Homecoming (9 page)

They stopped by the playground to pick up Sammy, but he wasn’t there. Dicey hurried
back to their camp. James sat alone, scratching at the ground with a stick. Fear clutched
at Dicey’s stomach. “Sammy?” she called. She shouldn’t have left him alone for so
long. “James, have you seen Sammy?”

Sammy stepped out from behind a boulder. Dicey let out a little snort of relief.

“Look.” Dicey held up the fish she had caught. “Anybody hungry?”

“Why were you hiding?” Maybeth asked Sammy.

“We heard somebody coming. I didn’t know who it was.” His hazel eyes searched out
Dicey’s face: “I found something.”

“What? Bring it over. We need some wood, too, to cook the fish.”

Sammy went behind the boulder and came out holding a big grocery bag, which he set
down before the fireplace. “Look at this,” he said.

Egg salad sandwiches, a bag of potato chips, ham sandwiches, pieces of celery stuffed
with peanut butter, a bag of cookies, paper plates, paper cups, paper napkins.

James sat silent, watching. “Where’d you find it?” Dicey asked.

“Left in the woods behind the bathrooms,” Sammy said. “And some people gave me a hot
dog too, but I ate it with them. They had catsup. I was so hungry,” he said.

“Sammy,” Dicey spoke slowly. “This looks like somebody’s picnic.”

“They might have forgotten it,” Sammy said.

“That’s not the truth,” Dicey said.

“Is too,” Sammy said.

“What’s it matter?” James asked. “I mean, we’re the hungry ones. They could probably
go back to the store and buy food, whoever this belonged to. Or just go home and eat.
We need it.”

Dicey couldn’t entirely disagree with him. “But it’s stealing,” she said.

“Just food,” James argued. “Louis said it should be a natural right for everybody
to have enough food.”

“Does Louis know?”

“No. Sammy wasn’t back.”

“Sammy? Tell the truth,” Dicey said.

“They left it on one of those tables. I don’t know who they were. They left two bags
on the table and I could see there was nobody watching, so I took one. I wanted you
all to have something to eat. Dicey?” He made himself look straight at her. “I wanted
to help out.”

Dicey understood. “Well, you surely did that. But stealing—we don’t steal.” Not unless
they had to, not unless they were starving, and then it should be Dicey herself to
do it. Not a little boy six years old.

“I think it was pretty smart of him,” James said. “And brave.”

“I ran,” Sammy boasted, “I ran so fast—it’s hard to run with a big bag. Nobody caught
me.”

“I’m glad of that,” Dicey said, reaching to pat his tangled hair. “I don’t know how
we would have gotten you back if you’d been caught.”

“Would you get me back?” Sammy asked.

“Of course. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Sammy said.

“We’re all together, aren’t we?” Dicey asked him. “We’d just have to get you back.
But it would be hard, really hard—so I’m glad.”

They ate the celery and the egg salad sandwiches right away, because mayonnaise could
spoil. The rest of Sammy’s food they put away for some other time. Meanwhile, they
built a fire and roasted Dicey’s fish over it. Even James was full when they finished.
They stayed put for the rest of that long, early summer afternoon, but when the evening
cool came into the air and the families on the beach left, the Tillermans went down
by the water. James sat quietly by the water’s edge, while the rest played tag until
dark. James wanted quiet; the heat had given him a headache. But he told Dicey she
didn’t have to worry about him.

When they returned to the campsite, Louis and Edie were waiting for them. “James?
We got you something,” Edie said. “It’s convalescent food.” She handed him a small
grocery bag. It held two oranges.

“Thanks,” James said. “They look terrific.” He peeled an orange and ate it.

Dicey grabbed the other one from him, peeled it and split it in half. She gave half
to Maybeth and half to Sammy. James looked like he wanted to say something to her,
but he didn’t.

“Guess what?” Edie said. Her voice came out of the dark.

“What?”

“When we went to get the oranges, there was some man in there buying food, who said
his lunch had been stolen.”

