Fourmile (3 page)

“I tried to buy it when they stopped renting it.”

“What happened?”

“I guess it wasn’t for sale. I don’t really know. But I remember feeling like something was getting jerked out from under me. It didn’t seem right to have gotten to know a place like that and then have somebody take it away from you.”

“You missed it?”

“Yeah, but you move on.”

He put the car into gear and turned around in the road. On the way back we stopped at the hardware store and purchased ten gallons of white paint and loaded it into the trunk.

“How much do windshields
cost
?” I asked him.

He studied me for a second, then chuckled. “Not as much as education, Foster.”

*   *   *

Granddaddy stayed for supper and talked with Mother about the houses she’d been looking at in the paper. After the meal I went out to the barn to feed Joe. When I returned, Mother was putting the dishes away and Granddaddy was standing in the living room.

“Want to walk me to my car?” he asked me.

“You going back tonight? It’s kind of late.”

“What else does an old man have to do?” He smiled. But he knew what I was thinking. I followed him outside and shut the front door behind me.

“I wish you’d stay,” I said.

He put his hand on my head. “I’d like that, but I better get back and check on your grandmother.”

I looked at the ground and nodded.

“We’ll be seeing plenty of each other real soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

He pulled his hand away and patted me on the back. “Be good to your mother,” he said.

“I will.”

*   *   *

I agreed to work off the money by painting the fence. There was nearly a quarter mile of it in a square around the house, two-by-four timbers notched into six-inch cedar posts. I started on the section out by the blacktop, thinking that if I wasn’t able to finish it all, at least I’d get the part people saw.

Despite how he acted when we went to his house, Dax didn’t stay away. It was no time at all before he was leaning on the kitchen counter with Mother smiling and wearing her perfume again. I was happy to have a reason to get out of the house.

All day Saturday and Sunday for two weekends I lugged around a gallon-can of paint, a brush, and a feed bucket to sit on. I found myself looking forward to the work. Besides a way to avoid Dax, it was something different to occupy my mind. When Joe wasn’t chasing killdeer, he napped in the broomsedge nearby. Cicadas buzzed like electricity and breezes fluttered the tops of the pecan trees. In the breath of the hot asphalt I dipped and swiped paint. As much as it seemed time stood still on the farm, summer wasn’t the only thing making its way toward Fourmile. I was about to meet a stranger who would change everything.

6

The air was balmy and windy under a sky of rolling gray clouds. I was halfway down the front fence, sitting on my bucket, when I saw him coming up the road with his dog. I’d never seen a person walking this stretch of highway. Joe stood and trembled with an inside whine that meant he was either nervous, excited, or both.

“Easy, boy,” I said to him.

I went back to painting, glancing up from time to time as they drew closer. After fifteen minutes I heard the man’s feet crunching the loose gravel on the roadside. I set my brush on the rim of the paint bucket and grabbed Joe’s collar.

The man wore a tall frame backpack like I’d seen on hitchhikers before. I guessed he was about Dax’s age, but maybe younger. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white undershirt with a camo bandanna tied around his forehead so that his hair was covered. On his belt he wore a hunting knife. He was medium height and thin like Dax, but there was something a lot tighter and healthier about him. The way the straps of the pack pulled against his shirt made his chest and arm muscles stand out like smooth river stones.

He stopped and knelt at the side of the road, putting a hand on his dog’s head. “See a friend, Kabo?” he asked.

The dog was black with a little white under its neck. It seemed to be a mix between a collie and a black Lab, a mutt like Joe. Kabo wagged his tail and approached. I stood and walked Joe closer until their noses were touching.

“What’s your dog’s name?” the stranger asked me.

“Joe,” I said.

“Good-looking dog.”

Joe wasn’t a good-looking dog appearance-wise, but I knew what the stranger meant. I figured he could see in dogs what a farmer can see in cows and horses.

“He’s real smart,” I said.

We let them sniff and circle each other. After a moment I let loose of Joe’s collar and looked back at the stranger. “Where you going?” I asked.

“Texas,” he said.

“You going to walk the whole way?”

