Hank shook his head. “He never excavated any of that.”
She explained why on Thursday. “Apparently, he doesn’t like to talk about his family because it makes him too sad—at least that’s what everyone thinks.”
“It’s making me sad too,” said Hank.
“Yeah,” said Maisie. “And my mom says that’s probably why he loves his dogs so much, because his daughter is a real lemon.”
On Friday, Maisie didn’t say anything. She arrived late at school and slipped into her desk without even a smile.
By then Mrs. Vera was reading the book. Finally reunited, the boy and his faithful wiener dog, Leah, had made it back to the little hut in the woods after escaping another band of Nazi soldiers. They were surviving on dandelion greens and crickets now, but it wasn’t looking good—and that was saying something since nothing in that book was ever looking good for anyone. Bombs exploded all around the boy and Leah at night. The rumbling and shaking scared Leah half to death, but she was so thin and tired that all she did was lie next to the boy and tremble.
Hank didn’t know how much more he could take. He was sure the next bomb would get the boy and Leah. He could practically see the house and everything in it exploding into a million tiny shards, and if the house exploded Hank knew for sure that the boy would explode too, so Maisie’s arrival could not have come at a better time. He nudged her and gave her a smile. She sniffed and looked down at her desk. He took a piece of paper and wrote, “Where were you?”
She wrote back hastily, “Bad news about Mr. J.”
Hank’s heart sank. He pulled out his three rocks (obsidian, topaz, amphibole) and after careful consideration handed the obsidian to Maisie.
She took the rock and began to rub her thumb back and forth against its smooth surface.
At lunch Maisie told him what she’d learned. “Apparently,” she said in a sad voice, “the police called the evil daughter after Mr. Jorgensen drove his car into the ditch. They told her they were going to send a special checking-up-on-people person to make sure he was okay, and so she had to come with her prissy, yappy dog to figure out what to do with him before the checker-up person tried to put Mr. Jorgensen in a retirement home. And the ‘current thinking’—that’s what my mom calls it—is that Mr. Jorgensen will have to go live with his daughter in Minnesota.
“When my mom told me that”—she slumped forward—“I couldn’t even finish my breakfast.” She took the obsidian from her pocket and handed it back to Hank. “But then my mom said, ‘Come heck or high water I had to pull myself together and go to school because she did not raise a moper.’ But, I’m telling you, Hank, I feel mopey.”
Hank’s mouth fell open. Mr. Jorgensen moving? He didn’t want Frank to move! He liked Frank. More than that, his moving would be like an earthquake. It would disrupt things and change things, and then what would happen? It was too terrifying to even think about.
Still, Maisie made him think about it. Looking across the playground, she said, “At first I thought, well, maybe Mr. Jorgensen will have to give us Booler and we can finally untie him from the tree. But then I thought that that would be a bad way to get Booler. And then I thought that maybe evil Colleen won’t want to do us any favors, so maybe Mr. Jorgensen won’t give us Booler. But then what would happen to Booler? What would happen to Cowboy and Honey? I doubt that lady would let Mr. Jorgensen keep his three dogs with him in her home. She’s the worst.”
“Stop!” said Hank. He was about to tell Maisie that she was giving him a bad day, but he knew that wasn’t right. It was Colleen. She was the one giving him the bad day. A determined look on his face, he said, “We’re not going to put up with this.”
Maisie squeezed his arm. Her cheeks turned pink. “Yeah! We’re not putting up with this one bit.”
* * *
After school they went to Maisie’s. They watched from the porch as the evil daughter pointed two men holding trash bags to a great big dumpster that had appeared in front of Frank’s house.
Maisie shook her head. She rested her elbows on the porch rail. “That’s not a good sign.”
“Yeah,” grumbled Hank. “This is making me as sad as the book. But we’re still not putting up with this. Right?”
From Frank’s backyard they heard Booler howl. Maisie and Hank frowned and nodded.
Maisie grimaced. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but Mr. Jorgensen’s daughter leaves us no choice. We are going to have to seriously butter that lemon up.”
