Despite the war raging in his head, he fell asleep almost immediately. When he woke up again, it was still dark out. He went to the window and eased it open, letting the cool night air wash across his face, looking for the source of the noise that had woken him up. The maple stood tall and proud in the middle of the backyard. Its green leaves seemed to glow a fiery orange in the moonlight. In the distance, a column of smoke rose up toward the stars, and he could hear sirens. Were they heading to someone’s house? Or maybe a forest fire?
A strong gust shook the maple, and he blinked the sting from his eyes. He could smell the smoke now, taste the bitter air on his tongue.
He watched the smoke for a while as it reached up to the bottom of the clouds, and he couldn’t help thinking back to the woman with lion earrings. After the house fire, she’d had no choice but to start from scratch. It was like the fire had erased her old life, giving her a fresh start.
The sirens faded, and he spotted a halo of orange flames lighting a single spot on the horizon. Even though they must have been miles away, if he squinted, it was like those flames were enveloping the largest branch of Aunt Jo’s maple.
The wind picked up, making his eyes water, but he didn’t care. Suddenly, he found himself laughing. It was so simple. Leaving the window open, he returned to bed. Even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t stop smiling, because he knew now how he could stay with Pa.
17
EDIE DIDN’T SIT BY HIM on the bus the next morning. Instead she headed all the way to the back and disappeared in a sea of raincoats and umbrellas. It had started raining again just after breakfast—jelly-filled donuts and a sip of Aunt Jo’s coffee—and Aunt Jo said it was set to rain so much for the next few days that Noah would have felt right at home. According to her, that was a Holler, Oklahoma, first.
In class, they watched a documentary about the Civil War. Usually, Sam would want to know everything, like how the soldiers survived with no shelter or food or medicine—answer: they mostly didn’t—but he had bigger questions on his mind. Like what would Aunt Jo think when she came to pick him up after school and he wasn’t there? Would Edie hate him for the rest of her life, or would she forget about him? Like he’d never existed, and why did he even care?
He looked over at Edie, face hidden in her purple hoodie, and an ache sprouted in his chest. What was wrong with him? He hardly even knew her, but the ache kept spreading, like he’d just gotten a shot full of grape soda, and so he swallowed it down again and went back to watching the movie.
Lunch was something called tuna-mac surprise. The surprise was that it had crunchy onions on top, which, by the way, didn’t actually qualify as a surprise. Also, gross. Sam pulled on his hoodie and sat in his usual spot in the courtyard. Even though he was the only one there, because it was raining, and it was a total grape-soda move to sit outside, he wished Edie would join him. Even if she was basically a stranger and after today he’d never see her again. And so what? It didn’t matter.
Edie didn’t sit with him at lunch.
He saw her later coming out of the girls’ bathroom, and he wondered if maybe she’d been sitting in there the whole time. She pretended not to see him. Sam had the sudden urge to run after her and say something, anything, but he didn’t.
After lunch, they learned about what winter was like for the Civil War soldiers. Answer: not very good. They would settle into winter camps where they were lucky to get a few potatoes or onions for dinner. To them, tuna-mac surprise would have been like heaven. Since conditions were too bad for fighting, they had to find ways to pass the time, like card games, chores, or storytelling.
Sam thought of Pa when he saw the grainy black-and-white photos of men gathered around campfires telling tales. If Pa had been alive back then, he would have been the best storyteller of them all.
He thought back to Mama and the journals and how upset he’d been that Pa hadn’t told him the whole truth about his life. Now, hopefully, he’d have all the time in the world to find out.
The rain that had died down for a bit that afternoon started up again, battering the windows and making several people sit up straighter in their seats. When the bell rang, Sam stuffed his notebook and pencils into his backpack and checked his other supplies. He was ready, and he didn’t have to worry about Edie following him, which was good, but it also made him sad. He looked over at her desk to see if she was staying late, but all he saw was her purple hair disappearing around the corner.
3:43 p.m.
Time to go.