Louis took over the story. “He was a big, fat guy. Asking what the country was coming
to when a family’s picnic lunch was stolen in a public park. He said it was probably
dope addicts. He was all for calling in the police. But the guy who runs the store
said it was probably somebody’s idea of a joke. The big guy said that if he could
get his hands on the joker, he’d show him what he thought of it. He reminded me of
your father, didn’t he, Edie? Isn’t that just what your father would do? Then, he
pulls out a wallet a foot thick, crammed with bills. He peels off a couple and goes
out, still complaining about his bad luck. I say good luck to whoever walked off with
his lunch.”

“Why?” James asked.

“Big guys like that, with thick bankrolls—they’ve got so much that they don’t know
what to do with it. And they’re always the first ones to call in the police on little
guys. Like us. Like you.”

Dicey went over to the trash barrel to throw out the orange peels. Edie went with
her. “Danny? I wondered if you kids had taken it.”

“No,” Dicey said. “No, how could we? We were fishing at the marsh.”

“I thought—you know—if you were hungry enough,” Edie said.

“We’re not hungry,” Dicey said. “We’ve got plenty.”

“If you say so,” Edie said.

Louis called over: “Hey Danny, James says you caught a mess of fish.”

Glad at the change of subject, Dicey told him about the marsh and how easy it was
to catch fish there. Louis said it was illegal to fish in the marsh, because that
area was a game sanctuary. “So you better be careful. You don’t want to get caught
at it.”

How were they supposed to eat then, Dicey asked herself. By buying food, she answered.
The whole world was arranged for people who had money—for
adults
who had money. The whole world was arranged against kids. Well, she could handle
it. Somehow.

“If you were caught,” Louis said. “Kids have no legal rights at all. That’s one reason
I took off. What about you kids, Danny? How come you’re on the road?”

“Huh?” Dicey asked, pretending she hadn’t been listening.

“You’re about the most secretive bunch I’ve ever met,” Louis said. “I don’t even know
where you’re from. Where are you from?”

“Nowhere special,” Dicey said.

“You don’t trust me.” Louis’ voice hovered in the darkness. He waited for an answer.

“Don’t tease him, Lou.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Dicey said. “It’s what you said, kids have no rights. So we
have to be extra careful.”

“Why don’t kids have any rights?” James asked.

“Because parents own them,” Louis answered quickly. “Your parents can beat you, steal
your money, decide not to take you to a doctor—anything they want.”

“There’s a law I have to go to school,” James said. “That’s a right, isn’t it?”

“If you look at it that way.”

“They couldn’t kill me,” James continued. “That would be murder.”

“If it could be proved.”

James thought about this. “Then the only person who will look out for me is myself.”

“You got it. And you better learn how to do that, learn quick and learn good. Look
out for yourself and let the rest go hang—because
they’re out to hang you, you can be sure of it.”

“What about love?” Edie asked.

“You tell us all about it, tell us all about your old man; and then talk about love,”
Louis said. “Danny here knows what’s what—he doesn’t trust anyone.”

“What do you two do when you’re not camping here?” Dicey asked them.

She saw the two heads turn toward one another, and the look they exchanged.

“I can’t remember,” Edie said, in a soft voice. “Nothing before now seems real to
me anymore. Nothing before is worth remembering.”

“So I guess you’d say we didn’t do anything. And now we do something—we pluck the
lotus. Right, honey?”

Then they got up to leave. Edie said she’d come by tomorrow and bring James some soup.
“That sounds good,” James said. The two young people stole silently away. Dicey was
listening, but she couldn’t hear their footsteps. For a little while she wondered
if they were hanging around, to overhear something.

The next morning, Sunday morning, dawned warm. Morning spread a haze of golden heat
over the trees and boulders. James said it wasn’t a good day for him to travel, it
was too hot, it was too far, he just wasn’t feeling right. So Dicey took her family
across the top of the highland to the long beach. She guessed, correctly as it turned
out, that that beach would be a favorite spot, that it would be crowded on this hot
Sunday. She planned for the Tillermans to lose themselves among the mob of people
there. James protested, saying he wanted to wait for Edie, but Dicey told him he had
to come with them. The sun would give him a headache, he said. She said she thought
he could stand that. “How much longer are we going to have to wait, anyway?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. I told you, I’ll say when I feel okay again,” James said. “It’s not
my fault I’m sick.”

Dicey didn’t answer.