Hank squirmed as he imagined a lemon covered in glistening, greasy butter.
“That’s right,” continued Maisie. “We’re going extreme. Extreme nice. Follow me.”
They walked toward the tiny house and tried not to look at Booler when, upon seeing them, his howls turned to pleading whines.
“Slap a smile on, Hank,” Maisie whispered when they were near Frank’s daughter. “And follow my lead.”
He showed Maisie his biggest grin.
She stopped, a look of alarm on her face. “Well, that’s just terrifying. Can’t you just… you know…?” She smiled widely.
“That’s what I’m doing,” Hank said, pulling his mouth so wide that he could feel the spring breeze on his gums.
“No. Like this, with your eyes too.” She smiled again.
He looked at her eyes. They were open wide and her eyebrows were slightly arched. He strained to open his mouth even wider and to raise his eyebrows as high as they could go.
Maisie licked her bottom lip. She took her hands and cupped Hank’s face in hers. Her fingers pushed down on his forehead. Startled, Hank blinked, his eyelashes grazing the palms of Maisie’s hands. Then she turned his head slightly sideways. Her fingers slid down his face and she pinched his jawbone between her thumbs and forefingers and gently pulled it down. She let go, leaving her hands hanging for a moment in front of Hank’s face, which now felt less tight and forced.
“Just… stay like that, okay?”
He nodded and they walked once more toward Colleen and her dog. Maisie started to wave.
“Yoo-hoo,” she sang. “Hello there. I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. I am Miss Maisie Huang and this is my associate, Mr. Hank Hudson. It is truly our pleasure to meet you.”
They were standing near the woman now. Hank watched Maisie from the corner of his eye and tried not to change the expression she had arranged on his face.
Maisie reached out to shake Colleen’s hand, but the little white dog gave an angry yap and the woman turned her body sideways as she ran her free hand soothingly across the dog’s body.
Maisie’s arm trembled and then dropped to her side. Maisie looked at Hank, who shrugged, his face still unchanged. She cleared her throat and tried again. Bright as a daisy she said, “I do declare, that is the prettiest, sweetest dog I have ever seen, and I went to a verrry fancy dog show in Santa Monica—that’s in California—once, so I know what I am talking about.”
Colleen’s nostrils gave a little quiver. So did the dog’s. “I’m sorry, but I’m really in the middle of something here.” As she spoke her face kind of sagged and her lips kind of grumped.
Undeterred, Maisie asked, “What breed is your lovely pooch? I told my, associate, Hank that it must be a miniature poodle because the cutest little white dogs are always mini poodles, but he insisted it was a Maltese.”
Hank nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide, his smile still frozen in place.
Maisie’s hands made a flopping gesture. “I said, ‘Really, Hank, don’t be ridicu—’ ”
“She’s a poodle,” the woman said, interrupting. She repositioned the dog so that its head looked over her shoulder. She began to pat the dog’s back. “But like I said, this is not a good time.”
Maisie jutted an elbow into Hank’s side. “See, Hank? It’s just what I thought.”
From the backyard came the sound of a sharp, urgent bark.
Hank turned to see Booler straining at the end of his rope. He looked at Hank with
a happy, eager face.
Maisie kept on talking. “I’m always right when it comes to dogs, and I’m absolutely obsessed with miniature poodles. They are the smartest, prettiest, most accomplished of all dogs. Don’t you agree? I bet she has a pretty name too.”
The evil daughter sighed. “Princess Lillikins—Lillikins for short.”
Princess Lillikins began to squirm. She yapped, “Mrat, mrat, mrat.”
Hank watched as Booler dropped his forepaws and gave another short bark. Hank pulled gently on the bottom of Maisie’s shirt.
Maisie looked over at Booler, who jumped straight in the air and then—meeting the limits of the rope—fell awkwardly on three paws and whined.
Maisie bit down on her lip. “Um… so… can Princess Lillikins do any tricks?”
Hank’s smile left his face. “Booler really wants us to visit.”
