Wish (10 page)

I wanted to tell Howard that Scrappy said how much he misses me and he can't wait to come home and watch
Wheel of Fortune
with me again. That he was gonna cook up a fancy supper for Mama with candles on the table and Willie Nelson on the radio and maybe she'd wear that red dress he loved so much. And that when Jackie got her driver's license, he was gonna let her drive all of us out to the country to buy corn and strawberries at a farm stand by the side of the road. Then we'd go home and have a barbecue out in the yard. And we might even hold hands and say the blessing like Howard's family did. But I didn't tell him any of that. I told him the truth.

“He said they have lumpy gravy and lousy pillows,” I said.

“That's too bad.”

I almost told him that Scrappy signed his letter with the word
love
, but then, that would probably sound dumb to a boy who gets loved so much every day of his life.

“Hey, maybe Mama will help us make cookies to send to him sometime.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” Howard said. “Wanna go down to the creek?”

“Okay.”

So me and Howard and Wishbone went behind the garage and followed the narrow trail that snaked through the cool, damp woods. I loved the earthy, mossy smell of the air and the soft tickle of the ferns that bowed down along the edges of the path. Wishbone trotted beside me, stopping every now and then to sniff at a tree or root around in a pile of rotten leaves. I wondered if he had been on this trail before. I bet he knew these woods better than anybody. Maybe he'd even slept under these very trees.

I wanted to take his leash off and let him run free, but I was scared to. What if he decided he'd had enough of me and ran off to be a stray again?

When we got to the creek, Wishbone nearly pulled me in when he jumped into the clear, gurgling water. Howard and I took off our shoes and stepped from rock to rock while Wishbone leaped and pranced, sending up splashes of cold mountain water.

“This feels good,” I said.

“I know.” Howard teetered on the slippery rocks and I was sure he was going to fall in any minute, but he didn't. Wishbone let out the funniest yips and bit at the water, trying to grab the tiny minnows that darted around the rocks.

“Look at him!” we both said at the exact same time.

I jumped off the rock to the edge of the creek and motioned for Howard. “Come quick,” I hollered. “Hook pinkies.”

“What?”

“Hook pinkies,” I said. “We
both
get to wish.”

“We do?”

I nodded. “If two people say the same thing at the exact same time, they hook pinkies and make a wish,” I said. “Jackie taught me that.”

So Howard jumped to the edge of the creek and we hooked pinkies. I closed my eyes and made my wish.

“Did you make a wish?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He stooped to swish his hand in the water, making the minnows scurry away. “I don't really have anything to wish for,” he said.

I shook my head. How could anybody not have something to wish for? I mean, even if you just wished you didn't have a wart on your thumb or that you didn't have to eat oatmeal for breakfast, it seemed to me like you could think of
something
to wish for.

“Oh, good grief, Howard,” I said. “There must be
something
.”

“Well, actually, there
is
something I could wish for,” he said.

So we hooked pinkies again and Howard closed his eyes.

“Did you make a wish?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“I bet I know what it is.”

“I can't tell or it won't come true. Remember?”

“No,
you
can't tell,” I said. “But
I
can. It doesn't matter if I tell.”

I didn't know for sure if that was true, but I think it probably was.

“Just don't say whether I'm right or not,” I said.

“Okay.”

“You wished you didn't have that up-down walk,” I said.

When those words left my mouth, I could practically see them hurtling through the air toward Howard, quick and sharp, like razors.

Howard's face turned pale as a ghost and his eyes flicked down at the ground.

What
had I done?

Why
had I said that?

More than anything, I wanted to take those sharp words back, but I knew I couldn't.

It suddenly felt like everything was frozen in time. Just stopped cold, dead still. Like the creek water stopped flowing and the birds stopped chirping. Like the clouds above us stopped floating over the mountaintops. Even Wishbone stood still as a statue beside me.

Then Howard broke through that frozen curtain of time by grabbing his shoes and heading off up the path toward his house, leaving me standing there ashamed and heavyhearted.

