“Josh, wait,” Ray said, leaning out of the doorway.
I shook my head without turning around. All I wanted to do was get out of there, but I walked to show Prater I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t a wuss.
“Joshua!” Ray called from the tree house. I looked up to him. He had one foot on the steps and one foot in the tree house. He stared at me and Jack for a second, then he pressed his lips together and turned to Prater. “Sometimes you are an idiot,” he said. He bounded down the steps and caught up to us. “Come on, let’s go.”
Prater rushed to the doorway. “Hey, Ray!”
Ray kept walking.
“You’re not my cousin anymore,” Prater spat.
“Who cares!” Ray shouted without turning around.
We mounted our bikes and flew down the driveway with Jack sprinting alongside. Just before we hit the first curve, I looked behind us. Prater stood leaning against the bottom of the tree house steps; he had the BB gun trained on us. I mashed down on the pedals.
chapter 27
Later that night, I sat alone in front of the TV without watching. I was still mad about this afternoon. Prater and his stupid wristband. I should never have given it back to him after what he did. The phone rang in the other room, and I heard Dad pick it up. After a few seconds, he raised his voice and sounded angry. I wished people would leave him alone about the air force. My thoughts drifted back to Prater and his guns. He probably pictured himself as a gunslinger—or a cowboy with his horses.
I heard Dad put the phone down hard. He came into the living room and he didn’t look happy.
“Joshua.” He snapped off the television and sat on the chair next to the couch. Leaning forward, he pressed his right fist into his other hand. “I just got off the phone with Bruce Prater.”
My back shot up ramrod straight.
“He says you threatened his son—”
“What?”
“You sicced the dog on Alan.”
“No way! He’s lying! He pulled a gun on me!” My whole body tightened. I rushed into the story about the fort and finding the wristband and going over there to confront Prater. “He pushed me, so Jack growled at him, that’s what happened.”
Dad stared at me. “And then he pointed the BB gun at Jack.”
My mouth half-open, I nodded quickly.
Lines appeared on Dad’s forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
I blinked rapidly. I couldn’t believe Prater told his dad. I hadn’t told my dad because I didn’t want more trouble with Prater. “Well, it wasn’t loaded or anything.”
“For all you knew, it was loaded. That kid has no right threatening you like that.” He rose from the chair.
“What are you going to do?” My voice pitched higher than normal.
“I’m going to call his father and let him know what really happened.”
“No!” When he looked at me, I said, “Don’t—it’ll just make things worse between Prater and me.” I stared at him until his posture relaxed and I knew he’d changed his mind.
“I don’t like letting this go,” he said. “Even a BB gun can hurt someone. Is there anything else I should know? Is that all that happened?”
“Yes, sir.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Did you know Alan was mauled by a dog when he was little?”
I nodded.
“That dog almost killed him. Bruce said Alan was in bad shape for a while.” He shook his head. “He also said he might file a report, but I think I talked him out of it.”
My eyes bulged in their sockets. “Jack didn’t do anything! Prater was the one. He pushed me. He’s had it in for us ever since we moved here. Jack was protecting me.”
“Yes, but—”
“Isn’t that why we got him? To protect me?” I shouted.
Dad’s jaw tensed. He shifted in the chair. “It’s not really working out the way I thought it would.” Before I could protest, Dad held up a hand to stop me. “Look, we’ve had a lot of trouble with Jack. If anything else happens …” He shook his head.
“What?” I said, fear flowing in my blood. “If anything else happens, what?”
Dad looked at me with a sad expression.
“No!” I roared. “We’re not giving Jack away.”
“Joshua—”
“No!” I yelled as I bounded up the stairs. Jack galloped behind me.
I slammed the door and fell onto the bed. Jack hopped up and licked my cheek. Everything was closing in on me. The only safe place was with Jack. I lay there, my thoughts racing, until I heard a car roll up our driveway. My heart struck a hard beat. Prater’s dad couldn’t have called someone already.