Maisie rested her hand on Hank’s arm. “The poor little sweetheart really does miss us, but what we want more than anything is to hear about adorable Princess Lillikins.”
Hank started to talk but Maisie squeezed his arm. Hank pulled his arm free and took a step toward Booler.
Maisie pushed out her lips and put on a baby voice. “You are the sweetest. Oh, yes, you are the sweetest little Princess Lillikins. Aren’t you?”
The dog squirmed even more and began to toss its head left and right. Throwing a nervous glance back at Booler, Colleen said, “Hold on.” She placed Lillikins on the sidewalk. Pointing her finger at the poodle, she commanded, “Stay.”
Nervously at first, but then with real determination, Princess Lillikins moved off the sidewalk and began to scoot under the lowest fence slat and into the backyard.
Booler dropped his front paws and wagged his tail.
Relieved, Hank pointed and said, “Look! Lillikins and Booler want to play. We can watch them while you do your work!”
Maisie clapped her hands. “That is happy family news! And we are happy to help!”
Colleen scooped up Lillikins. “Well, that is not going to happen.”
Hank stiffened. He chanced the a’a feeling and looked the woman right in the eye. “But Booler is a good dog. Your dog will like him.”
Maisie squeezed Hank’s arm once more. “What my associate, Hank, means,” said Maisie, a tremor in her happy voice, “is that Booler is always so gentle and kind and loving. I’m sure Booler would not hurt Lillikins, if that is what you are worried about.”
The men came by—each holding another big trash bag—and Colleen stepped forward. “Wait, I thought you were going to bring out the boxes from the guest bedroom next.”
Without saying a word, the men shuffled right past.
Colleen let out a garbled “pah” and raced to catch up with them. “Excuse me, I’m talking to you.”
“Um,” said Maisie, keeping close to Colleen’s side. “Are you cleaning out your dad’s junk? That’s probably a good idea, huh? Because it is very crowded in there.” There was no longer a tremble in her happy voice but there was definitely a strain.
“Yeah,” said Hank, bringing up the rear. “And we already threw away the big knife, so you don’t have to worry about that. And your dad gave us each a fossil, so that will clear some space too.”
Colleen stopped, swiveled around. Her eyes had grown large. “Wait. What’s that?”
Hank looked down at the ground. He could kick himself. For sure the evil daughter was going to want the fossil back now.
Colleen’s eyebrows were knit together. “You threw a knife away? Why would you do that?”
“No reason,” said Maisie quickly.
“Because he almost chopped his finger off,” said Hank, grateful that Colleen hadn’t asked about the fossil.
Booler began to bark again.
Maisie smiled. “Ummm… you’re very busy. We’ll just go calm down Booler for you.” She motioned for Hank to climb over the fence with her.
“What do you mean he almost chopped his finger off?” Colleen clutched Lillikins closer and stepped toward them.
“We were just trying to help,” said Maisie, climbing the fence and sounding perkier than ever.
“The knife came this close.” Hank held his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. “We really saved the day there. It wasn’t like when he burned himself.”
Booler began to bark even louder.
Maisie grabbed hold of Hank’s shirt and whispered, “Stop talking. Come with me.”
He nodded and began to climb over the fence as Maisie stage-laughed. “Booler, you are barking like crazy! You really should not be so bossy, you little pumpkin-sweetie-pie. We’ll just come and calm you down right now.”
“Yeah, we’ll come and calm you down,” repeated Hank as they ran to the pit bull.
The evil daughter leaned her back against the fence and let out a long, deep exhale. She put Lillikins on the sidewalk and began to rub her temples.
Lillikins did not hesitate this time. She wiggled under the fence and began to run to Booler, who dropped his head as the little dog came and sniffed his butt. And then Booler began to sniff Lillikins’s butt. And then the two dogs walked in circle after circle sniffing each other’s butts.
Maisie leaned in to Hank and whispered, “You can’t tell her about the knife and the burn and stuff. Otherwise she’ll make Mr. Jorgensen move for sure.”
