On the Road to Mr. Mineo's (7 page)

He owned a bait shop and earned enough money to buy groceries and pay the light bill and put gas in his pickup truck.

He had a very fat dog he loved and who loved him back.

And he had a weathered blue shed full of homing pigeons.

But now a little glimmer of sadness was starting to buzz around him like a pesky fly.

“I don't know, Ernie,” he said. “I've just got a bad feeling about Sherman.”

Ernie cocked his head and wagged his stubby tail.

“He's a rapscallion, no doubt about it.” Mr. Mineo tossed a pork rind onto the gravel parking lot.

“I don't know…”

Toss.

“He's never been gone this long.”

Mr. Mineo had put six
X
s on the calendar on the wall in the bait shop. Sherman had been gone for six days.

Toss.

“Maybe he's scared of Amy.”

Toss.

“Which he oughtta be. I know she's red-hot mad at him.”

Toss.

“Which she oughtta be.”

Toss.

“All them others fly off over the lake and then come back like they're supposed to, but not that dern fool Sherman.” Mr. Mineo glanced up at the sky. “Heck, he's liable to be anywhere.”

Toss.

Ernie gobbled the pork rind before it even hit the gravel and smacked and crunched and slobbered.

The two of them went on like that the rest of the afternoon.

Mr. Mineo tossing pork rinds and musing out loud about Sherman. Ernie being a good listener and gobbling up the pork rinds.

When Mr. Mineo tossed the last one, he stood up with a loud, heavy sigh. “Let's go let them birds out again,” he said. “Maybe they can find Sherman.”

So he locked the bait shop, climbed into the truck, and headed for home with Ernie sitting contentedly beside him.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

Evening Settles In

As the sun sank lower in the summer sky, the streetlights along the sidewalks of Main Street flickered on.

Over on Waxhaw Lane, Stella and Gerald put the cards in the shed at the back of the garage roof.

Stella studied the branches of the oak tree overhead, hoping the pigeon would be there.

But he wasn't.

Gerald tried to make the knot of worry in his stomach go away. How much longer was Levi going to call him Wormy?

Levi and C.J. and Jiggs carried their skateboards under their arms and headed for home. Levi was determined that tomorrow he would find that pigeon.

Mutt Raynard wiped his greasy hands on his shorts and put the lawn mower in the garage. As he headed back to the house, his cousins hopped on one leg and flapped their arms. He chased them home, grabbing at the backs of their shirts and pulling their hair and making two of them cry.

In the rusty trailer out by the lake, Mr. Mineo sat in his old plaid lounge chair in the dark with Ernie at his feet. He had let the pigeons out after dinner, and they had flown across the lake and then they had come back.

Edna

Frankie

Martha

Samson

Leslie

Taylor

Amy

Joe

Christopher

and
Martin

But not Sherman.

On the edge of a secluded cove of the lake, Luther and Edsel packed up their fishing gear and stretched and yawned. It hadn't been a very good day for fishing. As Luther snapped the lid shut on the tackle box and Edsel folded up the lawn chairs, a one-legged pigeon hopped out of the back of the white delivery van and flew off over the trees.

And a little brown dog trotted along the road to Mr. Mineo's.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Little Brown Dog

Amos was always grumpy when he woke up from his morning nap.

Ethel could see him out in the yard, muttering.

Every now and then, he threw his arms skyward and hollered, “Why me?”

Or glared at the ground and grumbled something Ethel couldn't make out.

She poured a tall glass of sweet tea and went out to the backyard. “Here,” she said, thrusting the glass toward Amos.

He took the glass and didn't even say thank you.

Ethel had to try very hard not to snap
You're welcome!
She didn't want to make Amos any grumpier. Sometimes when Amos was really grumpy, he went out to his workshop in the corner of the barn to putter. He fixed drawers that were stuck or put a new nozzle on the garden hose or started making a birdhouse that he would never finish.

And if he went to his workshop in the corner of the barn, he might see the pie tin full of food that Ethel had put there for the little brown dog. If that happened, she and Amos would argue.

Why was she encouraging that mangy mongrel to stick around? he would ask.

If that fleabag kept him up one more night, he was going to call the dogcatcher, he would warn.

And if that one-legged pigeon showed up again, they would be having pigeon stew for dinner, he would threaten.

Usually, Ethel liked a good argument. But today she just wasn't in the mood. It was too hot and her gout was bothering her again. She was going to ask Amos to come inside and help her shuck corn, but before she could get a word out, he went on a tirade about moles in the garden.

“They're tunneling right through the tomato plants,” he griped.

“Why can't they go somewhere else?” he grumbled.

“And what about that dern dog of yours?” he said.

“What do you mean?” Ethel said.

“I mean, if that flea-infested mongrel is going to come snooping around here every night, why can't he at least keep moles out of the garden?”

Ethel jammed her fists into her waist. “Amos Roper,” she said, “stop picking on a poor little ole dog that hasn't even got a home. If you spent half the time you spend complaining, doing something useful instead, like fixing that kitchen drain, you could…”

And so it went.

Amos and Ethel argued for the rest of the morning.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Harvey

“There he is!” Gerald jumped up, pointing into the branches overhead. The trash can turned over and cards scattered across the roof of the garage. Some of them fluttered down into the shrubbery below.

“Dang it, Gerald,” Stella whispered. “Be quiet. You're gonna scare him away.”

She peered up into the branches. Sure enough, there was the pigeon. “Don't move,” she mouthed silently to Gerald.

Stella held her breath. The pigeon blinked down at her and cocked his head.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Stella begged silently.

Please fly down here.

She sent her thoughts up through the branches.

And then …

… miracle of miracles.