I jumped to the window and saw a guy getting out of his car. The tightness in my chest eased up. It was just Mark.
“Don’t worry, boy,” I said as I turned from the window to Jack. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
chapter 28
It’s weird how cemeteries are actually nice places, if you don’t count the gravestones. The smell of fresh-cut grass breezed over the grounds. Huge trees cast pools of shade over the sloping lawns. I shivered against the morning chill, but already the sun touched my arms, a promise of the heat to come.
I stood next to my dad in the cemetery. He wore his crisp dress uniform. Army, air force, and marine veterans—young guys and old-timers—mixed in with a crush of people from town. I spotted Mark in his dress blues. He looked different somehow. It wasn’t just the uniform; he carried himself differently. While the rest of the people his age bent their heads to talk or slouched with their hands in their pockets, Mark faced forward, eyes level, hands at his sides, his back ramrod straight. I fixed up my posture.
So many people turned out for David Kowalski’s burial that the crowd curved around the open grave, a dark hole with boards and lashes laid over it. Dad and I somehow ended up sort of facing the family. I tried not to, but my eyes kept returning to them. Is that how Dad and I had looked? Skin sagging off our faces, eyes dim, unseeing? The lady I pegged as the mother sat shrunken into herself. I looked away from her.
As a bugler played “Amazing Grace,” army soldiers marched to the hearse and hefted out the coffin. Mrs. Kowalski’s shoulders started to shake. She pressed a tissue to her mouth. A man, her husband, laid his hand on her arm.
They had played “Amazing Grace” at Mom’s funeral, too. She picked it out herself. Picked out her own dress to be buried in. Told Dad what prayers she wanted for the service. Everyone said she looked like she was sleeping, but I didn’t think so. That body in her coffin didn’t look like her; it looked like a statue of her.
I flexed the muscles in my jaw and faced David Kowalski’s casket.
When the preacher got done talking, the army pallbearers stepped up and folded the flag. They had white gloves on, and the last guy to hold the flag pulled it to his chest like he was hugging it.
Mrs. Kowalski groaned and shook her head as he walked up to her with it. “No, no, no …” Her husband wrapped his arm around her. Together, they took the folded flag from the soldier. She clutched it now in her lap, rocking. The girls behind me let out little sobs.
Dad and Mark and the other veterans held their salute.
Off to the side, I heard, “Ready!” and the cocking of guns. Seven army soldiers held their rifles. “Aim!” A silence. “Fire!”
Boom! I flinched big-time. Seven military-issue rifles firing at the same time … it was a sound that commanded my whole body to attention. As a group, they fired two more times—a twenty-one-gun salute. Then a bugler played “Taps.” I could see houses across from the cemetery. Could they hear the bugler? Did they sit in their kitchen listening to those lonely notes and wonder Who’s being buried today? I would not want to live in any of those houses.
When it was all over, people went up to the family; some got in their cars. Mark shook hands with the father and said a few words to the mother; then he came over and joined us.
“You
shaved!” I said. He’d gotten a haircut, too.
He gave me a sharp nod. Military mode, I recognized it immediately.
Dad asked, “How are you holding up?”
Mark looked straight at him. “He was two years ahead of me in school. I can’t—” He clenched his jaw, swallowed.
I watched Dad watch Mark, and I saw him make a decision. “You wouldn’t mind taking Joshua home for me, would you?”
“No, sir.”
“But, Dad!” My response came automatically. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I wanted to stay at the graveyard or talk to the family, and Jack was probably busting to get outside anyway. It made me feel better to think of Jack. “Okay, never mind.”
As Mark and I climbed into his Mustang, I saw Dad shake Mr. Kowalski’s hand and grip his shoulder. Then we took off.
“Cool car,” I said, rolling down the window.
“Thanks, I got it before.” Before Vietnam.
I stuck out my hand and let the wind push it up and down.
“Man, that was heavy.” Mark had his sunglasses on, but his voice gave him away.
