Storm Watcher

by Maria V. Snyder

  Luke glanced at the wind vane. He was upwind of the training yard. “Why did you say my name?”

  “Oh.” Megan stammered, and the red splotches on her face spread. “I said maybe when Luke comes back, we might take him swimming in the pond.”

  “I think praise. You said my name, and he found me. Isn’t that what your mom’s training him to do?”

  “I guess. But he shouldn’t have bolted.” She sighed. “He’s still a pup. I don’t want to be too hard on him.” Megan scratched Lance behind the ears, telling him he’d did good. He leaned against her legs.

  “If you help me finish, we can detour to the pond on the walk back,” Luke said.

  “Okay.”

  They worked for awhile in silence. Lance snuffled through the corn, flushing out a couple of rabbits. He chased them into the tree line and then looped back to check on Megan and Luke before racing back into the corn to investigate again.

  “I’m going to ask Mom if I can have him,” Megan said.

  Luke was so focused on the wind speed sensor that he had to stop and think. “Have who?”

  “Lance. Mom’s training him to do search and rescue. I really want to do it. To be his partner. There’s a ton of training involved. If I start now while he’s a puppy, by the time I’m sixteen, we’ll both be ready to volunteer with a SAR team.”

  “What’re your chances that she’ll agree?” Luke remembered his unsuccessful attempt to get permission for a papillon.

  “She’s fond of Lance, but if I show her I know what I’m getting into, I might convince her that I’m serious. Just like you did with your dad. Right? And that worked out.”

  “Yeah,” Luke said. He ignored the queasy pinch in his gut. The desire to confess to Megan that he hadn’t gotten permission from Dad pushed up his throat. Luke had been afraid to say anything to Dad. Megan might have an idea, a solution to his dilemma, but he swallowed the words.

  When they finished, they took Lance to the pond. He raced to the edge of the dock, dog-flopped into the water, and splashed Luke and Megan. It must have felt good on his hot skin. Luke would have jumped in after him, but pond scum clung to the banks.

  “Here’s a perfect stick for him.” Megan threw it over Lance’s head.

  Lance surged after it. He clamped the stick in his teeth and swam back to the dock. Dripping wet, Lance scrambled up the bank and plopped the stick onto Megan’s work boots. Just as she reached down to grab it, Lance shook his body, spraying her with water. The dog had a mischievous streak.

  Luke laughed. “Good dog.”

  Megan yelled, “Bad dog.” But she couldn’t keep a straight face.

  “So when are you going to ask your mom about Lance?” Luke asked.

  “When she’s in a really good mood.” Megan launched the stick high into the air. “Probably before the bloods go to their new owners. She’s always moody when a litter leaves. But I think, why get sad? You can’t run a kennel if you keep all the dogs. Fact of life.”

  Luke understood. It hurt to let go of something you loved. And despite her flippant fact-of-life comment, he suspected Megan understood too.

  After Lance tired, they walked back to the kennel. The other dogs had already been returned to their crates. Luke peeked through the kitchen window. Alayna hacked carrots for the dogs’ food with furious strokes.

  “I’d better head home now,” Luke said.

  “Coward,” Megan chided.

  “I’m not the one who ran off and left her with all the work.”

  Megan swung her arm to swat him. Luke ducked, and she missed him by inches. She stepped toward him.

  “Later.” Wagging his fingers, he sprinted for his bike and jumped on.

  She stopped chasing him half way up the lane.

  “Coward,” she shouted.

  By the end of July, Luke had cleaned all the sensors, repaired two frayed wires, recharged the battery in the data logger, wiped dirt off the solar panel, and rebalanced the rain gauge.

  “Not that you need a rain gauge right now,” Dad said between bites of a grilled hot dog. He flipped through the gauge’s manual. “When’s the last time it rained?”

  “June seventeenth,” Luke answered. He braced for a taunt from his brothers, but they were too busy racing each other to see who could eat the most hot dogs.

  “Sheesh, the azaleas are gonna die if it doesn’t rain soon.” He tossed the manual away as if it was the cause of the drought and opened another book. “Tomorrow, I want you to turn the data logger on.”