The pigeon flew down out of the tree and landed on top of the shed at the back of the garage roof.

Stella looked at Gerald. His mouth was open, his eyes wide.

She put her finger to her lips. “Shhhhh.” She tiptoed toward the shed.

One foot in front of the other.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Slowly.

When she got closer, she stopped. Her arms hung limply at her sides.

She took a breath in.

She let a breath out.

Her heart was pounding in her ears.

The pigeon hopped around on the tin roof.

Tap

Tap

Tap

Stella held her finger up toward the pigeon.

And he hopped right on!

Stella's insides swirled with excitement. She looked back at Gerald, grinning. “He likes me,” she whispered.

The pigeon's one claw clung to her finger. She stroked his soft gray feathers. He pecked at her. A gentle peck. Like a pigeon kiss.

She held him gently with both hands and walked carefully back to the lawn chairs. She sat down and cradled the pigeon in her lap. He made a soft, warbley, cooing sound.

Stella could hardly believe her good luck. She had found the pigeon before Levi had!

She began to imagine all the things she would do with him.

She would make him a comfy little cage on top of the shed on the garage roof.

She would feed him popcorn and birdseed from a Dixie cup.

She would let him fly around over Meadville every day, and then he would come back and land on her shoulder and keep her company.

At night, he would sleep in a cozy little bed that she would make out of one of her father's old flannel shirts.

“His name is Harvey,” she told Gerald.

Harvey was the name Stella had picked out for the dog she had wanted for so long. Harvey was a good name for a dog, she thought. And now it was a good name for a pigeon.

Stella and Gerald spent the rest of the day playing with Harvey.

They drew a pigeon town on the garage roof with colored chalk. They drew houses and watched Harvey hop from house to house.

They added roads with stop signs and a lake with boats. They drew a church and a birdseed store and a Chinese takeout restaurant.

They sang “Home on the Range,” and Harvey hopped around the pigeon town like he was dancing.

They tried to teach him to carry a card and put it into a coffee can, but he never quite got the hang of it.

It was the most fun Stella had had all summer.

It might have been the most fun Stella had had in her whole life.

And then, while Harvey was hop, hop, hopping from the chalk lake to the chalk church, someone called out from the street below:

“Yoo-hoo! Wormy!”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Mr. and Mrs. Wormy

Levi!

Gerald clutched his stomach.

His heart felt like it was going to bust right through his T-shirt.

“Dang,” Stella said. “He better not come up here.” She tiptoed to the edge of the roof and peered out toward the road.

“Do you see him?” Gerald asked.

Stella motioned for him to be quiet.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wormy!” Levi called from the sidewalk out front.

Gerald watched Harvey hopping to the chalk birdseed store, where Stella had put some crumbled saltine crackers. His knees felt trembly. He sat on the hot tar roof of the garage, in the middle of the chalk lake, and wished he hadn't eaten so much cereal that morning.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wormy!” Levi's singsong voice was closer now.

“Let's put Harvey in the shed,” Stella whispered.

Gerald nodded.

Stella scooped the pigeon up and placed him gently inside the shed. Just as she was shutting the door, Levi's head appeared at the edge of the roof.

Gerald tried his best to look like someone who didn't care about Levi.

“You're not supposed to be up here!” Stella hollered, racing over to the ladder.

“I'm not
on
the roof, Mrs. Wormy.”

Stella stomped on Levi's fingers and he grabbed at her leg, but she jumped back just in time.

Gerald sometimes enjoyed it when Stella and Levi hit and kicked at each other like that. He admired the way Stella never cried and how she thought of so many ways to fight.

Levi glared over at Gerald, his eyes scanning the chalk pigeon town. “Hey,” he said. “What's that?”

Gerald wished he could go over there and stomp on Levi's fingers like Stella had. He wished he could call Levi names and push and shove him and not care one little bit if Levi called him Wormy.

But he couldn't.

All he could do was sit there forlornly and wish his mother would come out and make Levi go home.

“What's that?” Levi asked again, pointing at the chalk houses and roads and church and lake.

“None of your business,” Stella said.

“Have y'all got that pigeon?” Levi glanced around the garage roof.

Gerald felt his face turn red. He kept his eyes on the pigeon lake and his mouth shut tight. He could
not
lie. He had tried many times but just never could manage to do it.

He would
think
a lie.

He would open his mouth to
say
a lie.

But he never could actually
do
it.

He always told the truth, even when he didn't want to.

He sat silently now, waiting for Stella to say something. She jammed her fists into her waist, stomped her foot, and hollered at Levi, “Go away!”

“Okay, Mrs. Wormy,” Levi said. “But if I catch that pigeon, he's
mine
.”

Levi disappeared down the ladder. When Gerald heard his sneakers crunching on the gravel driveway and then slapping on the sidewalk as he ran up Waxhaw Lane, he stood up and brushed blue chalk from the seat of his shorts.

“Why didn't you just tell him the truth?” he said.

Stella rolled her eyes. “'Cause I know Levi,” she said. “He'll be sneaking around here with his nasty ole friends.” She glanced back at the shed. “I have an idea.”

Gerald felt a groan rise up from inside his worried stomach.

“We'll build a cage for Harvey on top of the shed,” Stella said. “Then Levi and them can see plain as day that Harvey belongs to me.
And
,” she added, “they can't come up here and take him.”

A whole slew of thoughts swirled around in Gerald's head.

How were they going to build a cage?

What would they feed the pigeon?

If they let him out of the cage, would he fly away?

If he flew away, would he come back?

What if Levi caught him?

On and on and on went Gerald's thoughts.

Meanwhile, Stella had gone back to the shed to get Harvey. But when she opened the door, the one-legged pigeon hopped out and flew away.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR