By the time Pop came out to talk with Diggy, Diggy had almost convinced himself they wouldn’t have to talk at all. Pop’s face cured him of that illusion and snapped him out of the zone so abruptly, Joker sidestepped until Diggy was pinned against the stall’s slats. Pop got ahold of Joker’s halter and whispered soothingly into his ear, but Diggy still had to do a fair amount of shoving to get himself free.
Before Pop could start a similar “calm down” routine on him, Diggy put the brush back and grabbed a hose to wash his hands. The water was the kind of cold that made it feel like his fingers might break off, but it was a relief, too. Like, if he could get the ache out through his fingers, it wouldn’t get into his heart.
“I’m sorry about what happened today,” Pop said.
Diggy wanted to duck his entire head under the water. Pop wasn’t apologizing for the right thing.
“Is he still staying here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?!” Diggy asked. “You should have seen them fighting over him. Everybody wants him back, so why do we have to keep him? It’s not fair!”
“But it’s right. Ann’s family doesn’t know how to be fair to Harold right now.”
“So? Mr. Graf doesn’t worry about anyone else’s feelings, and it’s not our business to balance the scales for anybody else anyway.”
Pop frowned, but Diggy wouldn’t let Pop make him feel bad.
“Harold is Wayne’s father,” Pop said.
Diggy snorted.
“Hey,” Pop barked. “I’ll listen to what you have to say, but you have to listen, too.”
It was all so like what Wayne had said, about how his dad would apologize for the wrong things, then act like Wayne was the jerk if he stayed mad for too long.
“If Wayne goes with Ann’s family, that’ll be it for him and Harold. The Vogls certainly won’t include Harold in anything and won’t go out of their way to help Wayne see his dad.”
“Like that’s a bad thing,” Diggy grumbled, earning a glare.
“You think it was easy for Wayne to say he wanted to come here? Did you think about why he said that?”
Because Wayne was just like his dad and didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings. Because he thought he was getting a shiny new dad.
“He might not have been able to explain why, but he knew in his heart that going with Ann’s family meant giving up on his father, and he couldn’t do that. Like it or not, we’re neutral ground for Wayne, and with all that he’s had to deal with these last few months, is it so impossible to think we can help him?”
Pop was putting a lot of thoughts into Wayne’s head, not to mention wildly misinterpreting things, if he thought they were “neutral ground.”
What was worse was that Pop was doing it; Pop was making Diggy feel like the jerk.
“You told Wayne it wasn’t his job to take care of his dad.”
“It’s a father’s job to care for his son.” Pop rubbed a hand down his face. “Both of his sons. I don’t know how to do that yet, but I know I have to try. And I could use your help.”
Diggy felt like that ice-cold water had gotten to his heart.
He was supposed to help Pop with his new son? Pop might as well have turned into a yeti before his very eyes.
Wayne came in but hung back by the door. “Aunt Em is leaving. She wanted to talk to you again.”
Pop put a hand on Diggy’s shoulder. Diggy shrugged out from under it and went back to the hose. Pop had held Wayne’s shoulder, too, the other night, when Graf had come back howling. Diggy wanted to run the hose over his entire body, but he could feel Wayne still there and knew that would make him look crazy.
Wayne cleared his throat, feet shuffling in the dirt. “I’m sorry about what happened today.”
Wayne echoing exactly what Pop had said made it feel like they were ganging up on him. Like they had become a team when Diggy wasn’t looking. Barely two days, and he was odd man out.
Diggy held the hose over his head after all.
THE ONLY BRIGHT SPOT FOR DIGGY AFTER A TRULY CRAPPY DAY WAS THE MONTHLY 4-H meeting scheduled for that night. Which Pop said they might have to miss, because the Vogls wanted them at their family meeting.
Diggy protested, strongly, but it was thanks to Wayne that he got to go to 4-H at all. Wayne said he really didn’t want to go to the family meeting because he’d have to look everyone in the face and tell them he didn’t want to stay with any of them. He stuttered when he asked Pop to help him, and then he said it would probably be better if he and Diggy went to 4-H—for the distraction—while they waited for Pop to get back.
