Me & Jack (10 page)

chapter 18

I
burrowed in the foxhole. Lying down, I couldn't see out and I hoped that meant no one could see in. “Well?” I asked Ray.

I heard his footsteps circle the fort and stop. “It's solid,” he said. “I can't see in at all.”

We'd worked on the fort almost every day and now we were finished. It was important that the fort blend in with the woods; we didn't want anyone discovering it. After digging out a burrow, we'd stuck big branches upright into the corners to serve as posts. We used Dad's tools to saw branches off trees and nail together parts of the walls. The gaps we filled with bushes and vines, weaving the brambles in good and tight and overlaying them with loose twigs and pine needles.

I climbed out of the fort so I could admire it again. From the outside, you could barely tell there was a fort there—it just looked like a patch in the woods. A covered trapdoor was the only way in. A pioneer couldn't have done better.

“This is going to be so cool,” I said. I had plans for the fort. Ray and I would be the chiefs of a secret club with secret meetings. We'd induct frightened new members in the glow of our campfire. I inspected the fort thoughtfully. We'd need to build a chimney.

For now, we were going to play cards. Just as I lifted the trapdoor, Jack huffed and I heard a twig break. I snapped my head around and there was Prater, standing just a few feet behind us. The big, bad wolf. I faced him and dropped the trapdoor behind me.

He jerked his chin toward our fort. “What's that supposed to be?”

“Nothing,” I said, but at the same time Ray answered as well.

“It's our fort.”

I heaved my shoulders and blew out a big breath. “Ray!”

“What?” His face was innocent and relaxed. He really had no idea.

I moved quickly away from the fort to the blueberry bushes. I didn't want Prater looking at it. He might think he could be a member, too. “It's nothing. Just an idea we had. The real fort is going to be on top of the mountain. If we even build one.”

Ray looked confused. I flashed my eyebrows at him and hoped he got my message.

“What's this, then?” Prater said. He stepped closer to the fort and pushed on the walls. Some of the pine needles tumbled down.

“Don't do that!” I snapped.

“I thought you said it wasn't anything,” he said, his eyes narrowing. He pushed on it again.

I stepped closer to him. “It's not. Just leave it alone anyway.”

“Yeah, Alan,” Ray said. “Don't crush the walls; you'll ruin the fort.”

“Ray!” I stared at him with my mouth open. What good was a camouflaged fort if he went around telling people about it—especially Prater.

“This is a fort?” Prater smirked. “It looks like a bunch of sticks first graders put together.”

“Do you have to make fun of everything?” Ray said. “Besides, look how good it is.” And before I could stop him, he opened the trapdoor and led Prater inside. Prater lumbered in like a bear for hibernation. I untied Jack and brought him into the fort with us, too.

We had to sit on the ground once we were inside. Ray and I did, anyway. Prater crouched as if ready to spring up if needed. I noticed his earlobe—it was misshapen.
From the dog attack.
I started to feel bad for Prater, but then he turned and made a sour face at me. “Do you have to bring that dog everywhere? I hope he doesn't pee in here.”

My face heated up. “I hope
you
don't pee in here.”

Prater rolled his eyes and curled his lip. He looked around the fort and gaped at the ceiling. “So what do you even do in here?”

Like I would really tell him. The deck of cards was in my back pocket. I shrugged my shoulders. “Lots of things.”

“It's going to be a secret club,” Ray said.

“Ray!” He was telling Prater everything.

“Yeah, right,” Prater said. “A secret club. I saw it as soon as I came in the woods, so that's how secret your stupid fort is.”

Ray looked irritated. “It's not stupid.”

“If it's so stupid, why don't you just leave?” I said.

Prater leaned forward. “I didn't come to see you anyway.” Then he turned to Ray. “I went to your house to see if you wanted to play basketball but your mom said you were here.” He sneered at me. “It was easy to find you and your dumb fort, if you want to call it that. Just a bunch of sticks in a hole. How boring.”

Ray started to say something, but I moved in quickly. “At least we did it ourselves. We didn't let Mommy and Daddy make us a little playhouse so we could play in it.”

Prater frowned. “You better stop it.”

“You better stop it,” I said in a perfect imitation.

He glared at me. I stared back evenly. The worst he could do was punch me. I realized I'd rather get punched than back down from him. Finally, he shook his head and then looked at Ray. “If you want to come over later, don't bring him.”