  “How do I start it?” Luke asked.

  Dad handed him the manual and pointed to a diagram. “You connect the wires from the solar panel here. And the wires for the battery are attached here. Remember, the battery is only for backup.”

  “Okay.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Scott raised his hands into the air. “Six dogs with buns. Oh yeah, I’m the hot-dog-eating king.”

  “Call the Guinness Book of World Records,” Jacob said. “Put it on speaker so I can hear them laugh at you.”

  “Says the man who couldn’t finish five.”

  “I’m so proud of you both.” Dad winked at Luke, including him in the joke.

  Exclaiming over the time, Luke’s brothers raced to get ready for their shift at the park, but Dad hung around. He cleared the table, then loaded the dishwasher. Surprised and glad for the help, Luke scrubbed the baked bean pot extra hard.

  “Those two never could stay still for long.” Dad slid forks into the bin. “When they were little it drove us crazy with all the noise and commotion, but when it was quiet…that meant big trouble.”

  “Like the time they shaved Ranger’s whiskers?” Luke asked.

  Dad laughed. A wonderful comforting sound Luke hadn’t heard since March.

  “I’d forgotten about that,” Dad said.

  “Or the time they built a snowman in our living room? Or the time they made a fort with the new curtains?”

  “The snowman I’d never forget. I sucked water out of the carpet for days afterward.” Dad filled the soap dispenser. “Good thing you were too smart to get involved with their crazy schemes.”

  Jacob and Scott hadn’t included him in most things, but Luke didn’t want to ruin this rare moment with Dad by mentioning it.

  “They just don’t stop to consider the circumstances,” Dad said. “Unlike you. You’re my thinker. I’d never trust the twins to work on Willajean’s tower unsupervised, but I know you’re following directions and won’t hurt yourself.”

  Luke squared his shoulders at the compliment. Score one for me.

  When they finished cleaning up, Dad said, “Come on, I want to show you something.” He looked like a kid who had just sneaked money out of his parent’s wallet.

  He led Luke to the Puppy Palace. The door had been propped open to keep the shed cooler, even though the three dogs preferred to sprawl in the shade under the oak tree. Too curious to remain there, the hounds trotted over to check it out.

  Luke’s heart lurched. In the palace was another bunk. On the empty wood board were a new dog’s bed, a shiny stainless steel bowl, a rubber chew toy, a puppy collar, a leash, and a bag of puppy food.

  “Happy belated birthday, buddy.” Dad clapped him on the back. “Now we’re all set for the new pup.”

  A shaky twirl formed in Luke’s chest. As it spun, it sent off shoots of numbness that raced to Luke’s hands and feet. He wanted to sink to the ground. He wanted to confess everything. All of Willajean’s bloodhounds had been sold.

  Instead, he picked up the thin, puppy-sized leash. “Thanks, Dad. This is great.” The words tasted like rancid milk on his tongue.

  “Glad you like it.”

  Hounddog jumped up on the new bunk and pawed at the puppy food.

  “
We’d better put this away.” Dad shouldered the twenty-pound bag. “Open the cabinet, or Hounddog will rip the bag open and make himself sick.”

  When the dog food was safely inside the cabinet, Hounddog’s ears drooped an inch.

  Dad laughed. “Look at that face,” he said. He strok-ed Hounddog’s head. “Bloodhounds have the most expressive faces. One look, and I know exactly what they’re thinking. That’s why I love them.”

  Pins and needles flared in Luke’s hands. He rubbed them and tried to relax his arms. Needing to move, Luke strode toward the house. Dad followed him into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Luke,” he said. “It’s still early. You want to go to a movie or something?” Picking up the newspaper, Dad flipped to the entertainment section.

  Luke clutched the bottom of his T-shirt. “Sure, Dad. I just need to go to the bathroom.” He bolted.

  Staring into the mirror, Luke drew in a couple of deep breaths. He turned on the water and splashed a handful on his face. He stared at the faucet, then shut the water off. Reaching blindly for a towel, he pressed it to his face.