Pop bought it, though Diggy didn’t know if he was grateful to Wayne or mad that the guy was able to talk Pop into doing something he clearly wasn’t wild about doing. Mostly, Diggy was just glad that he’d get to see July.
He rushed to the church basement, hoping to catch July alone and … he didn’t know what. Make sure she knew the truth? Check that she still liked him? Get a hug?
But Wayne was right behind him, and as soon as July saw Wayne, she hugged him.
Not the sideways hug Diggy got but a full-on, wraparound hug.
“Are you okay?” she asked Wayne, sparking Diggy’s temper. Wayne was fine. He was getting his way everywhere.
“Wayne? What are you doing here?” Crystal said from the doorway, where she had stopped abruptly. Jason was stuck behind her, carrying a little Cloverbud under each arm, the children giggling at being handled like sheep.
Crystal looked at Diggy, and he knew she was trying to gauge how to react—if Diggy had invited Wayne or was okay with him being there. It had to be obvious that he wasn’t.
July had her hands out to Crystal like she could calm the cattle before they stampeded, but the heifer had seen the snake and took off.
Crystal went over to Wayne. “I’m sorry your mom died and your dad’s … you know”—she spoke quietly, and her voice trembled, but she went on—“but you don’t get to take over Diggy’s life to make yourself feel better.”
Diggy stared wide-eyed at his best friend. It was nice to have someone on his side, especially when he could tell it was hard for her, but he couldn’t believe she had said what she had said. Even July was shocked into silence for a few moments.
Jason set down the little kids, who immediately grabbed his hands, sensing that something was wrong.
July pulled Crystal aside. “4-H welcomes everyone, and considering what—”
“I pledge my head to clearer thinking,” Crystal recited from the 4-H pledge, “and my heart to greater loyalty. I’m loyal to Diggy.”
Wayne was as white as a Charolais steer, staring at Diggy as if this was his fault, too. And Diggy felt bad enough that he let him.
The thing was, what Crystal had said was true. It was unnerving to have the past few days summed up in one sentence that was so true, it hurt. But Diggy couldn’t focus on the last part. All he kept hearing was, I’m sorry your mom died and your dad’s …
Hearing Wayne’s life summed up like that made Diggy feel small. He was really mad, because it did feel like Wayne was trying to take over Diggy’s life to make himself feel better. But Diggy couldn’t help thinking about how he felt when people joked about his mom leaving town on a tractor and he had to smile like it was no big deal.
Wayne’s mom was dead. His dad was losing it.
Pop had said, We have to. What else can we do?
Diggy thought he had seen what else they could do—Wayne had too much family not to have options. But just the way Crystal had said out loud that one true thing no one else had seemed to notice, let alone admit, Diggy suddenly felt another true thing he hadn’t wanted to admit.
Wayne was trying to save himself.
The world kept breaking up around him, and the only person so far who had really tried to help him find some solid ground was Pop.
Everyone else had been too busy with their own corners of the world—Graf dousing his grief with liquor, the Vogl family fighting their
grief with anger, Diggy wanting to keep his happy, safe corner to himself. That didn’t feel wrong, exactly, but he could picture Mrs. Graf so easily, how she’d see him at the farmer’s market and brush his hair off his forehead, then laugh and muss it up again. He’d never bump into her like that again. She was such a good person, and she wasn’t out there in the world anymore. I’m sorry your mom is dead just didn’t cut it.
So before Crystal felt like she had to say more, he told her it was okay and went to their usual seats. She was shaking, but Diggy didn’t know what to do to make her calm down or to let her know how much he’d appreciated her defense. Jason patted her shoulder, and the corners of her mouth turned up—not quite a smile but close enough.
Wayne didn’t have a usual seat, but Diggy didn’t have it in him to find him one.