“Oh,” said Hank, a sudden pang in his belly. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay,” said Maisie. “Just—”
“Princess Lillikins!” shouted Colleen.
Hank, Maisie, Booler, and Lillikins froze as Colleen went round to the gate and let herself into the yard. She marched toward them and swooped up Lillikins. Then she glared at Hank and Maisie, her cheeks turning jowly, her chin turning wobbly. “I told you those two can’t be together.” Her voice got louder and she added, “And, frankly, I did not give you permission to come back here.”
Hank looked at the ground. Yelling always tempted the a’a feeling. He felt his breath grow short. He felt the prickly-dense feeling pull at his insides. He cast a glance at Booler, who was cowering in place, his tail thrust against his belly, his neck low, his eyes worried.
“In fact,” said Colleen. She paused a long moment and added, “I think you should go. I have a lot of work to do here.”
Booler’s feet began to dance up and down. He shook his back and started barking again.
Maisie took a step toward Booler. “It’s all right, Booler,” she said calmly. “I got this.”
She faced the woman. “You,” she said, “are mean. You are an evil grouchpuss who does not deserve our buttering up.”
Colleen held up a hand and started to speak, but Hank cut her off.
“That’s right,” he said, absorbing Maisie’s confidence and letting it sweep away the a’a feeling. “And just because Mr. Jorgensen ran into a ditch and can’t read the sports section doesn’t mean he has to move.” He shook his head. “How Mr. Jorgensen ended up with a lemon like you is a big mystery.”
Maisie beamed at Hank. “Yeah, a big mystery!” repeated Maisie. She looked again at Mr. Jorgensen’s daughter. “And miniature poodles are not the best dogs in the world—mixed breeds are!” She stalked off a few steps and then turned around, fixed her gaze on the white dog, and shouted, “Although you are very cute and definitely not as evil as your mama!”
“And you definitely don’t deserve to have Booler named after you!” Hank yelled at Colleen.
Colleen staggered backward, a look of surprise and bewilderment on her face. She clutched Lillikins tighter than ever and the dog let out a strangled, confused “roo-oof.”
Then Hank and Maisie stomped back to Maisie’s house, where they stood on the porch, their elbows resting on the railing, witnesses to the evil daughter’s rule.
Booler stared at them from the end of his long rope.
Maisie shouted, “Don’t worry, Booler! We’ve got your back!”
“And you’re going down, lady!” yelled Hank. “
You’re going down because we—me and Maisie—are the heroes of this story.”
* * *
Good news arrived the following week. Colleen had gone back to Minnesota—at least for a while—and Mr. Jorgensen said they could play with Booler whenever they wanted. In fact, he told Maisie that she and Hank could have played with Booler the whole time if they had only asked him and not his daughter.
So of course they went over to see Booler and Mr. Jorgensen after school. When they arrived, Booler gave them such a tail wagging and such a tongue licking that Maisie finally had to say, “Booler, enough! Who knows where your tongue has been?”
They had barely wiped Booler’s slobber from their faces when Frank rolled out to the yard with a plate of crackers and slices of American cheese. “I know you like the ham and cheese sandwiches,” he said, “but I can’t find my cutting knife anywhere, and whole sandwiches just seem too big for a snack, don’t you think? It’s probably those darn ‘professional cleaners’ Colleen hired. I can’t find anything since they came through.”
Maisie and Hank glanced at each other.
Frank held the platter in front of them as all three dogs gazed at the food, their expressions mingling greed and hope.
“About that…,” sighed Maisie.
“We threw it away,” said Hank, taking a cracker. “When you almost chopped your finger off. We thought your evil daughter probably told you.” He bit into the cracker and began to chew.
Teetering just a little, Frank lowered the platter into the basket of his walker and then went and sat on the little seat. He rubbed his face with his hands and made a long “auugggg” sound. A swirl of emotions passed over the old man’s face until his shoulders fell forward and he started laughing. He laughed and laughed like he had just heard the funniest, saddest joke in the world. Then he took a deep breath and wiped a trickle of tears from his eyes.
We Could Be Heroes Page 10
