Say Goodbye for Now

by Hyde, Catherine Ryan

  She sat cross-legged near his side. She put one hand on his back, then removed it again, deciding they didn’t know each other that well. Or at least that they didn’t have that kind of touch-driven bond.

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You seem down.”

  He didn’t say anything for a time. Just pressed his fingers through the bars of the cage. The wolf-dog sniffed the fingers, then gave them one lick.

  “I heard that policeman,” Pete said. “I heard everything. I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to snoop. But Justin and I were playing hide-and-seek, and I was hiding, and then it was too late, and I couldn’t help it. I had to hear.”

  She drew a deep breath and blew it out. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket and lit one.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she said.

  “Why did he even come here?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “It’s not true what he said about you and Mr. Bell. Right?”

  “No. Of course not. I’m not involved with Calvin that way. We barely know each other.”

  “So isn’t it . . . like . . . isn’t it pretty mean and terrible of that cop to act like you were? Wasn’t he saying something kind of nasty and bad about you?”

  “Because Calvin is black or because we just met?”

  “Mostly that second one.”

  “Yes. It was rude and unpleasant and I’m certainly not used to being treated that way.”

  But Calvin is, she thought. But she pushed the thought away again because she couldn’t fix the world, and she had enough to be upset about in the moment.

  “I need to go home,” Pete said.

  “Why now all of a sudden?”

  “Because I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “You didn’t, Pete. It wasn’t about you at all.”

  “I know I didn’t get you in trouble this time. But I need to make sure I don’t. What if my dad called the cops because I ran away?”

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “Well, I am,” Pete said. “And I need to go home. I’m just being a big coward. I need to go home and face my dad now.”

  “You want a ride?”

  “No. I’ll walk. Thanks. I don’t want people to see us driving together. Then they’ll know I was with you. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “You still have that dime I gave you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can get back here to see Prince. But please promise me you won’t let him go until I can see him again. I wouldn’t want to get back here and find out he was gone and I never even got to say goodbye.”

  She thought she saw him blink back tears, but she couldn’t be sure. And besides, she quickly looked away to give him his emotional privacy. They were alike in that way—neither of them anxious to share their pain with the world.

  “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be weeks before he’s healed enough to go.”

  “Good. Well, not good. Sorry, boy,” he said directly to the wolf-dog. “It’s not good at all that you have to sit here so long. Just good that I’ll be around to see you again.”

  He climbed to his feet.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Bell,” Pete said.

  Dr. Lucy whipped her head around.

  Calvin and Justin stood in the doorway, Calvin’s hand on his son’s shoulder. In his other hand he held the grocery sack he’d used to bring clothing and personal items from home.

  “Don’t tell me you’re leaving, too,” she said.

  “I’m afraid so. There’s a cup of tea on the kitchen table for you.”

  “I’ll drive you,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  “Absolutely not,” Calvin said. “We’ve brought enough problems into your life. We’ll walk. Justin says he’s up to walking and if he changes his mind halfway home he can ride on my shoulders.”

  “But there’s just one thing,” Justin said. His voice sounded high and tight.

  Silence while everyone waited. It took close to a minute for Dr. Lucy to realize he wasn’t about to say what thing it was.

  “What’s on your mind, son?” Calvin asked.

  “Pete knows,” Justin said.

  “I do?” Pete asked, sounding as though he’d just been dropped into the conversation from a sound sleep.

  “Yeah. You do. We talked about it. Remember? You were going to ask Dr. Lucy something for me.”

  “Oh,” Pete said. “Right. That.” He stopped a moment. Wiggled uncomfortably. “Justin is afraid to be home alone while his dad goes to the plant tomorrow. Well . . . you know. Most days. But I guess since this is Sunday he’s mostly worried about tomorrow.”

  “He should be here,” Dr. Lucy said.

  She couldn’t help noticing that Pete looked inordinately relieved. As if someone had just lifted a hundred-pound brick wall off his chest.

  “It’s not like nobody would think to look for him here,” Calvin said.

  “But at least he wouldn’t be alone.”

  “What would you do, though? If somebody came here?”

  “I’d sic the dogs on them. I’d let the dogs out and then call the police while the dogs held them at bay. And if absolute worst comes to absolute worst,” she said, remembering that she could no longer assume the police were on her side, “I have a pistol.”

  “I guess anything’s better than just leaving him to fend for himself,” Calvin said. “Not sure how he’d get here, though. Seems like it would be even worse for him to be out walking alone.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “We’ll find a way. We’ll figure it out. Nobody’s laying their hands on that boy again. I know what we can do. Tomorrow morning just before it gets light I’ll drive to the end of your block and park. Justin can walk down the street. You can watch him from one end and I’ll watch from the other. And when we’re sure no one is looking he can jump into the backseat and ride with his head down.”

  Justin nodded enthusiastically.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Calvin said.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Then she regretted the offer. She should have just said goodbye. Not drawn this out. She should have just left things right there.

