by A W Hartoin
“That deer didn’t exactly die of natural causes, did it?” asked Luke. It wasn’t really a question. Because he knew the answer and he knew I knew.
“No.”
“What’d it die of?” Cole bounced on his tiptoes. His normally spiky hair seemed to grow and become even pointier. I wanted to flick the spikes to see if they’d make a boing, like one of Ernest’s old saws.
“Somebody shot it.” Luke gestured from the groove along the ribs to the bullet hole. “I’d say the shot came from about there.” He pointed to the trees behind us.
“But that’s on Ernest’s land,” said Ella. Her hand went to her mouth.
“I know.” I wiped my palms on my jeans and looked at each one of them. “But I didn’t see it happen.”
“Who did it?” asked Caleb.
“I don’t know.” I flinched as Caleb gave me a hard look. “I mean, I’m not sure.”
“Was it somebody we know?” asked April.
“Nobody we know would bring a gun on Ernest’s land. Everyone knows what would happen.” Luke looked to me for confirmation.
“I saw a man in the woods.” I took a deep breath. It was loud in the silence surrounding us. The wind pressed down on my shoulders, reassuring me, so I told them everything, but I kept the wind to myself. I remembered what Mom always said: “Little secrets are okay. It’s the big ones that get you.”
Chapter Nineteen
“PULL, PUPPY, PULL,” said Luke through clenched teeth. He had all his weight thrown against the tongs on the haunch of the deer and his feet slid on the dry leaves and pine needles littering the forest floor.
“I am pulling.” My hands were clamped around the tongs so tight my knuckles were white, which was quite a feat, considering how tan and dirty they were.
“Pull harder.”
“I am.” Just then my tongs slipped off the leg of the deer and I went flying into the trunk of an enormous oak. The Pack retreated fifteen yards out of the range of the worst stink to consider our options.
“I can’t get enough force behind it with these freaking tongs,” said Luke. “I’m going to have to touch it.”
We groaned and looked at the carcass. The stomach was bloated with maggots and who knows what. It looked about to burst any minute. Touching it wasn’t an option as far as I was concerned.
“Come on.” I took Luke’s tongs from him and handed them to Cole, who’d given his up to Caleb.
“Excellent,” said Cole. “Let’s do it.”
I helped Cole clamp his tongs on a sturdy strip of flesh at the base of the throat. Cole loved his spot and kept yelling about how many maggots were trying to climb up to his hand. Caleb got ready at the hind leg and I went to the foreleg. Ella rooted through the brush and came back with a sturdy piece of wood that she placed at the shoulder.
Luke positioned himself next to Caleb. “Okay. Go.” The deer slid onto the tarp. Luke fell to his knees and shook some maggots off his hands. “Awesome. That’ll do it.”
We waited for April, Carrie, and Frank to finish digging a hole past the biggest tree roots. When they stood up panting and brushing dirt from their arms, I took up a corner of the tarp and we pulled it over the roots to the hole. In ten minutes, the deer disappeared, covered by dirt and a collection of rocks and branches.
“I guess that’s it,” said April.
“Not quite,” said Ella. “What about that man?”
“What about him?” I asked.
“Ella Smella’s right, for once,” said Luke. “We have to find out who he is.”
“He’s probably just some hunter who got lost,” I said.
“He can’t be. You said he went in the direction of the Blounts’ land and they’re only here during hunting season,” said Caleb.
The Blounts owned the hundred acres west of Camp, and beyond them was a defunct summer camp. I didn’t know the Blounts well. I’d only visited their house twice in my life. They weren’t unfriendly, but they only used their land for hunting during turkey and deer seasons. None of us hunted on Ernest’s land, so seeing the Blounts was rare.
“Did he look lost?” asked Ella.
“No,” I conceded. “He looked like he belonged.”
“I say we walk in the direction he went and see what we can find,” said Caleb.