July pointed Wayne to a seat and got the meeting started. They recited the Pledge of Allegiance and the 4-H pledge before roll call. The Cloverbuds, the kindergartners to second-graders, reliably acted like roll call was the coolest part of the meeting, shouting “Here!” and raising their hands. After the secretary and treasurer gave their reports, the Cloverbud leader took the little kids to the back to work on some craft activity or to learn more about 4-H.
Most of this meeting was about reminding people of deadlines for reenrollment, getting their fair records in for judging, and laying out various deadlines leading up to the next fairs; checking the status of projects in the works, like planning for the road cleanup, awards banquet, and family dinner; and hearing any new business.
Diggy didn’t really hear much, because he kept thinking about what would happen when everyone broke off into their three loosely related groups—basically the livestock competitors, the plant and environment kids, and the arts and family science group. Wayne would come to their table. Because he thought he could get a steer and earn a trip to State and compete and win $12,000 and get back some kind of control over his life. Ha.
To make matters worse, when Wayne did come to their table, July followed. Crystal and Jason had positioned themselves on either side of Diggy, and with the small-animal competitors clumped together, that left Wayne and July looking like a team facing off against Diggy, Crystal, and Jason. Diggy had ended up on the wrong side of the July Johnston equation.
“Wayne said he wants to get a steer,” she said.
Crystal took a breath to share her thoughts on the topic, but July got in hers first.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
This time Wayne opened his mouth to say something, but July beat him to it.
She explained that during the year Wayne and his steer were together, the calf would come to feel like a friend, even more so than a pet cat or dog. But a steer, any steer, was only ever market beef. It would be slaughtered after the fair. Considering Wayne’s recent loss, and the timing of that loss—the anniversary would nearly coincide with the next State Fair—July suggested Wayne might try a breeding heifer or something completely different. There were categories for rabbits, lambs, ducks, chickens, or pigeons, stock dog trials, even rooster crowing contests.
She signaled to some of the others at the table, and a couple of the rabbit and chicken kids talked about what they did, what the work was like, and how the competition was judged. Jason even said a few words about raising sheep, and, rather than feel betrayed, Diggy was weirdly glad. 4-H was full of nice people—he and his friends among them. He might not want Wayne there, but he also didn’t want Wayne to think badly of 4-H.
Diggy also wanted to be grateful that July was discouraging Wayne from entering, but her words only made his bad day even worse. Words like “market beef” and “slaughter” tended to have that effect on him.
“It probably doesn’t matter,” Wayne mumbled. “I mean, how much does a steer cost?”
July explained about the Farm Bureau loans. The majority of competitors were from farms that already raised cattle and simply chose a steer from among their stock. Other students bought a steer outright or took a special loan from the Farm Bureau, like Diggy had all but the first year. Pop liked for Diggy to know the steer was truly his, and Diggy liked that the loans were how July bought her steers, too.
“But the money isn’t why I want you to reconsider raising a steer,” July concluded.
Wayne said he’d think about it, but Crystal shook her head, clearly not believing him.
July sighed. “Wayne, I’m sorry, but I won’t feel good about helping you unless I feel like you’ve really thought through everything. I, um, understand you’re out with Diggy for a while, so if it’s okay with him, why don’t you spend a couple weeks observing his routine? Then we can talk.”
She glanced apologetically at Diggy for putting him on the spot, but he felt the first stirrings of hope. Wayne was a town kid. Working with steers was dirty, time-consuming, and required actual physical labor. Wayne looked like he’d hardly even been outside, let alone worked at anything more than taking out the trash.
July might not have meant it quite the way Diggy was taking it, but he had a feeling she had just saved him a ton of aggravation. All he had to do was put up with the guy for a few weeks, and if Diggy had any kind of luck at all, Wayne would move home by then and forget he’d ever thought about raising a steer.