  It’s the long goodbyes that get you every time.

  “I’m gathering up a million ways to tell you what I appreciate about all you’ve done,” he said as they walked down the hall.

  “Nonsense, Calvin. Don’t you dare say a word.”

  Pete was walking ahead and had almost made it to the front door.

  “Do me a favor,” she added. “Obviously you can’t walk with Pete, but maybe walk half a block behind and keep an eye on him.”

  “Of course.”

  When they reached the door he turned to her, as if to offer some sort of farewell. She stopped him with one raised hand. Like a crossing guard.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Please don’t, Calvin. Don’t even say goodbye. The birds are just barely small enough to fit through the neck of the bottle. Just get out while you still can.”

  Much to her disappointment, he did as he’d been asked.

  She sat at the kitchen table for a time, drinking her tea. And telling herself over and over that it was better this way. That she liked the peace and quiet. That all those people had been an unwelcome intrusion.

  Her intention was to keep saying it to herself until it became a thing she could believe again.

  In time she gave up, washed her cup in the sink, and walked out back to let the dogs out of their runs for exercise.

  They whined and howled and wagged when they saw her. They knew. They always knew when it was time for the gates to open wide. And she never knew how they could tell the difference between those times and any other times she might come out.

  She let the greyhounds out first, and they took off running, stretching their impossibly long legs, chasing each other around th
e horse pasture and beyond. All except Winston, of course, who hadn’t even bothered to come out with her, and who was too mature and refined for such foolishness.

  The horses pranced and ran, catching the dogs’ enthusiasm as if by contagion.

  She let the German shepherd, the beagle, and the terrier mutt out, and they hung close to her, jumping into the air and inviting her to play.

  “I’m sorry it’s been too long,” she said.

  She picked up a ball from the dirt and threw it as hard and as far as she could.

  The terrier got it. The terrier always got it.

  “I’m sorry it’s been too long,” she said again when they came running back.

  But dogs don’t regret what they didn’t do soon enough, or didn’t do enough of. Or what you didn’t do enough of. Dogs are where they are right now, in this moment, and nowhere else.

  Which is why I generally keep the company of dogs, she thought.

  Chapter Sixteen: Pete

  Pete eased the front door of his house open and then froze, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim living room.

  His father’s chair sat empty.

  He pulled a deep, fortifying breath and took a step inside, quietly closing the door behind him. He walked through the room the way he’d seen actors walk through a haunted house in scary movies. As though his father might be just about to jump out from behind the furniture and scare him half to death, and catch him before he could run.

  He eased down the hall and peered into his father’s bedroom, thinking his dad might be in pain and lying down. But the bed was empty as well.

  That was when Pete registered the lovely smells. They had been there all along, making him feel hungry, but he’d been too preoccupied and afraid to give them any conscious thought. Something like a seasoned tomato sauce was tempting him from the kitchen.

  Pete ever so cautiously stuck his head through the kitchen doorway.

  His father was sitting on the high stool in front of the stove, stirring the sauce. Something was boiling hard and free in the big pasta pot, steaming up the windows. Pete had no idea if his dad even knew he was there. Pete took one step into the room and opened his mouth to announce himself, to get this over with once and for all. But he only found that his words didn’t work anymore. His coward of a voice had abandoned him.

  So he just stood, paralyzed in his fear.

  His father had gained even more weight, he thought, if such a thing were possible in just a few days. And all in his belly. His belly walked the world ahead of him these days, weighing him down from the front. Leading the way into rooms. Pete wondered if that was even harder on his dad’s back, but only in that disconnected way one wonders things within a brain muddled by fear.

  “It’s ironic,” Pete’s dad said.

  Pete jumped as though high voltage had jolted through his body. He knew he was supposed to ask what was ironic, or what the word ironic even meant, but his voice was still out of order.

  “Here you show up just in time for dinner,” his dad continued, “but the ironic thing is, you’re at least two dinners late. So is that late, or is it on time?”

  He never turned to look at Pete as he spoke, which felt like a bad sign. And still Pete could not speak.

  “Answer the question, Petey boy.”

  His dad’s voice sounded deadly calm. Maybe too much so.

  Pete cleared his throat and pushed hard at some words.

  “I’m not sure, sir. That seems like a hard question.”

  The voice he managed sounded croaky and weak, as if Pete had been so sick as to be hovering near death.

  Pete’s dad looked around at him. Drilled through Pete’s heart with his eyes. Then he looked back at his sauce.

  “Your turn to talk, Petey boy.”

  “And say what, sir?”

  “I think you know what you owe me.”

  “Not really.”

  “What’re the first questions I’m going to ask you?”

  “Oh. You mean like where was I and why was I gone so long?”

  “Bingo.”

  A long silence. Pete realized he should have been prepared for this moment. He should have rehearsed what he was going to say. But he hadn’t. Because it hadn’t occurred to him that his dad would be in a listening mood.

