Me & Jack (14 page)

chapter 32

E
xcept it did.

Mark came over that night. Dad invited him to stay for supper, but he stayed a lot longer than that. Normally, I didn't mind when Mark stopped by—he joked around with me and played with Jack—but his being here tonight threw off my schedule. I wanted Dad to be in bed while I set about baiting the coyote.

Instead, we had pizza delivered and knocked back a few root beers.

“Old enough to fight, not old enough to drink,” Mark said, raising his bottle to Dad; then he finished it off.

Dad chuckled.

“Well,” I said. I smacked the couch cushions and stood. Mark was done. This night was over. But no, they just sat there and looked at me. I walked over to the front door and leaned on it.

“Joshua?” Dad tilted his head at me.

Peeling myself off the door, I strode between them to the kitchen. It was almost ten. “Is he ever going to leave?” I asked Jack. He followed me back into the living room, where I scooped up his rope toy and sat on the arm of the couch.

Blah, blah, blah. They kept talking. I thought about when Dad and I drove to Harveys Lake and that lady baited Jack with a ham sandwich. How much more would a hungry coyote go for chicken drumsticks?

“Joshua!” Dad leaned over and jerked the hem of my shirt. “Sit down. You're making me nervous. Either throw that thing or quit fiddling with it.”

I'd been slapping Jack's toy against my other palm. Jack stood at the ready. Unlike me, he was very patient. I tossed it for him and slumped down onto the couch.

Dad asked Mark, “Did you look over those papers I gave you?”

“Yep.”

“What papers?” I asked. “You're not reenlisting, are you?” I'd heard about guys going back.

“No.” Mark gave his head a quick shake. Then a grin took over his face and he said, “I'm going to college.”

“I've been talking to Mark about using his GI benefits. He's thinking about Penn State.”

Everyone talked about Penn State. “But that's not even close to here,” I said.

Mark shrugged. He didn't know what I was talking about.

“You just got back. Don't you want to stick around for a while?” If I was from somewhere, I'd be glad to be back. You wouldn't see me taking off right away.

“It's only two hours away,” he said. Then to Dad, “I can come back whenever my laundry pile gets too high.”

They laughed.

“Yes, sir, I like that idea a lot. So does my old man.”

I said, “I thought your dad wanted you to deliver bread like him.”

Mark tapped his hand against the armrest. “Yeah, but then your dad here talked to him. Convinced him that going to college would get me a lot further than a bread truck ever could.”

“That's right,” Dad said.

Mark grinned. “But when you told him the service would
pay
for college, that sealed the deal.”

I remembered what Mark had said about wanting to make a difference. “What are you going to study?”

“I don't know yet.”

“That's okay,” Dad said. “You'll figure it out. You've got your whole life in front of you now.”

“Yep,” Mark said, his face turning serious.

It felt like he was going to spend his whole life
here
tonight. I rubbed the tops of my legs and patted out a rhythm. I sent mental messages to Mark:
Time to go home; time to go home. Go home so Dad will go to bed and I can bait the trash can.

They were still talking when I got up and wandered into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I saw Millie's chicken in a big container, just waiting for me. First, I'd—

“What're you poking around in there for?” Dad yelled from the living room. “There's more pizza out here.”

I rolled my head upward and shut the fridge door.

Oh, man! Back in the living room, I saw they'd started on the second pizza.

“Jack needs to go outside,” I muttered. Jack's ears pricked at the word “outside.” He sprang and darted around me, almost blocking my way to the back door.

“Don't go too far,” Dad said. “It's late.”

I reached for Jack's leash and hooked it onto his collar. “Yeah, it
is
late,” I said, then Jack and I slipped out the door.

The night air chilled the backs of my arms. Tiny emissions of light sparked against the darkness, fireflies threading their way through the trees. Except for Jack's excited snuffling, it was dead quiet out here. He tugged toward the woods, but there was no way I was heading up the mountain in this blackness. I pulled him away, and we jogged down the hill.

The coyote had struck this morning. I wondered where it was now. Maybe it watched me from deep within the woods.
No
, I thought,
Jack would know. Jack would smell him.
Still, a shiver zipped through my spine. I felt like a soldier in the bush.

After we reached Mrs. Puchalski's house, we turned around for home. Mark's car was still in the driveway. Once inside, I unhooked Jack and he rambled into the living room to greet them. I sighed heavily as I hung up Jack's leash.

“I'm going upstairs,” I said, skulking through the living room.

Dad looked up. “All right, kiddo.” Talk about oblivious.

“See you later,” Mark said.

I shut my door on them.

chapter 33

I
t had been nearly a week since I came up with my plan, but every single night got messed up. Twice, I fell asleep before Dad did. Once, I set the alarm, but that set Jack off and Dad woke up.

Mark was becoming a regular visitor. I wandered into the living room after supper one night when Dad had to take a phone call, leaving me alone with Mark.