FOR THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, DIGGY INSTITUTED HIS CAMPAIGN TO SCARE WAYNE away from steer raising by doing what he always did every morning and night. Walk Joker. Brush him down. Give him a wash and rinse. Blow-dry. Feed and water. Shovel poop. Repeat. He had thought it would only take three or four mornings of waking up before dawn to convince Wayne he’d rather sleep, but he came back every day. The weirdo seemed more spooked by doing all the same stuff at night than he did about waking up early, so Diggy tried changing out a few bulbs in the barn to make it a little darker and creepier, but after stubbing his toes a couple of times, scraping his knuckles, and taking a good whack to the head, he opted to stick with decent light and trust the manual-labor part to work its off-putting magic.
He made Wayne sweep and rake the barn floor, scrub the water trough, and, of course, shovel poop and feed it into the anaerobic digester Pop had rigged to generate electricity from the methane gas. Cow power.
Diggy had to give the guy credit—Wayne had a heck of a poker face about how he felt about his assigned jobs—but Diggy felt pretty confident he was wearing Wayne down. The kid got so pale, his eyes were practically black and blue, and several mornings he didn’t make it out to the barn until ten or fifteen minutes after Diggy. Apparently, his grades were taking a hit, too, and that was big for a teacher’s kid who always made honor roll.
All in all, Diggy felt that things were going okay.
Until Pop got another call. This one from the jail, and Diggy’s hopes of Wayne’s imminent departure nosedived. Turned out Graf had broken some stuff at Otto’s bar, and the police had kept him overnight until he sobered up. Otto wasn’t pressing charges, but the officers on duty had gotten called away for something, and Graf needed a ride home. The fact that Pop was the only person he could think to ask pretty much said it all.
Pop tried, but Wayne didn’t want to talk about it.
And the next morning, when Diggy led Joker back to his stall and put out the alfalfa-grass hay, Wayne said, “I called July.”
“What?”
“July Johnston. From 4-H.”
“I know who she is.”
“She said she’d take me out this weekend to look at steers.”
Diggy couldn’t believe it. Not only was Wayne going through with getting a steer, he had called July. “Seriously, Wayne, what have I ever done to you?”
“It’s not about you.”
“You move into my house, and we all act like it’s no big deal. You want a steer so you can beat me at the State Fair, and now this,” Diggy fumed. “July is my friend.”
“You should be glad,” Wayne said through gritted teeth. “When I get that prize money, I’ll leave. You won’t have to put up with me anymore.”<
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“You are so stupid. No one’s going to let you leave. And you definitely won’t win the fair. I will.”
Wayne stomped away. “I’m getting a steer.”
Diggy threw a brush after him, huffed, then went to pick up the brush and hang it on its peg. Joker chewed his hay and stared at Diggy.
“I know,” Diggy burst out. Wayne had made up his mind a month ago. Diggy had never had a shot at changing it. All he’d done was train the competition.
Saturday morning, when Wayne tried to follow Diggy out to the barn, Diggy blocked the kitchen doorway.
Wayne looked like he might insist, hard, but then sneered. “Fine. It won’t matter soon anyway.”
Wayne’s going back to bed should have been the beginning of a good morning alone with Joker. Instead, the calf wouldn’t settle. He kept looking around, like someone was missing. Their walk around the pasture was all stop-and-go.
Diggy had three years of knowing that steers sensed human emotions. He didn’t like thinking that Joker’s being all pigheaded and contrary was an echo of Diggy’s confusion or that the steer missed Wayne.
Diggy was not worried. Wayne could get ten steers and still not have a shot at Grand Champ. He could spend every day of every week with July and still not know her as well as Diggy did. He could live with them for the rest of his life and still not be Diggy’s brother.
The word tripped him up again. Diggy hadn’t really let himself think about Wayne’s relationship to him. Why should he? They didn’t have a relationship. Pop would make Graf finally get his act together, and Wayne would go home. Diggy couldn’t wait for Wayne to go home.
At the turn, Joker ignored Diggy and charged forward, jerking his head to try to pull free. Diggy curved the lead across his forearm and drove his elbow into the calf’s neck, strong-arming him to go where he was told to go. Joker did not like it and bucked hard enough that Diggy had to let go. Joker was only half his finishing weight, but that was more than six hundred pounds. If the meathead wanted to rodeo, he’d rodeo.
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