“We can’t cross the property line. Besides, we promised Dad we’d make him ice cream today.” April looked at Ella who nodded as her shoulders drooped.
Luke and Caleb exchanged a look and I knew the property line wasn’t going to stop them.
“I don’t know about you freaking losers, but I’m eating lunch and going swimming before I go on any manhunt,” said Luke.
I agreed, hoping they’d forget about the search once swimming got underway. Luke and Caleb grinned at me and I knew my hopes were faint at best. We trudged back to the house, dragging our feet, our earlier excitement buried like the deer. The heat of the day intensified and the swarm of flies buzzed around our heads, looking for a new lunch, followed us home.
“Hey, look at that,” said April. “The cats are here.
The Pack looked back. Slick and Sydney followed in our wake. Their tails curved into question marks as they dodged rocks and fallen branches. April called to them and they rushed up to wrap around her legs and purr.
Ella picked up Slick. “This is weird. They’re house cats.”
“I’ve seen them out here before,” I said.
Luke’s tanned brow furrowed. “Really? They usually stick close to the moms.”
“They probably don’t like the smell at home either,” said Caleb. “Mom’s dyes are disgusting.”
“You should talk with all the nasty stuff you’ve cooked up,” said Ella.
“Shut up, Ella Smella.” Luke yanked one of her braids.
A half hour later, The Pack walked straight to the kitchen door, while I took the long way to avoid Beatrice, who began humming before she could even see me. Once I got in the kitchen, I tossed my tongs in the sink with the others and looked around at the silent group.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I think we stink,” said Ella, as she put Slick down. “We better go swimming before Mom smells us.”
“No way. I’m starving,” said Cole.
“You’re always starving,” said April. “Eat an apple.”
“What about our swimming suits?” Frank had heard about the skinny-dipping episode and lived in terror that he’d be expected to swim naked.
“Don’t worry, Frank,” said Luke. “Nobody wants to see you naked. We’ll wear suits.”
“I’ll get them. The rest of you better run for the creek,” said April.
“I’ll help,” I said.
The Pack was out the door in an instant. April and I followed them into the sunshine to get the suits hanging on a wooden rack on the other side of the house. She sniffed her shirt and lifted the hem to make a cloth bucket. I collected the suits, tossing them into April’s arms.
“Do you have Frank’s?” asked April.
“Yeah, he’ll have a conniption if we forget it.”
“He won’t have a conniption. He just worries a little.”
“Also known as all the freaking time.”
“And he still manages to help you out. Go figure,” she said.
“I didn’t say he was a bad guy, just a worrier,” I said.
April smiled. “He’s a good guy.”
I gave her a bemused look. “I know. He’s my friend.”
We walked down the path to the creek, following not so much the dirt line under our feet, but sounds of splashing and laughter in the distance. The line entered a small stand of trees and then disappeared. Recent flooding had cut grooves in the mud bank and made it look like a miniature Grand Canyon. I jumped over the canyons and helped April over, so she wouldn’t drop the swimsuits. We stopped on a hump of mud and watched The Pack. They’d jumped in with their clothes on and were busy trying to dunk Luke, a nearly impossible task.
; The mud gave way under April’s feet and she landed with a thud on her butt. I laughed when she cursed. A bright pink blush spread down her cheeks and neck.
“You sound just like Mom,” I said.
“I do not.”
“Do too.”
April pushed past me and picked her way down to the water’s edge. I followed her, chuckling at her colorful curses. I paused in the shallows, feeling my toes sink in the cool water.
“I guess you don’t need your suits,” April yelled across the water.
The Pack turned and charged across the creek. Caleb led the way, snatching April up and tossing her into the water, swimsuits and all. When she came to the surface, everyone was laughing, except Frank who was looking for his suit. I slid into the water and floated like a crocodile with my nose barely above the surface. Cole got chased next and thrown in beside April. Cole jumped out of the water to chase Carrie. She made it to the other side and ran down the sandbar, easily outdistancing Cole. I kept floating, feeling the creek flowing around me, gently pushing my body, but not really moving it. The minnows nibbled at my toes and legs giving me a pleasant tickly feeling that I missed in winter far away from Camp and its many freedoms.