  I should tell him.

  Luke brushed his hair.

  Why is he being so buddy-buddy now? Does he already know about the dog? Is he being nice so I’ll break down and confess? No, he isn’t that devious. I could tell him Willajean forgot she was giving me a bloodhound and sold them all. But what if he calls her?

  Luke tossed the brush into a drawer. He hadn’t been to a movie since the night Mom died. Luke wanted to replace the memory of the last movie he’d seen with a new one. Maybe then he wouldn’t automatically think of Mom’s death whenever someone mentioned going to the movies. With one more look in the mirror, Luke decided to talk to Dad on the drive home after the show.

  But instead of talking about the pup, they discussed the movie.

  “I can’t believe he survived the fall,” Dad said.

  “Why not?” Luke asked. “He had his jet pack on.”

  “The pack had been dunked in the water. There’s no way the electronics would still work after that.”

  “It’s set in the future, Dad. I’m sure the components would be protected.”

  “I guess if I’m going to believe aliens invaded Earth, I can let that slide.”

  When they entered the house, Jacob and Scott were in the living room.

  “But there’s no way I’m believing that massive alien could disguise itself as a cat.” Dad tossed his keys on the table by the door. “Aliens or not, the laws of physics still apply to them.”

  “Why would it?” Jacob had seen the same flick the week before with Scott. “They’d have their own alien laws.”

  “It’s call the conservation of mass and, in our universe, it’s unbreakable. You can’t transform a thousand-pound alien into a ten-pound house cat. If you do, where does the other 990 pounds go?” Dad asked.

  “Who says the cat weighs ten pounds?” Scott asked. “Maybe he weighs a thousand.”

  “Can you imagine a thousand-pound cat jumping on your chest at night.” Jacob laughed. “Crushed by cuteness.”

  “And every rat in the neighborhood would bolt,” Luke said.

  “Sumo Kitty, the defender of the back alley.” Scott curled his fingers like claws.

  Their conversation turned sillier and, laughing hard, they all tried to outdo each other by telling stories of Sumo Kitty’s daring deeds. By that time, Luke wasn’t about to break the family spell by mentioning the dog.

  A couple of days later, Luke pedaled home fast. He skidded into the garage and dumped his bike on the floor. Racing through the house, he searched for Dad, a huge grin stretching his face. Willajean’s weather station was up and running. All they had to do was calibrate the sensors, and they were good to go.

  He found Dad in the Puppy Palace holding a sledgehammer. Luke’s excitement died. Fury blazed in Dad’s eyes. Luke’s knees locked as he jerked to a stop.

  “What—?” The rest of the question stuck in Luke’s throat.

  Dad smashed the hammer into the new bunk he’d just built.

  CHAPTER 9

  Easy Peasy

  Wooden splinters shot into the air as the bunk exploded. Luke jumped back, stunned by the damage.

  Ranger cowered under his bunk on the opposite side of the Puppy Palace. Luke wanted to crawl under there with the dog. Dad turned to Luke, his face a mask of calm, but his tense shoulders and stiff arms warned Luke.

  “Willajean called.” He rested the sledgehammer on the ground.

  Oh no. “Dad, I can—”

  Dad put his hand up.

  “She asked me if I wanted to breed Ranger to one of her bloodhounds. We discussed stud fees, and she offered first pick of the litter in lieu of money.”

  He opened his mouth to interrupt, but Dad shot him a warning glare. Luke had to wait for Dad to finish, or he’d be in bigger trouble.

  “’Why would I need first pick?’ I asked her. ‘I have a new pup coming in another week.’ She was quiet for so long, I thought she’d hung up on me.” Dad picked up the hammer and pounded on the remaining boards still clinging to the Palace’s walls. “Then she told me all the pups were sold and why.”

  He whacked at the wood until nothing but splinters remained. Then he rounded on Luke, “How could you lie to me and Willajean?” he demanded.