“Don't worry about it, I've got better things to do anyway,” I said before Ray could even answer.

Prater slammed the trapdoor open and stormed out. “Air force brat!” he called out from the edge of the woods.

“Mama's boy!” I yelled from the trapdoor.

When I slipped back down in the fort, Ray had a strange look on his face. “What's wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You and Alan.”

My expression dropped. “What do you mean?”

“You guys make me feel like I have to pick one of you.”

He was right, of course.

chapter 19

D
ad was late coming home from work one night. I'd already eaten, scraping most of my supper into Jack's bowl. It was some kind of rice-and-corn tomato casserole that made me feel like puking. Jack seemed to love it.

Jack and I sat on the front porch steps as it grew dark. Usually when Dad was late, he called. The sky swirled with pink and purple, and the trees were stark black against it. I couldn't see through to the fort.

Crickets and frogs twanged their rubber band melody, and every now and then a lone bird called out. It was real peaceful. I slouched on the steps and closed my eyes. These were the sounds that used to lull Indians to sleep.

Suddenly, Jack yipped. I snapped to attention.

“What?” I didn't see anything, but I sure didn't want Prater to take me by surprise again. “What is it, Jack?”

Then I heard it, a faint howl lifting to the moon, followed by another. Prickles rushed over my head and the back of my neck. I held on to Jack, who had become rigid.

“That didn't sound like a dog,” I said. One look at Jack's face told me he agreed. Even in the evening light, I could see the blush seeping into his ears and eyes. His body tensed, ready for action. He stood and curved his skinny tail over his back.

The howl echoed from deep on the mountain once again. Jack leaped against my arms, but I held him tight. Shifting and prancing, he struggled against me, huffing in frustration.

“No, Jack!” I yelled. I grabbed his leash and he dug in with his front paws, pulling and pushing his neck in the collar, almost slipping out of it. I threw my arms around his body and he bucked me off, but not before I got ahold of his collar. He jerked hard down the stairs and we tumbled to the bottom. Before he could scramble away, I wrapped my legs and free arm around him, pinning him like a wrestler.

Then we heard it again, a howl rising out of the mountain. I froze. Even Jack was still. Seconds went by, then minutes; then all was quiet again. It didn't matter. I recognized the sound from every cowboy movie I'd ever seen. It was a coyote.

I put Jack in the house. I grabbed my tape recorder, set it on the porch, and pushed the button to record.

In a book I once read, some pioneers came across a ghost town in the desert. All the houses were still standing and even had furniture in them, but there were no people. The pioneers decided to leave their wagons and sleep in the empty beds of the empty houses. By morning, coyotes had eaten all of them and they were now just skeletons lying in beds.

I was still waiting on the front porch when Dad pulled into the driveway. I sprang up and ran down the driveway to the car, ready to burst with news of the coyote.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said as he stepped out of the car. His uniform looked rumpled, like it had been a long day.

The car shone under the porch light. I tried to brush away some dirt clods from the back end, but then I realized they were dings. The whole quarter panel was pocked. “What happened to the car?” I asked. It looked like it had been through a meteor shower.

Dad's smile faded into his tired face. “Well.” He sighed and shook his head.

I waited for him to finish.

Dad wiped his face with his hand and let his shoulders drop. “Some people threw rocks at it.”

“What?”

Dad sighed again and fingered one of the dings as if to smooth it out. “I stopped by a job fair today. Some protesters were there.” He smiled at me, but it was that kind of upside-down smile people use to show you they're not upset about something they really are upset about. “People are not happy about the war.” He rubbed his eyes. “They need someone to blame.”

The air force insignia shone out from the driver's door like a target. My chest tightened. “They threw rocks at it? Did you see them?” They'd drop their rocks and protest signs if they saw my dad coming after them.

Dad looked at me. He stood there in his wrinkled air force uniform next to his bashed-up air force car. “I was driving the car when they did it.”

My eyes widened and I stared at him. My dad. How could people do that to him? He was a good man. It wasn't his fault there was a war going on—he was just doing his job.

“It's all right,” Dad said gently and cupped my head.

“No, it's not.” I shook off his hand. “They should be arrested.” How dare they do that to my dad.

“Joshua …” He nudged me gently toward the house, but I stood my ground.

