Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment (27 page)

Later, as we left the house, I pictured myself sitting on Dad's lap behind the wheel of his parked patrol car. It was something we'd done a lot when I was little, but I hadn't thought about it in a long time. Dad would turn on the siren and we'd pretend we were chasing bad guys. I was going to be a police officer, just like him.

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Remember how I used to pretend to drive your patrol car?”

“Sure do.”

“That was fun.”

“Yep. It was.” Dad loaded the poles and Grampa Clem's tackle box in the back of his Chevy Blazer and we got in. He sat with his hands on the wheel, but he didn't turn the key. “I don't expect you to be a police officer, Brendan. I expect you to be whatever it is you're good at.”

I swallowed. “Okay.” And it was okay, because I knew he really meant it.

Dad started the motor. “Oh, and by the way, being tough means you're not going to let anyone stop you from doing what you need to do, or being who you need to be—not even your old man.” As he looked over his shoulder to back out of the driveway, he smiled.

I smiled back.

We were the only ones out on the frosty pier. As we listened to water lap the pylons and waited for something to bite, Dad told me something else I'd never known about Grampa Clem. He'd never taken my dad fishing. “Too busy working, trying to save up for his sons' college education.”

Hearing that made me grateful for the times Dad, Mom, and I had gone camping or to California to visit my cousins. Dad worked a lot, but at least until he'd started school this fall, he'd still had time to do fun things together. And his classes wouldn't last forever. Apparently, Grampa Clem hadn't had the same opportunity until later in his life—after I'd come along.

Dad also told me stories about when he had graduated from elementary to middle school. “I remember it felt like going from Little League to the majors,” he said.
“I was afraid I'd get stuffed in a locker, or depantsed in the middle of a crowded hallway, or older boys would gang up on me and force me to take drugs.”

Being forced to use drugs? I'd never even thought to be afraid of that, although I knew some kids did experiment with that stuff. Talk about a dumb experiment.

“I got picked on a lot in sixth grade because I wore glasses. I was an easy target, being so scrawny and all.”

My eyes opened wide. “You? Scrawny?”

“I didn't get tall until high school. That's also when I started building up my biceps … mostly for baseball, but I didn't mind the attention from the girls, either.” We grinned at each other.

I told him about sitting in Bulldog Bowman's office feeling sure I'd be pulverized into dust by his X-Man stare, and about Morgan and me. “I really like her, Dad,” I admitted.

“She seems like quite the catch.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and smiled.

We were quiet for a while. Just like Grampa Clem and I used to be. Then he told me about a time earlier that month when he'd come down to the pier, trying to feel closer to his dad. “I found a man passed out, drunk. I thought,
This guy must have lost something or someone he really loved
.” Dad had driven him to a shelter and left some money in his coat pocket for when he woke up.

I hadn't known my dad would do something like that.

Back in the car, Dad asked, “So, when do you think houses in Washington will start getting heated with this biogas stuff?”

I told him everything I knew, everything I'd learned from doing our experiment. He listened and asked lots of great questions—all the way home.

We returned cold and without any fish, but it had been a good time. Dad said we could even make it an annual Christmas tradition if I wanted, in honor of Grampa Clem.

Inside, the house smelled like bacon and pine branches and hot apple cider. Mom came to the top of the stairs wearing her apron. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are,” she said. “Did you have any luck out there?”

I shook my head as I went up the stairs. “Nope. But it was a lot of fun.”

Gladys and Grandpa Ed sat at the table playing chess. “Check!” Gladys hollered.

“Ah, she's a quick study, this one!” I heard Grandpa Ed say as I grabbed a piece of bacon from a plate in the kitchen and headed for the garage. Mom could only handle P.J. being inside for short periods of time—especially when his favorite foods were being served, and P.J. went nuts over bacon.

As soon as I opened the door to the garage, P.J.
rushed up, wagging his tail so hard his back legs skittered all over the place. He barked when he saw the strip of meat in my hand.

“Of course this is for you, boy,” I said, crumbling the bacon and letting him eat out of my cupped palm. “Merry Christmas.” I stroked his fur, let him lick my face, and told him I'd be back in a while.

The phone was ringing when I went back into the house.

I heard Mom pick up. She screamed.

I sprang up the stairs faster than the dad in “ 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

Everyone was headed for the kitchen, where Mom stood shaking. “We've got a baby! We've got a
baby
!”

Dad put his arm around me as Mom continued to talk to the person on the other end of the line. Mary from the adoption agency, I supposed.

A baby
. The thought made me feel full of wonder and something else, too. Not quite fear. But something headed in that direction. An unsure feeling—like when Grampa Clem and Gladys took me to the circus and I got up close to an elephant for the first time.

“Well, I'll be,” Grandpa Ed said. “That's some kind of Christmas gift.”

Gladys's hands covered her mouth. Her eyes had gotten watery. Dad went over and gave her a hug. She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes as Dad led her to the living room.

“All right. Thank you, Mary!” Mom hung up and wrapped me in her arms. “You've got a baby sister, Boo. What do you think about that?” She kissed the top of my head.

What I thought was that I didn't know the first thing about being a big brother. Would I be a good one? I was pretty sure I would, but now that the baby was actually coming, I realized I had some learning to do, and being a big brother probably wasn't the kind of thing I could research on the Internet.

Grandpa Ed followed Mom and me into the living room. Dad got up from the couch where he'd been sitting next to Gladys and hugged Mom. Grandpa Ed and I joined Gladys on the couch. She patted my leg. “Well, Edwin, we're getting ourselves another grandbaby.” Gladys's face lit up with a smile. Even the corners of her wrinkles turned up.

“I only wish Caroline were here to see it,” Grandpa Ed said. He pronounced her name “CARE-oh-line.” “She would have been on cloud nine.”

“My Clemons, too,” Gladys said. She sniffed.

“Brendan,” Mom said, her arms still wrapped around Dad's waist, “do you want to tell your grandparents your new sister's name?”

It was something I had come up with one night when Mom, Dad, and I were talking about the baby.

“Go ahead, Bren,” Dad said.

I glanced at Grandpa Ed and then at Gladys. “My new little sister's name is Clementine … Caroline … 
Buckley
.” I grinned. The words felt exactly right coming out of my mouth, as if I'd been saying them all my life.

Gladys coughed. She thumped her chest a few times as if she'd accidentally swallowed the breath mint she'd been sucking; then she pulled out a wadded tissue and dabbed her eyes.

Grandpa Ed had cleared his throat a few times, as well, and Gladys held out a clean tissue.

“That's all right.” He pulled out his handkerchief from his back pocket. “I'm always prepared.”

“It's a perfect name,” Gladys said, finally. She looked up. “Hear that, Clem? You got a granddaughter named after you. We're counting on you to be her guardian angel.” She looked at Grandpa Ed. “Knowing that man, he pulled some strings for us to get this news on his birthday.”

Mom told us more of the details then. The baby had actually been born on December 21, but the birth mom had just decided that morning to choose our family.

Seriously
. What a Christmas present.

“I was thinking we could call her CeeCee for short,” I said.

“CeeCee …,” Gladys said. “I like that. It's got attitude. Just like me.”

While the adults continued to talk about the baby
and when we could go get her, I snuck away to my room. I sat at my desk, flipped open my log, and wrote the date.

By Brendan S. Buckley