Me & Jack

by Danette Haworth

  chapter 30

  “What were you thinking?” Dad yelled once we were home in the kitchen. Millie decided to make herself scarce in the basement with laundry or something.

  “You don’t go spouting off to a policeman like that.” He wiped his palm across his face and stared at me. “I’m not sure we can keep Jack anymore.”

  “What?” My heart pounded. My mouth went dry.

  “He was supposed to be a fun watchdog—instead, he’s terrorizing our neighbors.”

  “Dad!” My insides wrenched, and my gut filled with a wild, anxious feeling. “Even the policeman said Jack didn’t do it.”

  “This time,” Dad said. “But there’s been other trouble. I can’t have our neighbors coming after us like an angry mob.”

  “But you said that if anything else happened, then you’d do something. This wasn’t Jack. This doesn’t count.”

  Dad stared at the floor for a long time. I wanted to shout for Jack’s innocence, but I knew I’d already made my point. Better to not push it. I looked at him, waiting for his judgment.

  “Okay,” Dad said. “I’m late for work.” He mustered himself together, picking up his briefcase, the reason he’d come back in the first place. “One more chance, Joshua. That’s all,” he said. “I can’t keep bailing Jack out of trouble.”

  A few minutes after Dad left, someone tapped the glass on the back door. After all that had just happened, I was afraid of who it could be—the policeman, that old lady, maybe even Prater.

  I ignored the tapping and hid out on the stairs, but Jack leaped away from me, barking. Whoever it was, Jack wanted them to know they’d have to get past him first.

  The rapping came louder.

  “Joshua,” Millie called from upstairs. “Can you get that? I’m ironing.”

  Oh, man. There goes my cover. I sauntered to the door, prepared to face trouble.

  Instead, it was a friendly face.

  “Hey, Mark,” I said. “Dad’s not here.”

  “I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. The muscles in his arms flexed, and I noticed for the first time his left bicep sported a tattoo of an eagle holding olive branches. “I was coming out of Tysko’s when I saw all the commotion. Just wanted to make sure you were okay, little man.”

  “I’m okay, but …” I didn’t know how much I wanted to tell him. Whose side would he be on? “Did you see that cat?”

  He nodded. “I’ve seen worse.” Jack jumped up and down, pawing Mark at the chest. Mark held his hands out to pet Jack.

  I measured him, taking in his open expression, the eagle tattoo, his hair, which was getting scruffy again. He was okay, I decided. Even Jack thought so.

  “Um … you want to come in?”

  “Sure.”

  We hung around in the living room, throwing Jack’s rope as we talked. I told him what happened, including all the stuff that happened before, like Prater when we first moved here and the Fourth of July. I even told him about the coyote.

  Mark drummed his fingers on the side table. “Maybe you should try to catch it.”

  “I’m trying, but the tape recorder’s not picking up anything.”

  “I mean actually catch it—trap it.”

  Okay, that got my attention. “How would I do that?”

  “Trip wire would do it. Maybe a pit.”

  “But he would jump out.”

  “No, you put metal spikes in it.”

  “That would kill him!”

  Mark looked at me. “Yeah, no one likes killing.” Settling back into the cushions, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. His body seemed to sink into the couch.

  “Mark?” I asked quietly. “What was the war like?”

  “Mmm, don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You talk about it with my dad.”

  He put his hand down and glanced at me plainly. “Your dad … he’s easy to talk to.”

  I thought about how I had tried to explain the trash cans and chickens and Jack to Dad and how he didn’t care. “Maybe for you.”

  “Maybe for you, too, little man. Give him a chance.”

  I thought about that for a second, too, but then I remembered something. “How come you don’t talk to your father about the stuff you and Dad talk about?”

  Mark’s mouth flattened into a line. “My old man … he dropped out of school and took a job to help his mother when his father died. He’s still driving that same bread truck.” He laughed with disbelief. “Just because I don’t want the same kind of life he settled for, he says I think I’m too good for it. And it’s not that.

  “It’s just … it’s hard for me to be here when I know what’s going on over there.” Mark leaned forward and looked directly at me. “Some guys didn’t make it back—I did. I can’t just drive a bread truck. What he doesn’t understand is that I feel like I’ve got to do something more important, something bigger.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” He sank back into the cushions. “I just want to make a difference.”

  I stared at him, trying to think of how he could make a difference. Become a doctor, maybe, or a pastor. Firemen, they help people.