“I might. I’m doing pretty good so far.”

“That’s a long way.”

The stranger bent down and unclipped Kabo’s leash. The dog bolted away with Joe in pursuit.

“Yeah,” the stranger continued. “It’s a long way. I don’t plan to rush it.”

There was something interesting about the man. Something young and fresh and adventurous I hadn’t been around in a while.

“I’ve never seen anyone walk past here before,” I said.

“I like to use the back roads. It takes a little longer, but it’s a lot more interesting.”

I watched him studying my painting supplies.

“You paint all the way to here by yourself?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. This is my third weekend working on it.”

“Just call me Gary.” He smiled.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m Foster.”

Joe and Kabo had jumped through the fence and were chasing each other through the pasture.

“This your farm, Foster?” he asked me.

“Yeah, but we’re going to move.”

“What do you grow here?”

“We used to raise cows, but we sold them all.”

“It’s a nice place.”

I didn’t answer him.

“You mind if I use your hose to fill up my water bottle?”

I was glad that my meeting with Gary was going to last a little longer. “I don’t mind,” I said. “I’ll show you where it is.”

A strong, cool breeze came across the tops of the pecan trees and a long shadow crept over us. The sweet smell of an afternoon squall was in the air. Gary looked toward the west and saw the line of bruised-looking clouds approaching. “Better bring your paint in,” he said. “Looks like we might get some rain.”

I realized he was right and began gathering my supplies. Finally we started toward the driveway. I knew Mother wasn’t going to like me bringing a stranger to the house, but lately I hadn’t trusted her judgment any more than my own.

7

The dogs fell in beside us before we made it back to the house. I showed Gary where the hose was just to the left of the front door. He hefted his pack to the ground and pulled a canteen from a side pocket and began to fill it. Kabo rubbed against him and Gary glanced at him. “I know, boy,” he said. “Just hold on.”

Gary stood and recapped the canteen and left the water running. Kabo began to lap from the stream. Then I heard the front door open and turned to see Mother standing there with a look of concern. “Hello,” she said, more like a question than a greeting.

“Hey, Mother. This is Gary.”

“Hello, ma’am,” he said. “Foster offered your water faucet to me. I don’t mean to be any trouble.”

Mother looked at the highway like she was still trying to figure out where the stranger had come from. Meanwhile Gary stepped past Kabo and shut off the water. “My dog and I are hiking across the South,” he continued. “We haven’t had anything but creeks to drink from since yesterday.”

Mother started to say something but didn’t. I could see she was nervous about Gary. “That’s fine,” she finally said. Then she noticed my paint supplies on the ground. “Foster, are you finished painting for the day?”

“It looks like it might rain,” I said.

She looked at the sky and frowned. “Okay then. Why don’t you come inside and wash up. Dax is on his way over here to watch the game.”

“What game?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But you need to clean that paint off of you.”

“Why do I always have to clean up when he comes over? He doesn’t care.”

“I care. And don’t argue with me.”

I frowned and turned to Gary. “See you later,” I said. “That’s cool about walking to Texas.”

He smiled. “Good luck with the fence, Foster. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

I went inside and Mother came behind me and shut the door. “Foster,” she said.

“Ma’am?”

“You don’t bring strangers up to the house like that. Especially with me alone in here.”

“He’s nice.”

“You don’t know anything about him.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance and I looked out the window to see Gary and Kabo and Joe walking down the driveway.

“I can tell he’s nice,” I said. “Joe likes him.”

“Just don’t do it again.”

“It’s about to rain on them.”

“That’s not our problem.”

“He could stay in the barn until it stops raining.”

“Foster, I told you that I don’t want strange men around here when I’m by myself. Now, this conversation is over.”

“Dax’ll be here. Just until it stops raining.”

She stared at me. “Foster.”

“Come on.”

She looked up at the kitchen clock.

“He won’t even come inside,” I said.

She sighed and shook her head. “Okay, fine. He can sit in the barn until the storm passes. Then he gets on his way again.”

I smiled and bolted out the door.

“You still have to get cleaned up!” she called after me.

