jory’s heart pounded as he followed them into the patio.
“What’s—” he began.
Mom shushed him again. It felt like forever before the front door slammed and Caleb joined them. He switched on a lantern, then settled heavily into his Adirondack chair. Mom took his hand, looking concerned.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“Officials,” Caleb replied. “Sticking their noses in our family’s business. I’m not sure how it happened, but we’re on their radar again.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s less time than we thought. It means—Wait, where’s Kit?”
Jory discovered Kit was no longer sitting beside him. She’d drifted to the other side of the patio, where she faced the padlocked glass door, staring out.
“Kit,” he called. “Come sit.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the glass.
Jory felt a flash of annoyance. Now wasn’t the time to make Caleb angry. “Kit, come on!” he called.
“What’s the matter with that girl?” Caleb demanded. “Has she gone deaf now, too?!”
“Maybe she’s found something.” Mom stood. “Honey, what is it?”
Kit didn’t reply, of course. She didn’t even glance their way. All of a sudden, she pivoted from the glass and scampered inside the house.
What in the world? Jory scrambled up and dashed after her, through the kitchen and into the cricket-filled evening. It was dark already, and a November chill sharpened the air. “Kit!” he called. “Where are you going? You’re going to get into trouble!”
Kit kept running. Galloping, even, her combat boots leaping soundlessly over the withered vines. Then, halfway across the pumpkin field, she stopped, her small face tipped to the sky. Her dark hair shifted in the breeze.
“What is it?” Jory panted, sliding to a stop beside her.
She pointed up.
The moon was half full and hung low over the canyon, the color of melted butter. Just above it, the navy sky was dancing. Tiny streaks of light bounced in and out of the dark.
Jory stared openmouthed. All the questions he’d had, all the worries that had jostled through his rib cage after the knock on the front door, vanished instantly. “It’s the meteor shower,” he said in wonder. Mr. Bradley had told them to watch for it this weekend, but he’d forgotten. Now it filled the sky, and his eyes, and his head and his heart. So many stars.
“Oh, how beautiful,” Mom said, her voice as soft as a sigh.
She stood beside him, her honey-colored hair shining like a halo in the moonlight. Ansel was balanced on her hip, his fingers in his mouth.
Then Jory felt Caleb’s hand rest on his shoulder. Not reproachfully, but protectively. A comforting weight. Together, the family watched as one by one, the stars burst into being, shot across the sky, and disappeared.
“It’s a sign,” Caleb said.
“A sign?” Jory asked. He and Mom looked over hopefully.
The moon shone in Caleb’s eyes. “The sign.”
The sign. The sign! Jory bit the insides of his cheeks. They’d been waiting for so long. He felt whooshing past him, like shooting stars, all those days and nights of searching, wondering, waiting. And now, at long last, he’d learn why. Why they’d been waiting. What they’d been waiting for.
“What does it mean?” he asked.
Caleb patted Jory’s shoulder. “It means it’s time to get to work. Follow me.”
The family stood at the edge of the canyon, looking down. Despite the half moon, darkness filled it like a bottomless lake, seeping into the brush-choked canyon walls. The longer Jory stared, the less he saw.
“This is the place,” Caleb said.
A slight wind ruffled through the undergrowth, and the whole canyon seemed to shudder. Jory pulled Kit closer. He felt her heartbeat vibrate through her skinny body. Or maybe it was Jory’s own heart he felt.
“You see, signs aren’t magical. They aren’t mystical. They have reasons behind them. If you find a dead bird, maybe there’s a toxin in the
air, sickening the wildlife.”
“Like pollution?” Jory asked.
“Or poison,” Mom added darkly.
Caleb nodded. “Exactly. If you find pages torn from a library book—or a newspaper, with the text whited out—maybe there’s something the Officials don’t want you to know. And a meteor shower…Well, it’s just like I told you. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
A dog barked from far away, echoing in the empty space below. Jory swallowed.
“Remember what I told you about thinking for yourself? About your teachers mixing in lies with the truth? It goes for the Officials in the government, too. It goes for the whole country. The whole world. Everything is off-kilter, changing for the worse. And it’s worst of all for the people at the bottom. The little people; the ordinary citizens, like us. The Officials don’t tell us anything.”
“That’s why we have to look after ourselves,” Mom added.
“That’s right,” Caleb said. “I’ve thought long and hard about how to keep the family safe in case of danger. And then it came to me.” He lifted one of his big soldier’s hands, sweeping it across the tangled darkness before them. “The solution was in our own backyard.”
“In the canyon?” Jory asked, mystified. He’d always been told to stay out of the canyon—because of the coyotes and scorpions and big hairy spiders. Danger, capital D.
Caleb nodded. “In the canyon. We have lots of work to do, my family.”
“All of us will help.” Mom tickled Ansel’s side. “Even you, baby bird.”
“Almost everything we need is waiting at the bottom,” Caleb said.
“Everything we need?” Jory asked.
“Everything but us.”
“But…won’t the neighbors see us?” Jory pointed at the opposite side of the canyon, where lights from a few scattered homes glowed dimly, including the neighbor ladies’. He imagined the neighbor ladies gathered around television sets, cradling bowls of popcorn and mugs of cocoa. Doing family things. Things other families did.
“They won’t see us,” Caleb said.
“Why not?”
Caleb took a step closer to the canyon’s edge. Shadows pooled in his eye sockets. Jory thought he might be smiling, but it was hard to tell.
Watch the Sky Page 3
