Aldo's Fantastical Movie Palace (4 page)

Q looked at Chloe, started to speak, but then closed his mouth.

“Okay, boys, let's mount up and hightail it outta —”

Dad came around the back of the truck and ducked his eyes at Chloe. He breathed deep and removed his cap.

“Reckoned we better catch some fish for your friend,” Dad said, and dug his toe in the dirt.

Chloe stepped back and spoke quietly. “I like to fish.”

“Don't you worry none.” Dad backed away too. “We'll provide a feast.”

“I like to fish.”

Dad took another deep breath and forced a smile. “Come on, boys. Chloe's countin' on us.”

They all hopped in, and the truck pulled away, Q's face pressed against the glass.

“No, Dad. I stopped counting on you long ago.”

Chloe raced to Grandpa's, her heart pounding.

“I hate him, Grandpa. I hate …” She burst into tears. It took several minutes, enveloped in Grandpa arms, before her crying slowed.

“I think I would like a date with you. Do you have some time, Chloe?”

“Now?”

“It's not too late. Go get your swimsuit and meet me by the river path. It's been a while since I've gone for a swim.”

Chloe sniffed and nodded. When she reached the path, there stood Grandpa Salvador, white wisps fluttering out from beneath a bright orange knit cap.

“It's not hunting season yet.” Chloe grinned.

“No, it is not. But this does not seem to stop your brothers. Besides, I think Grif, when he returns, would not think twice about peppering me given the excuse.”

He took Chloe's hand and walked down toward the river. The east turned a deep shade of blue while the western sky blazed with pinks and purples.

“Your father does not know what he's missing,” Grandpa said.

“He knows. I know. Everyone knows. He's ashamed of me.”

“He is many things —”

“Yeah,” Chloe interrupted. “Crazy. Cruel. Cuckoo. A lot of
C
words, actually.”

Grandpa squeezed her hand. “Your father is many things, but ashamed of you is not one of them.” He straightened. “My Chloe, I've come to enjoy our late swims over the years, and yet I can't help thinking you would have more fun at the pool with your friends.”

“I have classmates. I don't have friends.”

“Hmm. I have a feeling that some are not too far away.” Grandpa looked to the clouds. “Do you see those puffs? Your great-grandpa Aldo used to tell me that one day he would figure a way to ride them across the sky. Then he'd take me for a ride. What do you think?”

“I think Aldo was crazy.”

“Perhaps.” Grandpa swept a clump of grass from the path. “But when I see the sky, I am sure I see him looking down on me. All these years, and I still care what he thinks.”

“He thinks you look weird in that hat.”

Grandpa removed it and stuffed it over Chloe's ears. “I can't be caught looking weird.”

They stomped through the trees that lined the Snake River and stepped down onto the sandy shore.
Chloe relaxed and slipped off her outer clothes, setting the orange hat beside the pile. The cool sand squeezed between her toes and she relaxed. She was near water. She could dive in and disappear.

After Aldo's, the Snake River sand strip was the safest place she knew.

“And what is your goal tonight?” Grandpa asked.

“To reach the Northern Bridge.”

“But this is against the flow.”

She nodded. “And what is your goal?”

“I will jump into the water and forget. All the problems that feel so large, I will leave on the shore. They will wait for me and be there when I emerge. I will worry about them then, but for a few moments, I will forget.” His eyes twinkled. “Will you join me in forgetting? Just for tonight?”

Chloe smiled. A late evening mist hung low, and she checked her entry for rocks and dived into the cool relief. She felt the undertow and began a gentle stroke.

Go ahead and catch fish, Dad. I'll be here, in a world for Grandpa and me
.

A splash, and then bubbles everywhere. Chloe surfaced and looked at Grandpa now wearing his orange hat — and only his orange hat. The rest of his clothes were balled up on shore.

“Grandpa!” She laughed.

“It has been too long. Avert your eyes from this wrinkled old man. Swim now!”

And Chloe swam. The last hint of twilight shimmered the water as she reached the bridge. In the distance, headlamps and shouts lit up the driveway. Dad was back.

The end of a perfect night.

N
ICK
H
ARRIS'S
S
UBURBAN
crunched to a stop near the barn.

“Go on, Chloe.” Mom pushed her away from the stove. “You should be the one to welcome them.”

Chloe's shoulders drooped. “But you don't know Nick.”

Mom pointed and Chloe shuffled outside. Little clouds of dust surrounded her work boots and vanished into the air.
Lucky dust clouds
.