“Did you stop? Did you get out of the car? What did you do?” I spat my words, I was so mad at those people.

He hung his head. “It's not like that, it—”

“You let them get away with it?”

“Joshua …” His bones seemed to melt, as if something had sucked all the marrow out. Then he turned toward the back door. “I'm going in.”

I stared after the crumpled figure of my father. What was happening to people? Why were they acting this way? It made me afraid of becoming an adult. They seemed so full of hate. I did not want to be a person like that.

Dad stopped on the back porch. “You coming?”

I thought about telling him about the coyote, about the tape recorder on the front porch, but his shoulders were sagging under the weight of his day. I didn't think I should add anything else.

“Yeah, I'm coming.” I trudged up behind him.

As I lay in bed that night, I imagined myself tracking down the people who threw rocks at my father. They said they didn't want war but then they opened fire on my dad. That sounded like war to me.

chapter 20

S
ound crackled and popped, and a high-pitched note blared from the microphone as Pastor Danny stepped up to the podium. Jack whined, and I covered my ears like everyone else. Just about the whole town turned out for the Fourth of July Family Festival.

“Happy Independence Day!” Pastor Danny said over the PA system. “Glen Myers is over there getting seconds on the ribs and I told my wife I'd better say the blessing.”

Laughter rose from the tables. “Better hurry!” said an older man standing near the buffet with a plate.

After the laughter died down, the pastor's face took on a shine. “Before we say grace, I want to deliver some good news.” He smiled off to his side and gestured with his hand. A guy, college-age, got up and stood next to him. A few days' whiskers covered his cheeks.

A shriek went up from the crowd, then everyone around us broke into applause. The guy bowed his head and pushed his hand against his eyes before looking up again.

The pastor stretched his arm across the guy's shoulders. Then he faced us. “Folks, Mark Zimmerman is home safe from Vietnam!”

Shouts and whooping filled the air. Dad stood up and clapped, and so did several other men, and finally, everyone got to their feet. The pastor joined in, then motioned for people to sit down.

He leaned up to the microphone. “Mark, we are so happy to have you home. I know I'm speaking for your family, especially your mom, when I say a day didn't pass without prayers being said for you.”

Mark shut his eyes and nodded.

“We're proud of you. We love you. And we thank you for what you did in the name of this country.” The pastor stepped aside. “You want to give us a few words?”

Mark gripped both sides of the podium. Applause and victory shouts greeted him. He turned his back and pressed his hand against his eyes again. When he faced us, head down, silence fell in the tent.

“Thank you for …” His voice crumbled. I willed my strength to him. After a few moments, he picked up his head and looked at us straight on. “Thank you for welcoming me back. Thank you for being kind to my mom and dad while I was away. I can honestly say not every guy coming back from 'Nam comes back to a picnic.” He stared at us like he was going to say something else; instead, he broke down again.

A man and a lady rushed up. The lady was crying.

“Ah, Mom.” They hugged each other, and the father wrapped his arms around both of them.

Then the soldier squared himself up. “All right, no more tears. I've got a few people to thank; I hope you're all here. Tyskos, the magazines you sent me got passed around till the pages fell out. Millie Thompson, best chocolate chip cookies ever, next to my mom's. Pastor, ladies of the church, Mom and Dad, all your letters, all your prayers …”

“We love you, Mark!”

Looking out at all the people sitting in front of him, he didn't seem to know where to go from there. He took a deep breath and glanced at the pastor.

Pastor Danny took the podium, gave the blessing, and then it was all the ribs, corn on the cob, and baked beans you could eat. Barbecue smoke drifted under the canopy, reminding you of how good it all tasted and making you want to eat more. I shared some ribs with Jack as Dad and I sat at a picnic table.

Something fluttered through the back of my hair. I swatted at it and kept eating. Again, a definite ruffle, then giggling. I reached back real quick and grabbed a little hand. “Gotcha!”

“Joshua!” CeeCee squealed. She whirled around and sat on the bench next to me.

Dad leaned backward. “Who've we got here?”

“I'm CeeCee!” She faced Dad with her pumpkin smile, swinging her legs back and forth. Then she bent under the table. “Hi, Jack!”

Jack sniffed and licked her hands. How could she be so cute and her brother be such a jerk?

“What are you up to?” I asked. And more important, “Is your brother here?”