  Luke had been prepared to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but Dad’s questions turned his guilt into instant rage. “Lied to you?” he shouted. “I tried to talk to you. You ignored me for weeks. You only had time for me when we were working on the tower. By then it was too late.” Luke grabbed the broom from the corner and started to sweep up the mess.

  “I want a papillon.” Luke swept the floor hard. Dust puffed around his sneakers. “I want to try a new breed.” Sweep. “They’re great. I was going to tell you all about them.” Luke paused, huffing. “Mom thought it was a great idea, and she told me to convince you. But you won’t listen to me because you blame me for her death. Don’t you, Dad?” Luke stopped, shocked by his own words.

  Dad gaped at him.

  Hounddog and Moondoggie raced into the yard, back from their daily walk. They snuffled at the mess in the Palace. Jacob and Scott entered the shed to put the leashes away. Noticing the ruined bunk, his brothers paused.

  “What happened?” Jacob asked.

  “Uh…Luke…is not getting a puppy,” Dad said, recovering. “Seems there was a miscommunication.”

  Tears pressed against the back of Luke’s eyes. Dad hadn’t denied hating him. Thick tension hung heavy in the air. The twins glanced at Luke with a question in their gazes.

  “What Dad means is I’m not getting a bloodhound pup,” Luke said with a sudden boldness. Why not? He was already deep in trouble. It couldn’t get worse. Could it? “A papillon will be more comfortable in the house.” Luke lifted his chin and met Dad’s gaze.

  “Not in my house,” Dad dropped the sledgehammer and stalked away.

  Guess it could.

  “Whoa,” Scott said, “Luke pissed Dad off.”

  “You’re always screwing things up,” Jacob said. “Why do you want a yappy, cotton-ball dog anyway?”

  “He needs a powder puff to put on his makeup. A girly dog for a girl.”

  “Maybe we should buy him some dresses,” Jacob said.

  “Shut up!” Luke had had it with his brothers. His blood slammed through his heart. “Don’t you think I feel bad enough? I get it now. You want me to suffer for causing Mom’s death. I guess it makes you feel better, but nothing will bring her back.”

  The boys stared at him. Luke no longer cared if they beat him up; he wanted bruises and pain. He wanted another reason for the horrible burning inside him that wouldn’t go away. A distraction from the all-consuming grief.


  “You’re crazy,” Jacob said, backing away from him.

  “You’ve been working in the hot sun too long,” Scott said. “Better clean up that mess.” He pointed to the remains of the bunk on the floor. “If Hounddog gets a single splinter, I’m going to pulverize you.”

  They retreated into the house. All of Luke’s muscles shook. Jacob and Scott hadn’t corrected him either. They all hated him for causing Mom’s death. He gripped the broom handle to keep from sinking to the floor in a puddle of misery.

  Eventually, he resumed cleaning up the mess in the Puppy Palace. The curious dogs didn’t help. Whenever he bent over to use the dustpan, Hounddog thrust his nose into Luke’s face. Ranger crept out from under his bunk. A sensitive and intelligent dog, Ranger would make a good father. Luke hoped that once Dad calmed down he’d consider breeding Ranger with one of Willajean’s dogs.

  Willajean. Dread roiled through him. How could he face her? She probably didn’t want him to work for her anymore. His energy fizzled like an untied balloon zigzagging through the air.

  Dragging his feet, he carried the full dustpan to the garbage can. He paused before tipping the trash inside. In a jumble at the bottom were the new dog bed and other puppy items that his father had bought him. Unable to take anymore heartache, Luke sank to the ground.

  He leaned against the can, his knees pulled up to his chest, his forehead on his knees. He choked back the sobs that threatened to burst from his throat. If only Mom were here. She’d smooth things with Dad and scold his brothers. Mom would rub his back and tell him everything would be fine.

  “Relax, sweetie,” she’d say. “You always overthink things. Worrying about it won’t change anything. Actions will. Figure out what you need to do and do it. Easy peasy.”

  He shook his head. Even in his imagination, Mom used one of her dumb sayings. She’d constantly embarrassed him with them. Poker straight. Snug as a bug. Cute as a button. Really? Who thought buttons were cute? Old people, he guessed.