“Staying late again, Mr. West?” Mr. Redding came over and leaned on Sam’s desk.
“No, sir. I was just leaving.”
“I see.”
Sam could feel Mr. Redding watching him as he turned to go.
“Be careful, Mr. West,” Mr. Redding called as Sam hurried into the hallway. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”
A sheet of rain slapped Sam’s face as soon as he opened the back door. Tightening his grip on his backpack, he took a deep breath and made a run for it. The wind howled, trying to blow him off track, but he pushed forward, rain pellets stinging his face, streaking his vision.
The Boy had given him five minutes. He had to hurry.
When he reached the tree, dragonflies were pouring out of the hollow just like before, landing in twitching piles on the ground, unable to fly in the fierce wind and rain. He didn’t hesitate but scrambled inside, ignoring the crunch of insect bodies and wings. Thick spiderwebs filled the tunnel, glittering in the dim light. They clung to his face and hair as he pushed onward, and this time the other side drew him forward. The tunnel opened up, and suddenly he was falling again, like before. Twisting around tight bends, bombarded by the smell of wet leaves, dense swamp, deep waters. He shivered as creatures with legs as thin as thread skittered down his arms and legs, drawing intricate brushwork patterns across his skin.
As he dropped onto the mossy earth on the other side, a ray of sunlight bathed his face. Through the treetops he could see a blue, cloudless sky. He stood up, and already his sopping wet clothes and hair had started to dry in the afternoon heat. He unzipped his bag and took out his supplies. No hesitation, because why? Why should he wait? His five minutes were already running out. This was for Pa, so they could be together, and what did it matter if he left a few people he barely knew behind?
He took out the small bottle of lighter fluid and laid it on the grass, next to the plastic box containing waterproof matches. The tools he would need to complete his plan.
This was it.
Now or never.
An image of Aunt Jo flitted into his mind, as she sat in her car waiting for him to come back, the sky growing dark around her, reaching for her phone but not knowing who to call. An image of Edie sitting in class, looking over at his desk day after day, wondering.
He shook his head, pushing the unwanted images aside. Drawing in a deep breath, he opened the bottle of lighter fluid and soaked the hollow and the base of the tree. The smell of it clung to the inside of his nostrils. When he tore off the first match his hand was shaking.
This was it.
A weak flame sputtered to life, growing stronger in the breeze.
No choice but to start from scratch. Doorway closed. No going back.
He dropped the match inside the hollow, and the flame flared instantly and spread down the trunk. He lit another match and dropped it next to the first, and another. Soon the hollow was alive with fire.
He watched it burn for a moment, pushing away all the doubts creeping in at the edges of his mind, and then he found the canoe and rode across the tranquil green waters to the other side. Instead of stopping at the dock, the canoe continued on to the small beach beside the white house. It slid up onto the sandy shore, and there was Pa, waiting to greet him.
“Pa!” Sam climbed out of the canoe, and Pa ran to meet him. Sam squeezed him tight, his body reassuringly solid, and he breathed in his scent, bait and cigarette smoke and motor oil.
“I
thought you were gone for good,” Pa said, and Sam could tell from the look on his face that he was trying not to cry, because of the way he was working his lips back and forth and clenching his jaw.
“I’m back, Pa. For good this time. I figured out a way we can be together.”
Pa’s gaze drifted over Sam’s shoulder, where a column of gray smoke rose above the treetops. Pa scrunched up his forehead in confusion.
“It was the only way. The Boy, the cat, whatever he is, told me himself. Once the doorway’s closed, there’s no going back. And this is the last day. He sent me here to say goodbye.”
Pa took a step away from Sam, peering at the rising smoke.
“But I don’t have to say goodbye. I figured it out. If there is no doorway, that means he can’t send me back. I can stay here with you. Forever.” The word forever caught in Sam’s throat.
Pa looked like Sam had just punched him in the face. He placed a rough hand on Sam’s cheek, staring straight into his eyes. He could tell Pa didn’t understand.