I sat on the edge of the creek and held myself a pity party. That's what Jackie calls it when I feel sorry for myself.

“For heaven's sake, Charlie,” she says, “stop having such a pity party.”

But I couldn't help it. Why had I gone and said something so mean to the only kid in Colby who was nice to me? The kid who wanted to give me some of his Bible bucks and send cookies to Scrappy. The kid who let me share my troubles with him.

I pictured my clothesline full of troubles and saw myself pinning on another one. I stayed there by the creek wallowing in my pity, thinking about how this day had turned out so bad. But then, things suddenly went from bad to worse. A tiny striped chipmunk darted out of a rotten log beside the creek and Wishbone bolted after it, yanking the leash right out of my hand. And before I could even get myself up off the ground, he had disappeared into the woods.

 

Seventeen

I searched those woods till it was almost dark. I called Wishbone's name till my throat hurt. I walked up and down the side of the road till my legs ached. Finally I went to Howard's to get Lenny's bike that I left in the yard that afternoon. I could hear the Odoms inside eating supper, everybody laughing and saying “Pass the butter” and stuff. I pictured them in there crowded around the kitchen table. The boys poking each other and grabbing for the last biscuit. Mrs. Odom cooking up more fried chicken and kissing the tops of their heads. Mr. Odom's eyes twinkling as he watched his happy family. I wondered if Howard had told them what I said about his wish. And if he did, what did all those good-hearted Odoms think of me now?

When I got home, I went straight back to my room and held the biggest pity party of my life. I laid on Wishbone's pillow on the floor beside the bed, breathing in his doggy smell, and I cried until I fell asleep.

I woke up to Bertha whispering my name. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the lamp in the living room floating through the half-open door of my room.

I closed my eyes real quick and pretended like I was still asleep. I couldn't stand the thought of telling Bertha about my day. How Wishbone didn't want to be my dog anymore and had run off. How I had said such a mean thing to Howard.

I thought maybe Bertha would leave, but she didn't. She gave me a little shake and whispered my name again.

“Come get some supper,” she said.

“I'm not hungry,” I mumbled into the pillow.

“Your favorite,” she said. “Grits with cheese and bacon.”

I shook my head. I felt like a pouty baby. I even had the urge to suck my thumb. When I acted like this back in Raleigh, Mama would say, “Quit that baby whining before I jerk a knot in you.”

But Bertha said, “You know, sometimes when you've had a bad day, eating grits makes you feel better.” She poked me with an elbow. “I know that from experience,” she added.

I sat up and hugged my knees. I leaned a little closer to Bertha until we were touching. Arm to arm. Knee to knee. She smelled like someone who spent her days in the kitchen. Bacon and coffee and cinnamon. But she looked like someone who spent her days outdoors. Arms tan and leathery. Dirt under her fingernails.

“Wishbone is gone,” I whispered.

She nodded and pushed a strand of wispy hair behind her ear. “Gus is out there looking for him,” she said. “And Gus is a man you can count on.”

A teeny-tiny glimmer of feel-better worked its way into my heart. I knew she was right about that. Gus did seem like a man you could count on.

“But what if Wishbone wants to be a stray again?” I asked.

Bertha sat up straight and took my chin in her hand. “Charlie Reese,” she said. “You think that dog don't know a good thing when he sees one?”

“What good thing?” I said in my pouty baby voice.

She held up a finger each time she counted off. “One, he eats bologna for breakfast. Two, he sleeps on a pillow. And three, he is loved by an angel.”

Angel?

Ha!

So here's where I had to go and ruin that image of me as an angel. “I said something mean to Howard,” I muttered.

Silence.

Why had I gone and told her that? I wished I could take those words back. Gather them up like butterflies in a net. Stay an angel in her eyes.

And then I got this bad thought. What if Bertha was wrong about dogs loving you no matter what? What if Wishbone knows I'm mean and that's why he ran off?