“Yeah, he's over there.” She pointed off in some direction.

I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, Mrs. Puchalski, and a couple of kids from Sunday school. One kid waved to me and I waved back. I didn't see Prater. I put my head down when one of the mothers from the ice cream store walked by.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

She tipped her face up. “I have a dog, too.”

“What?” This was news to me. “I didn't see a dog at your house.”

She dropped her shoulders exaggeratedly like I should know better. “Not a
real
dog—a
doll
dog. He's pink. There's Missy!” She popped off the bench and disappeared.

Other people brought their dogs—real ones—but Jack didn't enjoy meeting them. He jerked himself away when they sniffed him, and he yapped at their snouts if they got too close to his face. I knew exactly how he felt.

My plate empty and my stomach full, I held my fingers under the table and Jack licked them clean. I gathered up his leash and turned to Dad. “I'm going to find Ray,” I said.

Jack and I wove through tables and clusters of people until I spotted him.

Ray smiled when he saw us and pointed at Jack. “Look at his mustache!” A ring of barbecue sauce framed Jack's lips. We laughed and sat at an empty picnic table at the edge of the pavilion.

“Prater's here,” I said. I wondered why he wasn't hanging around Ray.

“Yeah, I know.” Ray kicked at the dirt. A black spider scurried off. “He's mad at me.”

“Why?”

Ray shrugged his shoulders.

A truck hauled up and some kid and his mom got out.

“Jimmy Schwartz,” Ray said.

A couple of boys ran out to greet him and his face grew serious as he spoke to them. Whatever he said, it wasn't good, judging by the shocked expressions he received in response. His mom split off to talk with the ladies. The boys stopped by us.

Jimmy had red hair and greenish freckles. He nodded to Ray. One of the other boys elbowed Jimmy and said, “Tell him what happened.”

I leaned forward. I saw Prater coming up out of the corner of my eye. The other boys acknowledged him with a nod as he sat at the picnic table across from us. I did not look at him.

“Some kind of fox or something broke into the chicken coop and killed a whole bunch of chickens,” Jimmy said.

He stepped over the bench and sat down, hunching his shoulders as he leaned on his elbows. “When we ran outside, most of the chickens were lying around bleeding. He ate a couple of them, too.” His face screwed up. “Dad had to kill the others; they were too hurt for living.”

“Were the chickens screeching?” Ray asked. “Is that why you ran outside?”

“No, we heard the trash cans banging around and—”

“Trash cans?” Prater asked and moved to our picnic table. My heart quickened. Trouble.

“Yeah, we heard them getting knocked down or something. Then we—”

Prater pointed at me. “His dog knocks down trash cans.”

They all turned in my direction and their eyes fell to Jack, who sat beside me.

“He didn't knock down any trash cans,” I said. “Nobody actually saw him do that.”

“Yeah, and remember at the ice cream store?” Prater said, his voice getting louder. Other kids were gathering. “He killed that rabbit. We
all
saw him do that, even you,” he sneered.

My mouth went dry. Prater seemed to be enjoying this.

“I heard he chopped it right in half,” one kid said. A couple of other kids nodded.

“That's not what happened,” I said. I stood up and gripped Jack's leash.

“Jack didn't do anything wrong,” Ray said. “Even cats hunt.”

“But that's mice,” a girl said.

“Speaking of hunting,” Prater said. His eyes lit up with excitement and his mouth dropped open. Suddenly I knew what he was going to say. I stepped over the bench and backed away from the table.

“That dog is a hunter,” Prater said, then pointed at me. “He got a letter that says so. That dog is trained to bring
meat
to the table.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Jack didn't do anything.”

“Of course you'd lie for him.”

“I'm not lying.” I couldn't bear all those faces looking at me and Jack like we were criminals.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Prater yelled. “Why did you say it was a fox?”

Jimmy looked bewildered. “We saw these paw prints—”

Prater flashed me a triumphant grin.

I ducked away from the table, pulling Jack into the crowd. Ray called me, but I didn't stop. Prater was the biggest idiot on the planet. He was trying to get everyone to gang up on me and Jack; that wasn't fair. Ignoring Prater didn't work because he was
looking
for a fight. I let myself say a cussword, but only loud enough for my own ears to hear. It didn't make me feel better. The only thing that would make me feel better was getting out of here.