by Bill Wallace
Ted smiled back. Zane gave a little wave with his arm, trying to get everyone’s attention.
“The monster only comes out when there’s a full moon. We can take turns standing guard. That way somebody’s awake all the time and maybe we can spot him.”
No one so much as looked up at Zane.
“We could cut bank poles and use shad gizzards,” Ted suggested.
Daniel cocked his head to one side. “What are bank poles?”
“Well, they’re just willow trees. You cut ’em down and sharpen one end and put a hook . . . and . . . well, I’ll just have to show you.”
“What are shad gizzards?” Foster wondered. “Well, they’re . . . ah . . . they’re inside shad and ah . . . er . . . and . . . I got no idea.”
“A gizzard is an internal organ in earthworms and birds. Also found in some fish, it aids in the digestion of food.” When Jordan explained stuff, he sounded like an encyclopedia. “It’s kind of hard and helps grind their food.”
“Yeah,” Ted agreed, pointing at Jordan. “What he said. It’s kind of hard, so it stays on a fishing hook real well.”
“Where do we get them?” I asked.
“Like, duh,” Ted sneered at me. “You get them from shad.”
I sneered right back and wobbled my head. “Like, duh. Where do we find the shad?”
“Oh.” He gave a sheepish grin and ducked his head. “The shad feed in the shallows down under the dam. You know, where the water runs over? We’d have to take our bows and some real arrows and—”
Zane moaned. “I want to see the monster.”
Daniel propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his fist. Only with not much chin, it looked like he was resting his bottom lip on his fist.
“Would you knock it off. There is no lake monster.”
“I swear,” Zane protested. “I saw his eyes shining under the water. I really did.”
“Two years ago you saw that mountain lion,” Jordan said. “Thing was nothing but a scraggly old house cat.”
“The year before that, you saw a black bear,” Ted reminded him. “Only it turned out to be an Angus cows rump.”
“And when was it you saw Big Foot?” Chet asked.
Zane folded his legs and flopped down on the ground. He tipped over backward to stare up at the clouds. “I was just teasing about that Big Foot thing. I told you guys that.”
Now that we had Zane shut up about the lake monster, we turned our attention back to the fishing trip.
“Do we need worms and minnows, too?” Chet asked.
“When can we get started?”
“We’ll go tomorrow night.” Ted was on his feet now. “That would give us time to get all the stuff ready. Everybody go home, check with your parents—beg if you have to—then call my house. Okay?”
• • •
Dad’s pickup wasn’t in the drive when I got home. I put my bicycle away and went inside to see what Mom was doing. She had just started supper. Something sizzled in the pan on the stove. I eased up beside her to see what we were having.
She smiled at me, then her nose kind of crinkled. “What have you been doing?”
“Bicycle polo.”
She leaned away from me, so far to one side that I thought she was going to tip over. After I told her about the game and how much fun we had, Mom politely suggested that I go take a shower before supper.
I heard Dad’s pickup pull in while I was washing my hair. They were both at the table by the time I got dried off and slipped into some clean clothes.
When asking to spend the night out on the lake with the guys—timing is critical. First off, I didn’t just march in and blurt it out. I sat down at the table and listened for a while. If either of my parents was in a bad mood or had had trouble at work, asking should be put off until after dinner.
Dad’s shift at the fire department was pretty calm. He only had to work two car accidents and nobody was hurt. Mom thought the house she was trying to sell in town was pretty much a “done deal.” So she was in a good mood, too.
Dad and I helped set the table while Mom finished up the fried okra and got the meat loaf out of the oven. Since both had had a good day, as soon as Dad finished saying grace, I would ask.
Before I could say anything, Mom folded her arms and rocked back in her chair. “I wish there was something we could do for Emma,” she said. “I just feel so sorry for her.”
“Money problems again?” Dad stopped his forkful of meat loaf just short of his lips.
Mom sighed and laced her fingers together. “Yeah. Between having her husband in that nursing home, and taxes, and trying to keep that old truck of hers going . . . I just don’t see how she can make it much longer.”
“What happened to her husband, anyway?”
“Had a massive stroke.” Mom sighed. “Can’t speak or walk. He can feed himself, but . . .” She stopped and shook her head. “I went with Emma to visit him at the nursing home one time. She goes every single day.”
“You go up to her place, today?”
“Yes. She called just before three. Emma’s thinking about selling part of the farm. I tried to tell her that if she divided the lakefront up into three lots, that would bring in a bunch more than the rest of the place all put together. She wont have it. She’s bound and determined to keep all the land from the house down to the water.”
Dad frowned. “She doesn’t ski or swim or fish. Why does she need the lakefront?”
“No idea. She won’t part with it, though. Emma refuses to sell anything between the house and the water.”
“Who’s Emma?” I interrupted.
Both had just stuffed some fried okra in their mouths. Mom held up a finger, asking me to wait a second. When she finished chewing, she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“Mrs. Baum,” she answered.
I felt my eyes flash.
“That nasty old grouch who lives at the end of the road? You know her?”
Mom and Dad both stopped eating and glared at me.