I could feel Bertha's warm skin against mine. Hear her soft breathing in the stillness of that little room. Finally she slapped a hand on my knee and said, “You need some grits.”

*   *   *

As soon as I woke up the next day, I looked down at the pillow on the floor and more than anything I wanted Wishbone to be there.

He wasn't.

I hurried into the kitchen. Bertha was shelling peas at the table.

“Where's Gus?” I asked.

“He went to work.”

I sank into the chair across from her. “I guess he didn't find Wishbone,” I said.

She looked at me all sad-eyed and shook her head. “No, he didn't. But he said to tell you we can get out there and look when he gets home. He set up that trap of yours last night and I put some scraps in it, so we can keep an eye on that. And don't forget Wishbone has a tag on his collar. I'm sure somebody will call us when they find him.” She pushed a box of cereal toward me. “Eat some breakfast.”

But how could I eat with my stomach all balled up like it was? And then there was my other problem. Howard. What was I going to do about Howard?

Guilt was gnawing at my insides as I watched Bertha shelling those peas. Every now and then, she glanced up at me, and when she did, I had to look away real quick. There she was over there on the other side of the table thinking I was an angel, and here I was on my side feeling about as far from an angel as anybody could be.

“Aren't you going to ask me what mean thing I said to Howard?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “No, I'm not.”

“How come?”

She tossed a handful of peas into the bowl and leaned toward me. “Charlie,” she said. “You can't judge people for the mistakes they make. You judge them for how they fix those mistakes.” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “Besides, you think I haven't ever said a word or two I wanted to snatch back?” She winked. “Just ask Gus if you don't believe me.”

It was for sure Bertha had said a lot of words in her life, seeing as how she was such a talker. But I was pretty sure none of those words were mean, like mine. Mean and Bertha did
not
go together.

“Now why don't you get dressed and we'll figure out what to do about Wishbone,” she said.

But before I could even think about how to start this sorry day, someone knocked on the front screen door, and imagine my surprise when I saw who it was. Howard!

I stood there barefoot in my pajamas with my hair a big rat's nest and searched for something to say. But then Bertha jumped right in and said, “Well, looky here who showed up on our doorstep, Charlie!” She held the door open. “Howard Odom in need of some cinnamon toast, I bet,” she said. “Or cereal. Or eggs. Or grits. You need some grits, Howard?”

He stepped inside and shook his head. “No, ma'am.” Then he turned to me and said, “Wanna pick wild strawberries?” He held up an empty milk carton with the top cut off. “I know where there's tons.”

“Um…” I pushed hair out of my eyes. “I … um…”

“Y'all go on and pick strawberries,” Bertha said. “I'll keep an eye on things here.” She nodded in the direction of the trap at the edge of the yard.

And then I collapsed into a puddle of sorrow on the couch and told Howard about Wishbone running off. When I finished, all I wanted to do was flop down and cry, but Howard said, “What are you sitting here for? Let's go find him!” Then the next thing I knew he was out the door and grabbing his bike, leaving me to run to my room to get dressed and scramble after him.

 

Eighteen

Me and Howard rode our bikes up and down that mountain road all morning long. We tromped through woods, pushing our way around thick shrubs and stepping over pricker bushes. We went back to the creek behind Howard's house three times, calling and whistling. We peered under porches and opened sheds and circled barns. By lunchtime, the blazing summer sun overhead left pockets of melted asphalt in the road and trickles of sweat down our backs.

We didn't talk much, and that was fine by me. I'd gone over and over in my head how I would say I'm sorry to Howard for what I'd said about his wish. But whenever I thought the time was right, my mouth went dry and my throat squeezed up and the words I'd planned to say stayed bottled up inside.

We went back to Gus and Bertha's a few times to check the trap, but the table scraps were still in the pie tin. We had lunch on Howard's front porch, sitting on the couch eating Vienna sausages and cold pork and beans off of paper plates on our laps. Dwight and Cotton were out in the yard throwing rocks at the mailbox. They hit the metal with a loud
thwang
and left little dents on the sides.