“Were you guys friends?” That’s the hardest thing, if it’s someone you know, someone you care about. I didn’t know David Kowalski.
Mark shook his head. “Didn’t know him that well.” His chest rose with a big sigh. “But some of my friends—” He swallowed noisily a couple of times before going on. “Guys I met over there, they bought it. They died. My sergeant was only twenty-one.…”
“My mom was thirty-two.”
He glanced at me, then looked back at the road. “Man, I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know—how do you get over it?”
I felt that familiar sting at the back of my eyes. “You don’t get over it,” I said slowly. Mom was still alive in movies I kept in my head. I thought about her every day. “You never get over it. You just …” I didn’t know how to explain it, so I used Dad’s words. “You learn to live with knowing they’re gone.”
We rode ahead, both of us lost in our own thoughts. The valley was farm after farm with black-and-white cows and old barns. We passed by rows of corn and straw-colored patches of land. The wind carried the sweet field scent into the car along with the heat.
“You want a Coke or something?” Mark asked. “I’m dying of thirst.”
“Me, too.”
As Mark paid for our drinks at a drugstore, a guy and a girl got in line behind us.
“Hey, G.I. Joe!” The guy snorted. The girl giggled, covering her mouth.
Mark pocketed his change and handed me my drink.
“Did you have fun in Vietnam?” the guy said. “Did you kill any babies?”
I looked at him with horror, then at Mark. Mark’s eyes hardened, but the only thing he said was, “Come on, Joshua.”
My mouth dropped as he pushed open the door and walked out. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to do anything. Just as I was about to follow him, I heard the guy inside snort.
“Big tough guy,” he said. The girl punched his arm and told him to stop, but she laughed.
I gritted my teeth and stood back in the doorway. My neck and face burned with anger. “Shut up,” I said.
The guy tilted his head like maybe he didn’t hear me right.
“Shut up!” I said again.
The girl raised a hand to her mouth.
The guy put his stuff down on the counter and sauntered over. My eyes narrowed. I squared my shoulders. He stood almost as tall as Dad but looked about Mark’s age. When he planted himself in front of me, he said, “Your buddy’s a killer—you know that, right?”
I stared at him hard.
Behind me, the bells jingled and the door opened. The guy startled.
“Joshua.” It was Mark.
The lady at the counter backed up. “I don’t want any trouble in here,” she said, but it was Mark she looked at.
“There’s no trouble here, ma’am,” Mark said, then he directed himself to the guy. Their eyes locked for a moment.
The guy didn’t say anything. Mark gave one sharp nod, then turned to leave. As he pushed through the door, the guy’s body relaxed.
I pierced him with my eyes. “Big tough guy,” I said.
When we got into the Mustang, Mark wedged his Coke bottle against the cigarette lighter and flipped off the cap. He tilted the bottle up and drained about half of it before starting the car.
I popped mine off, too, but I held it at my side. “Why didn’t you say anything to him?” I asked. “Why didn’t you do something?”
He cranked the wheel and took us out of the parking lot, onto the freeway. Wind whipped through the car as he accelerated. Staring straight ahead, he answered, “I won’t disgrace the uniform.”
chapter 29
Every night, I set up the tape recorder, and every morning I listened to the cassettes. Sometimes Ray came over and we’d bend our heads close to the speaker, trying to hear something—anything—but so far, nothing. Even with the longer tapes, I was only getting an hour and a half or so each time, and it was about the same slice each night.
I started setting my alarm for five o’clock in the morning to insert a new tape and then I’d go back to bed. Most mornings, I’d fall right back to sleep, but Friday morning I felt restless. Jack’s legs sprawled across the bed and I couldn’t get comfortable. I tried lying on my side, my back, my stomach, but finally, I got up and changed into my clothes.
Dad was just leaving as I went downstairs. I hadn’t forgotten what he said the other day about getting rid of Jack if anything else happened. Inside, I felt mad at him for that—he knew Jack; he liked Jack. How could he even think about giving him away? But I couldn’t let on my feelings without reminding Dad about it, so I got my breakfast and tried to act like everything was normal between us. Maybe he’d forget what he said about Jack.