*   *   *

By the time we got back to the barn, the sky had grown dark and it was sprinkling rain. Gary set his pack against one of the hay bales and worked his shoulders in a circle. There was tenseness about him, but it wasn’t half-cocked like what I sensed in Dax. It was buried and controlled.

“Joe’ll stay out here with you,” I said.

Gary looked at the two dogs, side by side in the hay. “I think Joe was ready to hit the road with us today.”

“He would have come back,” I said.

Gary cracked a strange half smile at the edge of his mouth. “I know he would have.”

He felt raindrops hit his face and looked up at the hole in the roof. He stepped aside and studied it. “Might want to put that project ahead of the fence,” he said.

“Mother won’t let me climb up there.”

“Where’s your father?”

“He’s dead,” I said bluntly.

Gary nodded to himself, creating a moment of distance, but no shock and no pity. I waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t.

“Mother’s boyfriend’s coming over,” I continued.

He didn’t seem to hear me. He was backing up, studying the hole in the roof. “You got some sheet tin lying around?” he finally asked.

“Yes, sir. There’s four pieces leaning against the back wall.”

“Gary, remember?”

“Sorry.”

“Got a hammer and some nails?”

I pointed to the back of the barn at the equipment room. “In that room. There’s a ladder hanging outside too.”

He looked at me. “Let’s go get it before this rain starts coming down too hard.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He looked out the barn door toward the road. He did a lot of stopping and looking around. It was like there were two sides of him going on at all times, the side I was involved in, and something else I didn’t know anything about.

“I know,” he said. “Come on.”

8

I slid the sections of sheet tin up the ladder, careful that the gusts of wind didn’t get under them and peel them away. Gary grabbed them from his perch on the roof. I waited until he’d nailed the missing pieces in place, then held the ladder for him as he came back down. By then the rain was starting to hit hard.

“That ought to hold for a while,” he said. “Let’s get out of this.”

I followed him back into the barn, where it was dry and warm and darker, and the rain hammered on the tin like something we’d rudely locked out. Gary went to his pack and opened it and got another T-shirt. He pulled his wet shirt off and wiped himself with it. His movements were quick and efficient and rehearsed. He was all muscle, but lean like a skinned rabbit. I’d never seen someone so strong close-up. Finally he turned and draped the old shirt over the pack. Across his back was a giant tattoo of a skull wearing a beret. I had a brief instant to study it before he swiped his new shirt on and faced me. He knew I’d seen it. He knew I wanted to ask him about it. But something in his expression told me he was sorry he’d shown it to me.

“Looks like you got a lot of little projects around here,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“How big is this place?”

“Not as big as most farms. Two hundred acres.”

“Big enough to stay ahead of you.”

“Yeah. Mother’s trying to sell it.”

He nodded. I stood there, wanting to say something, but not knowing what. I just wanted to hear him talk. Gary sat down and leaned against his pack. He made a clicking noise with his mouth and Kabo rose from his bed in the straw and came to lie next to him. Gary stroked the dog and watched it and seemed to be thinking of something long ago and far away.

“We can’t afford to fix it all up,” I said.

Gary continued to stroke the dog and I didn’t know if he was listening to me or not. Suddenly Joe woofed deep in his throat and stood. I felt a bolt of panic race up my back as I remembered about Dax coming to watch some ball game. I eyed the leash hanging on the wall.

“Come here, boy,” I said.

Joe took a step toward the house.

“Joe!” I said.

He woofed again. I moved toward him, but it was too late. He bolted out into the rain.

“No, Joe!” I yelled.

I ran after him. Before I got around the side of the house I heard shouting and then a yelp that turned my stomach. I rounded the corner to see Dax standing in the rain, holding a tire iron. Joe was limping across the yard.

“What’d you do!” I yelled.

Dax threw the tool into the back of his truck, where it landed with a clang. Then he turned to me. “I was ready for him that time,” he said.

I ran after Joe and caught up to him just as he reached the shelter of the big pecan tree. He turned and crabbed sideways before me and lay down with his feet in the air, rolling his eyes to the whites. I collapsed beside him and rubbed his stomach.