“It’s a good thing. It’ll work this time, I promise, and I won’t have to leave you, and everything can go back to the way it should be.”
Overhead, the sunlight had already started to fade, casting long shadows over the beach.
In the dying light, Pa’s skin flickered, and for a moment Sam could see straight through to his bones and organs and the tangled grass on the other side.
“Pa? Did you hear me? Everything’s going to be all right.”
Pa’s face split into a sad smile, and then it crumpled, almost like he was in pain.
“What is it?” Sam said. “Does it hurt?”
Pa shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Sam. “No, it’s not that.” The flames had breached the tree line, and Pa watched them for a second as they licked the belly of the low-hanging clouds. “You can’t stay here. Not for good. Not like this.” The words caught in his throat, but he forced them out. “You have to go back.”
Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Sam said. “We won. I found a way.”
“I’m dead, Sammy.” Pa looked at him again, and it was almost like he was scared of his own words. “But you’re not.”
“No! You don’t get it. We can be together now. You and me. This doesn’t have to be the end.”
“Sam, please. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Pa looked down at his hands. As the sunlight faded, so did Pa. Sam reached out, but his hand passed right through.
“No!” Sam shouted. “This can’t be happening. I figured it out. Pa . . .” Sam grasped Pa’s arm again, but it was no use. He couldn’t get ahold of him. Like he was disappearing right before Sam’s eyes. Like he was . . . a ghost.
For a moment, Pa smiled. His same crooked smile, full of missing teeth and a whole lot of mischief. All around, the sky grew dark, shadows creeping across the water. A breeze blew over the sand, bringing with it the sting of smoke.
“You have to go back,” Pa said, his voice a bruise, his words flickering in and out right along with his body. “Go back for me.”
A wave of anger swept through Sam’s chest, and suddenly he wished Pa was solid again so he could hit him. “I did this for you,” he said, gesturing toward the burning tree. “I’m staying for you!”
“I know.” Pa let his hand hover over Sam’s shoulder, but Sam could no longer feel his touch. “And you can do this for me too.”
“Shut up, Pa,” Sam spat. But before Pa could respond, they felt a vibration under their feet.
Behind them, on the dirt road leading from the house down to the beach, a car revved its engine. Tires crunched over rocks and sand, and a pair of headlights roared to life, trapping Sam and Pa in two blazing white beams.
“Pa, look out!” The memory of his previous visit rushed back to him, and Sam knew on instinct that the lights were his enemy. They meant to take Pa away from him. The engine revved louder, and Sam tried but failed to take Pa’s hand.
Sam ordered Pa to move back, toward the water and the waiting canoe, but Pa refused to budge. He just stood there and watched as his ’68 Pontiac Sunbird lumbered forward, bumping over rocks and sand, before pulling to a stop not a foot away from Pa, her nose kissing the murky water. The doors on either side swung open, and the headlights flared, casting the swamp in an eerie green glow, and there, sitting in the driver’s seat was One-Eye. He blinked his silvery eye.
“Pa, come on! We have to get out of here!” Sam swiped at Pa, lashing out, but he couldn’t grab hold. He watched, helpless, as One-Eye shivered and changed from a cat to a boy and finally to a familiar woman with long dark hair and a smile Sam had only seen once, the day she died.
“Ma?” Sam said. Ma’s smile widened, and she waved, and she was glowing inside too, like she had a ball of fireflies buzzing away inside her chest.
“I’m sorry, Sammy, but I think that’s my ride,” Pa said, turning around to face Sam. “I know what you did for me, what you tried to do, but it’s not your time.”
“Shut up! Stop talking!”
“I know. I never was much good at talking unless I was telling a story.” Pa’s face crumpled again, but then he regained control, took a deep breath. “Don’t know why I died when I did, and I don’t know if there’s any meaning to it. I wish I could change it so much, but I can’t. We can’t. You have to go out there and live your life. I’ve had my stories. I’ve lived them. Well, except for the ones I made up.”