The car doors opened and out popped two smiling adults, one surly kid, and a dutiful dog.

“Hi, I'm Chloe. Welcome to our place.”

Nick and Hobo brushed past her and marched toward the barn.

Chloe puffed out air, and Mrs. Harris walked over and offered a hug. “You'll have to forgive Nick.”

I'll think about it
.

“Thank you,” she continued.

“For what?”

“For being so kind to Nick. He talks about you all the time.”

Chloe glanced at Nick, who, with his dog, stepped inside the barn to do who knows what. “I think you're hugging the wrong kid.” She pulled away.

“No, he specifically mentions Chloe Lundeen.”

It made no sense. Nick made no sense.

Mr. Harris joined them. “So this is the famous Chloe.”

Nick's mother reached under Chloe's chin. “I'm sorry that school is so horrible for you.” She lifted Chloe's face. “That bully Scarface should really be disciplined —”

Mrs. Harris's gaze fixed on Chloe's neck, and she lifted her hand to her mouth.

“Yeah.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “I'll make sure to report myself to the principal first thing.” She raced after Nick.

I won't be joining this dinner party
. Tears fell, and Chloe kicked the metal barn doors and didn't care that Mom saw. Chloe pounded inside.

“Nick? Nick! How could you tell your parents —”

“I had Mom read me your notes.”

Nick's voice sounded small, the words barely audible from the rear of the barn. He sat on a hay bale in the corner. Had Nick been able to see the wrecking ball Dad used to crush failed experiments now hanging from the rafters, he likely would have made a different seating choice.

Chloe slowed and frowned.

“They're good. They made the script better.” Nick shifted. “Not that I couldn't have made it better myself, but they … I was wondering if you …” He squeezed his hands tight. “Do you want to help me with my script?” He stood and pointed in Chloe's direction. “This would be a professional relationship only. We do not have to be friends.”

“You're asking me for help?” she said.

“No! Not help. Just … feedback.”

“Feedback.”

Nick jumped up. “Do you want in or not?”

“And this would not be a friendship, because I pretty much came in here to pound on you.”

“Definitely, not a friendship.”

Chloe folded her arms. “And if I do this, you agree not to refer to me by the other name. Ever.”

“Which name? You mean Scarface?”

“Nick!”

“Just kidding.” He grinned. “Yeah, it's a deal.”

Nick's grin disappeared and he tilted his head. “I'm standing beneath something heavy, aren't I?”

“Yep. And two feet to your left rests a blowtorch. Behind you on the wall hang five chain saws, three axes, and a maul. His trough filled with shattered glass isn't too far away, either. You're in the workshop of Crazy Ray, aka my dad.” Chloe glanced around. “The hayloft is safe.”

“Can we go up there?” Nick grasped Hobo's harness tighter.

“Nope. That's where my dad sleeps. I've never been up there.” She peeked up. “Well, not since …”

“Get me out, boy.” Nick and Hobo slowly weaved their way out of the barn. Chloe stood and watched them go.

What did I just do? More time with Nick?

The smell of sweet smoke filled the air and in the distance there was laughter. Words, evil words, rode the scent into the barn.

“I'm so sorry, I had no idea that she was the Scarface, or that she'd been hurt until I looked at her.”

I hate you, Mrs. Harris
.

“Yeah, some people call her Chloe, others call her Scar — that name. She's kind of like two people in one.”

I hate you, Nick
.

“Had no inkling myself of what my sweet glass of Kool-Aid was going through at school.”

I hate you back, Dad
.

“Ah, my Chloe. Bella. Bella. Bella. Such a beautiful girl, is she not?”

Grandpa Salvador. You, I love
.

“No!” Nick shrieked. And suddenly all voices spoke at once.

“Chloe?
Venite fuori!
Now!” Mom's voice rose. Chloe scampered outside and froze.

Nick lay on his back clutching his head, his body writhing, while his parents knelt at his side. Dad raced back from the house holding cloth, and minutes later, sirens blared.

Time blurred with shouts and cries and lights, as the ambulance made its second visit in two weeks to the farm.

“What are you thinking?”

Chloe jumped up and turned. Grandpa Salvador stood silently at her side.

“You scared me!”

“Yes, it seems I have. What are you thinking?”

She fell back against the metal door and watched as Nick was lifted onto a stretcher and vanished inside the ambulance.

“I'm scared, Grandpa. I feel like I should do something but there's nothing a kid —”

“Oh, I believe you will do far more for him than you could imagine. Remember, don't let him go, Chloe. Don't ever let him go.”