April stood up near me and wrung out her long hair. She combed it with her fingers, picking at several huge tangles. Then she began hunting for the swimsuits, except for Frank’s. He was clutching his on shore, looking at April with an odd expression.
Frank saw April glance at him, but he couldn’t make himself look away. She seemed so calm there in the middle of the creek with her clothes plastered to her body and her long blond hair hanging down around her face like a silky waterfall. She gathered the swimsuits before they floated too far downstream, and then hooked them over her shoulder. He could hear her counting them one by one. He wanted to say something or help, but couldn’t make himself move.
He’d known April since Cub Scouts when his mother forgot to pick him up. Mrs. MacClarity offered to stay until his mom showed up an hour later. That’s how he got to be friends with Puppy, a boy he’d seen but never spoken to. After that the MacClaritys just sort of took him over. It wasn’t long before Mrs. MacClarity gave him his first icy shiver. Her father, Grandpa Lorne, did it too and so did Great-Uncle Vaughn. They seemed to consider it a great joke. Even Puppy’s great grandfather, Stiles Gladwell, got him at the old man’s ninety-fifth birthday party. Grandpa Stiles spotted Frank the minute he walked into the house. He trained his pale blue eyes on Frank and then ambled over in a loose, careless gait that reminded Frank of Luke and Caleb. His long white hair flowed back from a sharp widow’s peak and gave the impression that a stiff wind was blowing in the house. He carried a long cane with a brass tip and an elephant carved in the top. He tapped the cane on the floor, making a show of it, but not leaning on the elegant stick like Frank’s grandfather who used a four-pronged cane and hung onto the thing for dear life.
Grandpa Stiles draped his long arm over Frank’s shoulders and bent over to whisper into his ear. “Puppy’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
Frank didn’t know what to say, a frequent occurrence in his life.
“You understand, don’t you?” he said.
Frank shook his head and said, “Puppy has lots of friends.”
“None like you.”
Frank told him about Cole and a score of others.
Grandpa Stiles shook his head and his hair brushed Frank’s temple. “They’re not like you.”
Then he turned his head, looked Frank in the eye, and winked. An icy shiver zipped down Frank’s back so strong it radiated through his legs and froze his feet. After the shiver lessened, he looked at his feet, totally expecting to see frost between his toes. There wasn’t any and he could hardly believe it.
Grandpa Stiles chuckled and squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “It’s important for a singleton to have a good friend.”
“What’s a singleton?” asked Frank, still chilled.
“A baby born alone. Puppy doesn’t have a twin. Twins are strong in our family.” He pointed his cane around the room at the various sets of twins. Frank hadn’t realized how many there were. Everyone that was a Gladwell by blood was a twin, except Puppy.
“I was the last singleton born,” said Grandpa Stiles. “Until Puppy. Come, let me show you.”
Grandpa Stiles led him through the house to the living room, the one room Frank usually tried to avoid. There was too much in there. Too many books. Too many pictures. And worse, the suitcases and trunks shoved in every available spot on the floor and covered with stickers from weird places no normal person went to, like Marrakech and Reykjavik. Some of those cases were big enough to hold a body and Frank shivered again at the thought. He hesitated at the threshold and Grandpa Stiles nudged him in, saying, “Nothing wants to hurt you in there.”
He guided Frank to a wall covered with wild paintings interspersed with framed photos that Frank had never noticed before. Grandpa Stiles pointed his cane at a picture of two young men in WWII uniforms.
“That’s me and my friend, Caleb. Went through the war together. Wouldn’t have made it without him. He died last year. I couldn’t keep him alive any longer.”