“Emma Baum is one of the sweetest little ladies I ever met.” Mom’s eyes were tight. “I never want to hear you call her a nasty old grouch, or any such thing. Not ever again! Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.“
Okay—so maybe supper wasn’t the right time to ask about going fishing. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
6
I’d learned, a long time ago, that when you screw up—big time—it’s best to keep your mouth shut.
I sat quiet as a mouse through the rest of supper. They talked about how Mrs. Baum brought cookies and walked down to visit when they first moved in. And all the other nice things she had done since we moved here. Dad remembered how he lost his watch out in our hay barn, and she brought her metal detector to help him find it. Mom repeated about how she went to visit her husband every day in the nursing home and how hard she worked on her garden, behind her house. “She always shares tomatoes and okra—anything she takes from that garden.”
The conversation finally left Mrs. Baum and went to money in the savings account and bills—all the stuff grown-ups usually talk about. I kept my mouth shut. When I helped with the dishes—I kept my mouth shut. And when I finally felt like they’d forgotten what I said and I was in the clear, I headed off to my room. I’d just stay out of the way until the homemade ice cream was ready.
I had just turned on my computer when the phone rang.
“Kent, it’s for you,” Mom called.
Since they were in the living room, I picked up the phone in the kitchen.
“Everybody’s called but you.” Ted’s voice was a little hard to hear. That’s because our ice-cream maker made such a loud grinding noise.
“What?” I cupped my hand around the phone and turned away from the freezer.
“All the guys can go,” Ted said. “They’ve already called. Why haven’t you?”
I humped my shoulders, trying to shield the ear piece from the noise.
&nbs
p; “I haven’t asked them, yet,” I confessed, glancing around to make sure they weren’t in the room.
“Why not?”
“Well, I was going to. Only Mom mentioned something about Mrs. Baum, and I blurted out about what a nasty old grouch she was. I just can’t stand that old witch. I wish she’d just . . .”
The words trickled from my mouth, then faded into complete silence when I caught the movement from the corner of my eye. Slowly I turned. Mom stood beside the door. Arms folded, she stared at me. I wished I could have caught the words and stuffed them back in my mouth. Instead, they hung over my head—floating about the kitchen like an ominous black cloud.
Screw up once—there’s a good chance your parents will forgive and forget. If you screw up twice—you’re gonna pay for it. Mom marched us and the nearly frozen homemade ice cream down to Mrs. Baum’s.
• • •
“It’s not fair!”
“Quit whining and keep walking,” Dad growled. “We’re parents. Parents don’t have to be fair. Besides, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Dad walked beside me, carrying the empty ice-cream freezer. A few steps ahead of us, Mom led the way down the road. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Didn’t I tell you she was nice?” Mom smiled. “When you’re afraid of something, it’s usually because you don’t know enough about it. Like me. I used to be afraid of snakes. My fourth-grade teacher had a boa constrictor. I studied and learned everything I could about snakes, and by the end of the year I could hold the thing. People are a lot the same way. Sometimes we don’t like someone simply because we don’t know them. I knew that if you got to know Mrs. Baum, you’d just love her.”
I got to know Mrs. Baum, all right. I knew her a whole bunch better than I ever wanted to. I knew she was seventy-eight years old. I knew her husband was named Jeb. He used to be a miner. I knew he worked in mines all up and down the West Coast. I also knew that he had a stroke eight years ago, and they had to put him in the nursing home. I knew that it was really expensive to keep someone in a nursing home. And I knew she made good oatmeal cookies.
There were some other things I knew, too.
Only they weren’t things I could mention to Mom and Dad. I knew that probably the only reason she was nice to me was because they were along. I bet if they hadn’t been there, she’d have run me off with a broom or something.
And I knew she lied.
Mom had asked her why she didn’t want people on her front pasture. The wrinkled old woman hesitated a moment, then kind of stammered when she started to explain.
“Well . . . my . . . ah . . . my husband and I spent some time looking for the jar of silver dollars my father buried.” The way her eyes jumped around, and the way she wouldn’t look us in the face—I could tell she wasn’t being honest. “We also have lots of gophers. I’m sure you’ve noticed the mounds. Whenever we dug into a gopher run, Jeb would cover the hole with a piece of wood. Then instead of having to dig a new hole to put gopher poison in, all he had to do was lift the wood. A lot of the boards got covered with dirt and grass. I wouldn’t want one of the horses to break a leg.”
Mom thought it made sense. As far as I was concerned, Mrs. Baum just made it up—she was hiding something.
While I waited for Mom to open the front door, I patted my tummy. Still, I thought to myself, she sure makes good oatmeal cookies.
• • •
I felt like I’d just gotten to sleep when . . . WHOOOP!
Something clunked me on the head. My eyes flashed wide. The breath caught in my throat. Waving my arms to fend off whatever it was that attacked me, I sat straight up in bed and swung my legs over the side.
“What . . . who . . .” I stammered.
“Get up, you lazy nerd. We got to go shoot shad and cut bank poles.”
“Who hit me? What’s . . . what’s going on?”