“Hey, little man. What've you been up to?” Mark stretched his legs out.

“You're kind of here a lot.” Oh, man. I couldn't believe I said that. I watched his face for insult, but he nodded.

“My dad told me the same thing.”

I sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Why
are
you here so much?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Remember when you first moved here and you felt like everyone hated you?”

“Yeah …”

“And even though you'd seen some stuff, you couldn't get anyone to understand you?”

“Yeah …”

“Well”—he glanced off to the side—“that's how I feel.”

“But you're
from
here!” I erupted.

He shook his head. “Not anymore. I just … Everyone expects me to be the same as I was before. I'm not.” He drew his eyebrows together. “I mean, I'm still me, but I've got this whole other thing now, you know? And nobody wants me to have it.”

I didn't know what to say.

“Except your dad. He knows.”

And then I realized there are some bonds that are sacred. Like the bonds between soldiers. Between families. Between Jack and me.

Bonds that cannot be broken.

Only I could protect Jack. It came down to me. He was more loyal than any friend I'd ever had, and he trusted me. Prater, that policeman, even Dad—they were against Jack. But he was innocent and I knew it. I would capture that coyote on film and deliver the true enemy.

Waiting out Dad that night was hard. I tried to read, but my head kept dropping with sleep. Jack slept at my feet; he had no hint of the mission that lay before me.

At midnight, I slunk out of bed, careful not to disturb Jack. I crept into the hallway and padded my way through the dark, quiet house to the kitchen. When I threw open the refrigerator door, there was the chicken, wrapped up in aluminum foil. I took it out and went through the back door, closing it gently.

The midnight air was cool, and a chill shuddered right through me. I crept around the house to the trash cans. Earlier, I'd positioned them for the perfect camera angle. Now it was time to load the bait. I unwrapped the chicken, and the delicious smell of garlic and spices rose up. My stomach gnawed at me—I'd pretended I wasn't hungry at supper because I wanted to leave as much chicken as possible for the trap.

I broke off a drumstick and smeared the inside of both trash cans and lids with it, making sure they got good and greasy. Then I broke the meat apart and put some in both cans and left the lids teetering on the rims. Yeah, when those fell down there would be plenty of noise. I looked up to my window. Perfect.

I slipped back inside, washed up, and slid into bed with no one the wiser.

chapter 34

J
ack and I ran down a grassy hill, kicking up dandelions as we ran. Fuzzy white bits floated and drifted in the breeze and I laughed. Suddenly Mrs. Puchalski ran down the hill banging her pot lids. Jack turned and barked ferociously at her.

I woke up. Jack was really barking and I heard the clatter of trash cans. My heart almost leaped through my chest. I tore to the window just in time to see two furry creatures feasting on the chicken. Raccoons.

I threw the window open. “Hey!” I yelled. Jack stood with his front paws on the windowsill, barking excitedly. The raccoons looked up at us; they held our gaze for a moment as if deciding how bad the threat was. Then they took off.

My bedroom light blinked on. “What's going on in here?” Dad asked. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were half-shut.

“Aw, just some raccoons raiding the trash cans.” I shook my head and tried to act annoyed. “We scared them away.”

Dad walked over to me and patted my shoulder. “Scared me, too.” He glanced out the window, then pulled it shut. “You hop back in bed now. See you in the morning,” he said, snapping off my light as he left.

I felt bad as I listened to him walk back to his room. I'd sort of lied to him and it made me feel guilty. He trusted me; I was planning to betray his trust. And yet I had to. For Jack.

I gave Dad a few minutes to fall asleep, then got out of bed to reset the trap. Jack dropped softly to the floor, and his nails clicked on the wood as he followed me.

“No, Jack,” I whispered and crouched beside him. “Stay here. I have to go by myself.”

I got up, turned away, and heard him clicking after me.

“Jack—” It was useless. Excitement colored his eyes. His ears blushed and stood erect. Something was up and he knew it.

“Okay,” I said. “But you have to be quiet.”

We slipped through the house like shadows and made our way to the refrigerator. I looked at that ham. Through the plastic, I could see the pineapple rings crisped with brown sugar. Cloves decorated the crisscrosses Millie had sliced across the meat. I licked my lips. Dad would kill me.

The chicken was already gone—that would take some explaining. But I didn't think I'd be able to explain the disappearance of the ham
and
the chicken. I shifted around the cheese and found some bacon and bologna.

I closed the fridge. Jack sniffed the air, raising himself for a moment on his hind legs. He licked his chops.

He followed me to the back door. “No, no, Jack.” I couldn't bait the trap and hold him at the same time.

I backed up to the door and twisted the lock and the handle. Cool air breezed through the crack. With my back against the door, I pulled out a few pieces of bologna and threw them deep into the kitchen.

“There you go!” I said. He went after it like a chowhound, and I slid through the door and pulled it shut.