After he left, I felt fidgety; I needed to get out of the house. I left a note for Millie, then hooked up Jack and got on my bike. “Let’s go to Ray’s,” I said. Jack didn’t care where we were going; he just loved to be outside running. He looked like a racehorse, slicing through the wind.
After we rounded the curve to Ray’s, I spotted a police car and a bunch of people standing outside the house before Ray’s. That old lady’s house. Maybe she died or something.
As we got closer, I saw Ray and waved. A look of horror crossed his face when he saw me and he made weird gestures I didn’t understand. I heard sobbing and hysterical wailing.
“That’s him!” someone shrieked, and that’s when I saw her, Mrs. Brenner, pointing at Jack. Her hair was wild and her eyes looked crazy. She wore a housecoat. “That’s the dog!”
I felt like someone had punched me in the gut.
“Now, hold on a minute, Mrs. Brenner,” the police officer said, holding her arm.
As the policeman tried to calm the old lady down, Ray cut through the crowd to me. “Something killed her cat,” he said quietly. He puckered his face. “It was all shredded apart on her sidewalk.”
Before he could continue, the old lady shuffled up to me with the policeman right behind her. She shook her finger at Jack.
“I saw him,” she hissed. “I saw his yella eyes glowing. I saw his bushy tail—”
“His tail’s not bushy!” I yelled.
The policeman looked at Jack’s wire-thin tail. “You sure this is the same dog?”
“I saw him!” she insisted.
“Son, where was your dog early this morning?”
Just then a car screeched to a stop.
All heads turned as Dad got out of the car and strode up the sidewalk. I felt proud and relieved as I watched him walk up in his sharp, blue air force uniform, with its ribbons and stripes. They wouldn’t gang up on me now.
Dad acknowledged me with a sharp nod. “Joshua,” he said. He was in air force mode. He looked at the policeman. “What’s going on here, Ed?”
The policeman sighed. “Another attack on small game.” He shook his head.
; “I’ll tell you what’s going on!” the old lady yelled. “That devil dog killed my cat.” Tears ran down her face. “I saw him my own self. I went to get the newspaper and saw him—” She broke off, sobbing.
The policeman shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I got to ask you this, Rich. Was the dog out this morning?”
Dad didn’t even pretend to be friendly. “My boy and his dog were eating Pop-Tarts half an hour ago.”
“And the dog was in the house all morning.” It was a question, but the policeman made it sound like a statement.
“Ed, this is ridiculous.”
“I know, I know, I’m just doing my job here, Rich.”
Dad glanced upward and sighed. “Look, Joshua and Jack were just getting up when I left a little while ago.”
The policeman nodded his head. “Okay, then.”
“Joshua, get in the car,” Dad said.
“You’re letting them go?” the old lady shrieked.
“Joshua,” Dad said firmly. “Get in the car.”
“I’ll come over later,” Ray said quickly.
I got into the backseat with Jack as Dad loaded my bike into the trunk. Dad settled in behind the wheel, but before we could leave, the policeman walked up to Dad’s open window.
“Hey, Rich, no hard feelings, okay? Just doing my job. A lot of talk’s been going around about your dog, but her description and the timing don’t work out.”
“That’s ’cause Jack didn’t do it,” I yelled from the backseat.
“Joshua,” Dad warned.
I grabbed the back of Dad’s seat and pulled myself forward. “You should look up on the mountain—there’s a coyote up there.” I said. Good. Now the police knew. Maybe they would do something about it.
But instead of concern, a look of doubt crossed the officer’s face. “Son, I’ve heard a lot of things about your dog. I’d advise you to not go around making up stories.” He turned to Dad and tapped the top of the car. “Sorry, Rich.”
Dad gave him a quick nod and drove home. He didn’t say one word the whole way. This was going to be bad.
Me & Jack Page 11