Ted stood beside my bed. Grinning like some kind of idiot, he held my pillow in both hands. He drew it back over his shoulder like he was getting ready to swing at me again.
I waved him off with my hands. Blinking a couple of times, I glanced at the window. A pale glow came through my blinds. It was morning, but the sun was barely up. “What are you doing in my room? I haven’t even talked to my folks yet. Give me a second to wake up.”
Ted tossed the pillow at me. I knocked it away. He laughed.
“Come on, sleepyhead. I’ve already asked them. They said okay. Get up. Get your clothes on. We got places to go. People to see. Things to do.”
“What people?” I yawned.
“It’s just an expression. Now get out of bed. Let’s go.” He headed for the door. “Oh, be sure and bring your bow,” he called over his shoulder.
• • •
Ted was sitting on his bicycle, waiting for me. As soon as I walked out the front door, he took off. Holding my bow across the handlebars, I leaped on my bike and chased after him.
“You know anything about Mrs. Baum?” I asked after I caught up and got my breath.
Ted glanced over at me. “Not much. Her husband and my grandfather used to be pretty good friends. Did a lot of farming together and stuff. She always seemed nice—unless you try to ride your horse across the front of her place.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Mom and Dad think she’s nice, too. Only all she ever does is yell at Jordan and me. You know why she doesn’t want people messing around on her place?”
Ted nodded. “It’s on account of holes her husband dug and covered up with wood.”
I shook my head. “How come you never told me that?”
Ted shrugged. “You never asked.”
• • •
Mr. Aikman was working on his tractor when we got to Ted’s farm. When he saw us ride up, he waved.
“Hang on a minute, boys,” he called. “Let me get this bolt back in here, then I’ll be ready.”
We dropped our kickstands and sat down in the shade to wait.
“I sure hope we catch something tonight. This week and next are about all we have left of summer.”
“What?” I yelped. “What do you mean, all we have left of summer? It’s only the end of June.”
Ted yawned, lay back on the grass, and just stared up at the clouds. “No, I mean the last time we’ll have the whole bunch of us together. After the Fourth of July everybody takes off for vacations and church camp and stuff.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Jordan and his folks are leaving for Colorado. I think Foster’s going to see relatives in South Carolina.”
“Pepper, Chet, and Daniel are taking their vacation together this summer. Know where?” Ted asked.
“Where?”
“Well you know Samantha, Pepper’s sister, is getting married.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“They’re having a shower for her next Sunday.”
“Okay. So?”
“So, Pepper’s mom and dad asked her where she wanted to go on her honeymoon. When she told them, they all decided to go along and make a vacation out of it. Then all three families got to talking about it and decided to take their vacation together. They won’t stay at the same place where Samantha and her new husband are staying. But guess where all three families are going.”
I was getting just a little put out with Ted. It was too hot and too early in the morning to be playing guessing games.
“I don’t really care.”
But when Ted didn’t say anything else, I asked anyway: “Where?”
“Hawaii.”
“Hawaii?” I was suddenly wide awake and interested. “Man, I wish we could do that. I don’t even think we’re going to take a vacation this year.”
“How come?”
“Dad has to get certified again in underwater rescue. Summer is the only time they offer the classes.”
“You getting certified, too?”
I shook my head. “Can’t. You have to be twelve to get certified in scuba. I can do that. But it’s twenty-one for underwater rescue. He’s t
aking me, anyway. I go through the training—just don’t get the certificate. How about you?”
Ted sighed. “Not going anyplace, either. Just staying home and helping with the farm. That’s all I ever do.” He paused a minute and stared off at the blue sky. “Man, I hope we catch some fish tonight.”
Truth of the matter was, I didn’t care that much one way or the other. I mean . . . if we had to go fishing, catching something was better than just sitting around. What I really wanted was to go someplace exciting—like Hawaii. I wanted to do something fun and adventurous.
Fishing . . . well, fishing was just fishing. How exciting could that be?
7
When Mr. Aikman finished with his tractor he strolled over to join us.
“Don’t have to shoot shad,” he said. “Went by the bait shop for coffee this morning. They usually don’t have shad gizzards. They did today. Got you three cartons of them.”
“How about cut bait?” Ted asked.
“Catch some perch down at the lake. Let’s go get the poles done first.”
Ted and I nodded and followed Mr. Aikman to his pickup. I guess I was a little disappointed. Using the bow and arrow to shoot at fish sounded like it might have been fun. Still—chopping down trees might be neat, too.
We bounced and jostled across the pasture, to a little creek at the far side of Ted’s farm. Mr. Aikman hopped out and grabbed his chain saw. He found some willow trees and started cutting them, right at the base. Ted told me that was to keep the little stumps from puncturing a tractor tire if he drove down here.
He cut about twenty trees. All of them were eight to ten feet long and pretty straight. All Ted and I had to do was take an ax or hatchet from the back of the truck and knock the limbs off so we had a pole. He said he’d come back and check on us in a couple of hours.
• • •
I never sweated so much in my life.
It was three hours before Mr. Aikman came back, and we were just finishing up.