The trash cans lay on their sides. I looked at the chicken left behind by the raccoons. It wasn't much but, together with the lunch meat, it might be enough to draw a coyote.

The bacon was raw and greasy. I smeared it all over the outside of both trash cans and then the insides before throwing it in with the bologna. The garlic aroma of the chicken wafted up, mixing with the bacon and bologna, and altogether it smelled like a trashy deli. A smell that—I hoped—would be irresistible to coyotes.

Jack greeted me at the door, inspecting my hands. He licked the grease and trotted away. I washed my hands.

The trap was set. We went back to my room and waited.

chapter 35

M
y light was out and I lay in bed with Jack beside me. My senses were on high alert. Blood surged through my body and my muscles tensed, ready to spring at a moment's notice. My eyes could make out every detail of my darkened room, and I could clearly see the picture of me and Jack on my nightstand. My ears picked up sounds beyond Jack's light breathing: the occasional groan of the house as the wind shifted, the rattle of the living room screen downstairs, and the hum of the refrigerator.

I fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

Suddenly I was awake, heart hammering, Jack barking and jumping. The metallic clang of trash cans resounded from the driveway. I flew to the window and looked down.

Coyote.

His fur was dark and thick, and his tail was a bushy bottle brush drooping behind him. He was about the same size as Jack but heavier. He tore at the chicken.

My legs weakened even as a jittery energy raced through my veins.

“Dad!” I fumbled with the camera. The first shot didn't go off. “Dad!” Jack thrashed at the window and barked violently.

The second shot fired off and the coyote jerked his head up. He froze for a moment and I saw his yellow eyes piercing through the darkness. In that liquid yellow gaze, I saw all that he had done, all that Jack was being blamed for.

I bolted from my room with Jack at my heels. We rushed past Dad, who was just now coming out of his room, still numb from sleep.

“What?” he mumbled. “What are you—”

“Coyote!” I yelled from the stairs. I raced to the back door and flung it open just in time to see the coyote cut through the woods. Jack bounded over the steps and charged after it.

“Jack!” I shouted. The anger I felt toward the coyote now turned into dread for Jack. I tore barefoot through the woods after him.

I followed the sound of breaking branches and the drumming of Jack's footsteps. We headed in the direction of Prater's but at a sharply lower angle, taking us to one of the streets that ran parallel to ours behind the woods.

Jack sailed over a chain-link fence. Barking and high-pitched yipping erupted. I ran up to the fence and climbed over into the yard, my eyes scouring the dark lawn. No coyote. Just a little white dog on a back porch yipping at Jack and trembling. Jack ran along the fence, agitated and confused. He growled and whined and shook off my hand when I tried to calm him.

A porch light snapped on and flooded the backyard. My eyes darted to every corner—no coyote. I heard the door being unlocked, and a gray-haired man with a white T-shirt and a big belly yelled from behind his screen door.

“Who's there?” His voice was deep and gravelly.

“Um … I am.” My voice quavered. “Joshua Reed.”

“Who?” The man pushed open his screen door and squinted at me.

“I—my dog—” I stammered. “He was chasing a—”

“Raccoon,” Dad said. He jogged up to the fence, but by his breathing I could tell he'd been running at breakneck speed.

I shook my head at Dad. “Not a raccoon—”

“Joshua, grab Jack.” Dad turned to the old man. “Raccoons have been dumping our trash cans. The dog had to go to the bathroom and took off after one.”

The old man scowled. “Need to control your dog better.”

“Yes, sir,” Dad said. “I'm sorry about the disturbance.”

The old man frowned, scooped up his dog, and disappeared back into his house, turning the light off.

I grabbed Jack's collar and led him out through the gate.

Dad gripped my arm as we came out. “More trouble? After our last talk?” he growled. “Did you think I was joking?”

I spun and faced him. “I got his picture!”

“What?” Dad snapped, confused.

“I took a picture of the coyote. Now you'll see.” I had to walk bent over since I didn't have Jack's leash and I couldn't let go of his collar. “He was in our trash cans—I set a trap—didn't you hear it? Didn't you hear Jack barking? I kept calling you.”

Dad glowered at me. “I didn't hear anything.”

“Wait till you see the picture. Wait till everyone sees it.” Jack would be proven innocent and everyone would be sorry.

When we got home, I rushed upstairs to get the picture. There it sat on the windowsill, the evidence of Jack's innocence. As I walked to the window, I heard Dad come into the room behind me.

I picked up the picture and stared at it. My insides crashed. It was a perfect picture—a perfect picture of the window frame and screen, nothing but darkness behind it.

“I knew it!” Dad thundered over my shoulder. He ripped the picture out of my hand and spoke to me through clenched teeth. “Nothing! Just your wild stories.”

“But, Dad—”

“I've had enough,” he said hoarsely, flinging the picture to the floor. “Go to bed.” His face hardened. “No more sneaking around.”

My eyes widened in protest. “I wasn't—”

“Enough.” He slammed my door shut behind him.