Chloe stared at Grandpa. “If everyone else likes him so much, why don't we just adopt him? To me, most times, he's a jerk.” She peeked at worried Mr. Harris. “I mean, this isn't what I want, but how am I supposed to endure someone who hurts me each time he opens his mouth?”

“See.” Grandpa gestured with his head. “His parents will ride with him. Doctors will too, but perhaps not the dog?”

Chloe glanced at Hobo and thought. “Yeah, I can do that. That dog seems nice.” She leaped up and ran toward the ambulance. “I'll watch Hobo!”

“Yes.” Nick's mom broke into tears. “Oh, thank you. Here's our gate's code.” She dug in her purse for a scrap of paper. “We'll be back for Hobo soon.” The back doors silenced her sentence and the sirens wailed into the distance.

“What just happened?” Chloe whispered. “Did he fall?”

Dad took off his baseball cap and scratched his
head. “Don't rightly know, Honeycomb. Something inside the head's not right.”

Chloe did know one thing. She had a dog to deal with. But not like any dog she'd had before. He stood statued, staring down the gravel drive. Waiting. He'd probably wait forever if she let him.

“Honey.” Mom approached. “You should probably walk Hobo back to Nick's place. I'll let him out in the morning, and you can hop off at the Finnegan property and check on him after school, before coming to Aldo's.” Mom wrinkled her forehead at the dog. “I declare, he looks like he blames himself. I think he needs to be in familiar quarters.”

Chloe nodded. She wouldn't know what to do with a comatose dog anyway.

Chloe walked silently beside the dog, her hand on the harness. The animal looked lost in thought.

“Excuse me, Hobo. I don't mean to interrupt you, but … what's wrong with Nick?”

Hobo started to pant.

“Okay. It's been a tough day.”

They reached the gate and Chloe punched in the security code. Metal creaked and the door opened inward. Hobo didn't flinch.

“Come on, Hobo.” Chloe stepped inside. “Come on, boy.”

The wind blew cool, and summer leaves danced down the road behind him, but that dog did not move.

She knelt. “How am I supposed to take care of you if you don't come inside? If you do this on Monday, I'll be late for the Palace. You're a working boy, I'm a working girl. You understand.” She paused. “Hey, Nick will be back. He'll be okay.”

Hobo looked up, then down, and eased by her and through the gates. Chloe shut them with a clang, jogged by the gardens, and found the hide-a-key.

Once inside their expanded farmhouse, she gasped. The house was beautiful. Not modern beautiful. Olden days beautiful. With chandeliers and antique furniture and pictures of people from long ago.

“Well, Nick. I don't know what your dad does, but he must do it well. Better than my dad, anyway.” She turned to Hobo. “Where's your dish? Of course, Nick's room.”

It took a bit of exploring to find it. But when Chloe pushed open the last door on the left and turned on the light, she knew she was there. Boy clothes were stacked neatly in piles on the bed. No pictures or posters graced the walls, but in the far corner, stacked in a floor-to-ceiling heap, was the strangest assortment of stuffed animals. Trolls and dragons and wizards. Fantasy stuff.

Chloe filled the dog dish and stood. “I'm guessing the harness stays on you, Hobo? Yes? No? Though if I removed it, I don't think I could get it back on.” She took one last look around the room and her eyes widened.
What a computer screen!

The screen saver was beautiful. Chinese Mountains. Chloe moved nearer.

“Too bad you can't see it.”

The mountains disappeared and her words typed themselves on the screen.

“What a great app.”

“I said great, not gate.”

Chloe sat down, grabbed the mouse, and scrolled up the document.

“So you added page numbers, huh?” Chloe smiled. “Excellent idea, Nick. However did you think of it?”

Her words appeared on screen and she winced.

He won't want my sentences in there
.

She deleted them, hit save, and silently read:

Pages and pages of dialogue filled the screen. But there was no description. No narrative.

Of course, Nick probably doesn't know, or can't remember, or …

Chloe thought for an instant, leaned in, and spoke.

Hobo barked and stared intently at the screen.

“You don't like pink and purple? Fine.” She turned back to the screen. “Patches of white hovering over the water.”

Chloe kept adding. Hobo kept barking. Finally, Hobo lay down and Chloe glanced at the clock.

“Wow, okay, better get home, but at least it reads a little smoother.” She powered down the computer. “I think he'll like it, don't you? I mean, you heard him — he said I could help.”

Hobo was asleep. Chloe slipped out of the room, off their property, and ran home.