  “I was afraid to come home,” Pete said.

  A long silence fell. It felt dangerous.

  “That’s it?” his dad asked after a time.

  “Pretty much, sir.”

  “Nope. Sorry, Petey. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “That last whipping. It was too much.”

  “I think I’m the one that gets to say if it’s enough or too much.”

  “I couldn’t even sit down. I still barely can. I’d scream if somebody just touched some of those spots. And the idea of you strapping on them again . . . I just couldn’t face it, sir. It was just too much. I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Well, here’s a question, then,” his dad said, setting down his spoon and fixing Pete with a look that made him squirm. “Why’d you turn around and do just what I said not to, then? You’re in control of your own fate here.”

  “Well, that’s just it, sir. I don’t feel like I am. I feel like my whole life I’ve been trying to guess what’ll make you mad so I can steer clear of it. But it never works. I just try to be so good you couldn’t possibly get mad, but then you do anyway. Yeah, I knew that second time. That thing with my friend. But I did it because I don’t think it’s wrong. He’s my friend and we’re not hurting anybody. I know you think it’s wrong, but I don’t. I was just trying to have a friend and save the life of this dog I found on the road. I can see if I was lying and stealing and breaking people’s windows with rocks just to be mean. But I’m just trying to be good and be okay. And that last whipping was too much. I couldn’t face another one. So I didn’t come home.”

  “But you’re home now.”

  “Yes, sir. I decided I was being a coward and I needed to come face you.”

  Pete’s dad slid off the stool and stood. Pete reacted as though someone had thrown a heavy skillet or taken a shot at him. He bolted backward and accidentally slammed his back into the wall. He could feel his eyes stretched too wide, and he couldn’t calm his heart.

  Meanwhile his dad was coming no closer.

  He forced himself to look into the older man’s eyes. He saw no rage there. Nothing to run from for the moment. His father looked almost curious and strained, as though trying to do math in his head. And he looked a little hurt.

  The moment stretched out.

  “I didn’t know you were that scared of me,” his dad said after a time.

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “That wasn’t ever the idea. Just to get you to do right is all.”

  “That never seems to work, sir. I never know what you’ll want.”

  His dad sat on the stool again with a deep sigh. He reminded Pete of a slashed tire. Just going flat nearly all at once.

  “Under the circumstances,” his dad said, “I’m going to allow for the possibility that I might have overdone it that last time. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m giving you a pass.”

  Pete felt himself begin to breathe again. Even though he wasn’t sure what a pass would mean in this context.

  “A pass, sir?”

  “I’m going to let it go by.”

  Silence. Pete figured he should be saying thank you, but he was too stunned to say anything.

  “You know how many passes you get, Petey boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Guess.”

  “Before just now I would’ve said zero.”

  “Well, now you know it’s more than zero. So what’s our magic number?”

  “One?”

  “Good guess. One is correct. And you’ve had your one. So you’ll want to tread carefully. Now go wash up for dinner. And then come back and serve us both up here. I’m going to go take another one of those pai
n pills. My back is all in an uproar from cooking us dinner.”

  “Thank you for cooking us dinner,” Pete said.

  “We’re still strong, right, boy?”

  “Strong, sir?”

  “We’re still a team, you and me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  But it was an open lie. Bald-faced. They didn’t feel like a team to Pete. They hadn’t felt strong for as long as Pete could remember.

  Pete’s mouth was filled with an outrageous amount of spaghetti when his dad next spoke.

  “You only answered one of my questions.”

  Pete chewed as fast as he could, then swallowed before he was really done. He was wiping sauce off his chin when his dad spoke again, beating him to it.

  “You told me why you were away when I asked. But you didn’t tell me where you were.”

  “No, sir. I didn’t.”

  “So tell me now.”

  “I can’t do that, sir.”

  A silence radiated. Pete thought he could hear it bounce off the walls in waves, like an actual thing he could listen to.

  This was the moment, Pete knew. He would have to follow through on his plan, just the way he’d outlined it to the doctor. He’d have to flat-out refuse to bring the strap. He might even have to outrun his dad, relying on the fact that the older man was injured. It would infuriate his father, and dig Pete in deep. But it just might have to be done.

  Pete felt his appetite abandon him, and the food he’d already eaten began to sit uneasily in his stomach.

  “Pass me that salt and pepper, boy,” his father said.

  Pete didn’t move. Because it felt like another trick.

  “You gone deaf, boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then pass me the damned salt and pepper.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He grabbed both shakers in one hand, then slid them across the table toward his father, pulling his hand back fast.

  A trace of that hurt look passed through the older man’s eyes again. But he said nothing. Just picked up the salt and pepper and shook far too much of both on his food.

  It struck Pete, in a dizzying realization, that the moment was over. But he had no idea how. He’d never seen his father set an argument down, or retreat from anything. So he almost couldn’t believe it now, when it was right in front of his face.