Grandpa Stiles pointed his cane at other pictures, showing Frank the good friends of the singletons the family had produced. Then he pointed at a small snapshot framed in silver. Frank started. The picture was of him and Puppy, taken at Camp the first year he was invited. They were both bare-chested and wet from the river. Puppy’s arm was slung over Frank’s shoulders and his expression was open and intensely happy. Frank, on the other hand, was smiling shyly like he couldn’t believe he was really there.
“Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to Puppy when he’s ready,” said Grandpa Stiles.
Frank wished he’d explain it to him. He tried to find the words to ask the questions, but they stayed in a rolling boil inside him, never quite bubbling over. Grandpa Stiles steered him back to the party, carved him the largest slice of cake he’d ever seen, and he missed his chance.
After the birthday party, Frank began to concentrate on April, but he hadn’t figured her out either. Of course, he’d spoken to April lots of times since their first meeting, but he wanted to say something beyond, “Pass the butter,” or “Hi.” Frank didn’t want to kiss April or touch her. His aspirations didn’t aim that high. He wanted to be her friend, not just another member of The Pack. April was special, not like everybody else with their odd ideas and grandiose plans. It might be safe to ask her if she knew about her mom and Aunt Calla. Sometimes it seemed like she might and other times not. Of course there was always the possibility that she was like her mother and the thought made him tremble. Still, April was his best chance for discussing the odd things that went on. She was sweet and kind, unlikely to turn him into a toad even if she could.
He couldn’t ask Cole because he knew he’d get laughed at, and Puppy, he was so busy being all the things he was; there wasn’t much time for thoughts of a serious nature. As for Luke and Caleb, they were older, and it was a bit like being friends with rock stars. Frank knew he was part of the entourage, not meant to be a headliner. He was fine with it, if only he could talk to April.
I lay at the far end of the group between Cole and Frank with my back pressed into the smooth river rocks and sand. The sun had dried my hair, but my clothes remained damp, sticking to my skin. The flies that followed us home buzzed around occasionally landing to try and have us for snacks, only to be disappointed that we weren’t dead.
The Pack’s collective breath whooshed in and out as we watched the waves of heat shimmer off the creek, deliciously warm. Sleep was about to overtake me when Luke popped up and said, “Okay. I’m starving.”
He stood up, brushed the sand off and held his hand out to Ella. She stood up, for once without an argument, and waded into the water to cross the creek.
I struggled to my feet, still sleepy, but ready for lunch. I gave Cole a hand and then pulled him so hard he went flying past me into
the creek.
“Ahh, bastard,” Cole shouted.
I laughed and turned to Frank, but he was already up helping April to her feet. His face was beet red from the summer sun, even though he wore enough sunscreen to coat a rhino. I smacked Frank on the back of the head. “I’ll race you to the house.”
We hit the creek running. Our feet churned the water and sprayed Ella, who splashed us back. By the time we got across the creek, I was soaked all over again, feelings of sleepiness forgotten as I jumped over the mud crevices and ran into the stand of trees.
When I emerged on the other side, Luke and Caleb were yards ahead of me. I chased them, my thighs and chest burning. The grass on either side of the trail waved to and fro, showing their different colors of green and moving in a wind I couldn’t feel right then, but was always there, silent and subtle.
My fingers brushed the porch screen door as it slammed shut in front of me. I grabbed the metal handle and flung it back. Frank yelped as it hit him but I dashed inside ahead, triumphant.
“I beat you, you skanky bastard!” I ran past Mom and collapsed against the sink.
“By a foot. You barely beat me,” said Frank.
“Don’t touch that bread!” Mom yelled.
Luke and Caleb stopped with their hands poised over two loaves in the bread makers.
“You’re filthy and you smell,” said Mom.
We all sniffed our arms. The swim hadn’t helped much. The stench of death had seeped into our pores and creek water alone wasn’t going to get rid of it. We stared at Mom blankly, offering no explanations.