The long beach was a flat crescent that marked the edge of a shallow cove. Children
straddled the water’s edge and a few bolder ones were actually swimming. Towels crowded
the sand, like bright pieces of confetti. On the towels lay people in bathing suits,
surrounded by picnic baskets, paper bags, canvas totes, blaring radios and coolers
full of ice and drinks.

The Tillermans walked about, unnoticed, and later returned to their camp for a quick
lunch of ham sandwiches and potato chips, which finished off the food in Sammy’s bag.
Then they went back to the long beach. Dicey was glad not to meet Louis and Edie.

Later in the afternoon, when the beach began to empty, Dicey looked around, to gather
James and Maybeth and Sammy together. They could leave tomorrow: she had watched James
and she was pretty sure he was fine. Sammy was nowhere to be seen. Neither James nor
Maybeth had spoken with him, not for a long time.

Dicey looked out over the low sandbars, not yet covered by the incoming tide. She
knew she didn’t have to worry about Sammy having drowned. She decided to wait a few
minutes. He might, after all, just have slipped away to the woods to pee.

Sure enough, within ten minutes, she saw his sturdy body trudging down the path from
the highlands. They went to meet him. As they walked along the cliff that fronted
the Sound, Dicey asked him where he’d been. Sammy turned his head to look behind them,
and then announced with swelling pride, “I got us another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another food bag. It was all the leftovers a family couldn’t finish. I watched them
eat, then pack up the bag. Then they all
went down to rinse off sand in the water, and I grabbed the bag, and I ran. It’s at
the camp.”

“Good job, Sammy,” James said.

“No it isn’t,” Dicey said. She knelt down in front of him. “And Sammy knows that,”
she said, looking straight in his eyes. His mouth grew stubborn and he would not look
at her. “Stealing isn’t right,” Dicey said.

“Not even if you’re hungry?” Sammy argued.

“You’re not hungry, not really hungry,” Dicey said. “We never stole things. Tillermans
don’t have to steal.”

“Well, maybe we should,” James interrupted. “It’s like a war, isn’t it? Us against
everyone so we can get to Bridgeport. Otherwise, you’d have asked a policeman for
help right away, when there was one hanging around our car. Remember?” Dicey remembered.
“So if it’s like that, what’s wrong with Sammy taking somebody’s leftovers?”

“And more too,” Sammy grinned up at James. “There’s money. A wallet.”

“Oh no.” Dicey groaned. “Sammy, you can’t take a wallet the way you can food. You
just can’t get away with that. We have to take it back.”

“No!” Sammy cried.

“Yes,” Dicey said firmly. “And on the double. I’m right, aren’t I, James?”

Even James agreed.

Dicey sent James and Maybeth on to gather mussels and clams and firewood. She hurried
Sammy back to the camp, and he showed her where he’d hidden the stolen bag. “But they’re
gone home,” he protested. “Their towel was gone when I came back.”

Worse and worse. Dicey thought hard and fast. She took the wallet out of the bag—it
was a man’s wallet, brown leather—and
grabbing Sammy by the hand, ran back to the long beach. She wanted to make him give
it back himself and apologize. But she couldn’t, not at the risk.

The long beach was empty under shadows that fell from the cliff out toward the water.
But Dicey heard voices coming from somewhere. She stood halfway down the steep hill
and made Sammy point to where he had found the bag. She lifted her arm and hurled
the wallet at that spot. She didn’t wait to see where it landed, but turned and ran
back laboriously, uphill. She didn’t wait for Sammy.

Safe again under cover of the trees, Sammy spoke sullenly, “It had almost twenty dollars
in it.”

Dicey didn’t answer. She couldn’t think of what to say. Finally she said, “You have
got to do what I tell you. What
I
tell you, not anybody else.”

Sammy nodded as if he understood.

They had a fire on the beach that evening and steamed mussels so hot and chewy they
burned their tongues on the tawny meat. The smell of damp seaweed, richer than the
smell of wet wood, rose with the smoke from the fire and lingered over their faces.
They were salty after the day at the water. They were together. The light dimmed,
melting into early twilight. Stars became visible, pinpricks of light on the silken
sky. If they hadn’t known better, they would have thought that when the fire died
out and the moon shone bright in the sky, they could turn and trudge slowly up over
familiar dunes to their own home. Where Momma would look up absentmindedly to greet
them and ask if they had a good day.