Pa smiled again, but Sam couldn’t take it. “Stop it. Just . . . stop.”
“It’s time for you to go out there and make your own stories, Sammy. Bigger and better ones. There are people counting on you now. And, one day, when you have your own kid, you can tell them all about me. And, more important, you can tell them all about you. About the stories you’ve made. You’re a West, Sammy. You’re meant to live wild. Go out there and wrestle a few dozen rattlesnakes for me.”
“Pa, don’t,” Sam said, deflating a little more with each word.
Ma scooted over, and Pa climbed into the driver’s seat, ignoring the dragonflies, each the size of model airplanes, that had gathered on the dash. “I know you didn’t want to say goodbye, so we won’t.” Pa swallowed, and for a minute it was like he was choking, but then he caught his breath. “I love you, son.”
“Pa . . .” Sam’s throat hurt, and he wanted to scream and fight and drag Pa out of the car, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but watch as Pa laid his foot on the gas pedal and revved the engine. The car lurched back, away from the water, and Pa held up his hand. Sam told himself he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t wave goodbye, because this wasn’t goodbye, it couldn’t be.
Then the water exploded behind him, soaking Sam and Pa and Ma and the Sunbird in a spray of dark water. Sam watched in amazement as the Colonel emerged slowly from the swamp and, with a little encouragement from Pa, crawled into the back seat. He could only fit if he coiled up his tail and sat with his front legs hanging out the window, but he fit, and, like Pa, his body had started to fade. As soon as the Colonel was settled inside, the car doors snapped shut and a new light opened in the sky back in the direction of the house.
It was so bright, it was like someone had torn a hole in the shadows and revealed a new sun. Pa lifted his hand again. Despite the pain throbbing in Sam’s face and the voice in his head shouting for it all to stop, to change, for Pa not to go, Sam lifted his hand too.
Pa slid the gearshift into drive, and the car shot forward. He braked at the edge of the yard, hand still raised. Sam could barely see him now through the blinding sunlight, his flickering form mixing in with the surrounding rays, but he could tell Pa was smiling.
He revved the engine one last time, and then the Sunbird took off, heading directly for the center of the light. The light grew brighter and brighter, throbbing and pulsing, until Sam had to bury his head in his hands. That grape-soda light burned his eyes and he couldn’t believe what was happening and he couldn’t do a sin
gle thing to stop it. Then, with a snap, the light disappeared and Pa and the Sunbird and everything Sam had ever cared about were gone.
18
SAM RAN TO THE FRONT yard, to the spot where the light had been, and he stood alone in the darkness, a cool breeze blowing the grass at his feet. He dropped to the ground, ignoring the smoke stinging his eyes and the echo of Pa’s words.
Pa had abandoned him.
He wanted Sam to go back, to live his life, but what was the point?
Feet heavy as stones, he walked to the shore, kicking at the sand, gouging out holes that filled with dirty water. The canoe bobbed up and down just a few feet away.
He wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t—he’d made sure of that. But Pa was gone and, even as he watched, the house started to fade. The glow of the fire lit up the weathered dock, the dirty white siding, the beer-can chimes clinking gently in the wind. It all shimmered and rippled, becoming less and less solid, until he could see the trees and the road and the tangle of bushes on the other side. Then even those started to fade.
Hands shaking, still telling himself he would never leave, he climbed into the canoe, and it launched forward, cutting a clean path through the water. He looked back, and the house was barely a shimmer, a million glittering particles, like water droplets, slowly floating apart from one another, until he couldn’t see a house or a dock or a shore, but a spray of silver stars. Then even the stars winked out, and the house was gone, and the shore and the swamp, and all that remained was a cool, empty blackness.
The canoe hit the sand, and Sam lurched forward, tumbling over the edge. He stood, walking into the smoke, and there was the tree, his tree, swallowed in rising flames. They billowed from the center of the hollow like a dragon breathing fire, and even though Pa was gone, his voice urged him forward.
“Go, Sammy! Hurry!”
The Secret Life of Sam Page 17