  After Mark left, I thought about the traps he mentioned. Spikes nailing the coyote in the chest. Paws sliced up. I pushed those thoughts out of my mind. All I wanted to do was clear Jack’s name. That old lady, Mrs. Brenner, almost had the policeman believing Jack had killed her cat. If it hadn’t been for Dad pulling up at the right moment, I wasn’t sure what would have happened. Anyway, Ray said he would be over later, and he’d fill me in on everything.

  chapter 31

  I was sitting on the back stoop watching Millie hang laundry out to dry when Ray finally skidded into our driveway. He was practically bursting with news, so we ducked inside, out of Millie’s earshot.

  “She was trying to say it was Jack. She didn’t know his name, just kept going on about the devil dog.”

  “I told that policeman there was a coyote up there.” I whipped Jack’s rope across the living room. He galloped after it.

  Ray looked hopeful. “What’d he say?”

  “That I was making up stories.” I shook my head. “Dad says we have to get rid of Jack if anything else happens.”

  “What?” Ray’s eyebrows shot up.

  I looked at him and nodded.

  “Maybe you could just keep him home all the time.”

  “He was home this morning and still got blamed,” I pointed out.

  “Maybe I could go with you whenever you go out, and I could be a witness that he didn’t do anything.”

  “No,” I said. “They’d think you were lying, too.”

  “What about the tapes? Have you listened to the morning tapes?”

  “Yeah.” I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  We fell into silence.

  Millie came in, set the basket down, and served us each a piece of pecan pie. Then she grabbed her purse. “I’m going out for groceries,” she said. “Chicken, ham, some things to get you and your dad through the weekend. You boys stick around here, okay?”

  No problem there. I wasn’t exactly eager to set foot in town today. My thoughts went from the groceries to the policeman saying “small game” when my gaze settled on the laundry basket.

  Suddenly I got the idea for the perfect trap. “We’re going to catch that coyote,” I said to Ray.

  He put his fork down. “How?”

  “Well, he eats chicken and cats. We’ll leave some out for him.”

  Ray looked horrified. “You mean tie a cat up outside?”

  “No!” I said. And then I unfolded the beauty of my plan. “We’ll put Millie’s chicken in the trash can.”

  Ray gasped with understanding. “Yeah, put it in the trash can and leave the lid off so he can really smell it.”

  “When he knocks it down, I’ll hear it and run outside and—” And what? It wasn’t like I could grab him with my bare hands.

  “Maybe you could …”


  This was going to be harder than I thought. On TV, they always put the bait under a little cage held up by a stick. When the animal went for the bait, they pulled the stick out and the animal was trapped. The laundry basket wouldn’t hold a coyote. Neither would an overturned trash can.

  I shook my head, resigned. “No one’s going to believe us unless they see him.”

  Ray thought for a second. “What about your camera?”

  My heart quickened. “Yes! That’s it!” A picture was undeniable proof.

  With the camera as our weapon, the plan quickly fell into place. After Dad was in bed, I would sneak out and put the chicken in the trash cans. I’d leave the lids partly on; that way, they’d still let the smell out, but they’d also make a lot of noise when the coyote knocked them down. I’d leave the camera on my windowsill; since my windows overlooked that side, I could shoot the picture from there and have instant proof.

  Ray and I sat back, full and satisfied. Our plan could not fail.

  chapter 32

  Except it did.

  Mark came over that night. Dad invited him to stay for supper, but he stayed a lot longer than that. Normally, I didn’t mind when Mark stopped by—he joked around with me and played with Jack—but his being here tonight threw off my schedule. I wanted Dad to be in bed while I set about baiting the coyote.

  Instead, we had pizza delivered and knocked back a few root beers.

  “Old enough to fight, not old enough to drink,” Mark said, raising his bottle to Dad; then he finished it off.

  Dad chuckled.

  “Well,” I said. I smacked the couch cushions and stood. Mark was done. This night was over. But no, they just sat there and looked at me. I walked over to the front door and leaned on it.

  “Joshua?” Dad tilted his head at me.

  Peeling myself off the door, I strode between them to the kitchen. It was almost ten. “Is he ever going to leave?” I asked Jack. He followed me back into the living room, where I scooped up his rope toy and sat on the arm of the couch.

  Blah, blah, blah. They kept talking. I thought about when Dad and I drove to Harveys Lake and that lady baited Jack with a ham sandwich. How much more would a hungry coyote go for chicken drumsticks?

  “Joshua!” Dad leaned over and jerked the hem of my shirt. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous. Either throw that thing or quit fiddling with it.”

  I’d been slapping Jack’s toy against my other palm. Jack stood at the ready. Unlike me, he was very patient. I tossed it for him and slumped down onto the couch.

  Dad asked Mark, “Did you look over those papers I gave you?”

  “Yep.”

  “What papers?” I asked. “You’re not reenlisting, are you?” I’d heard about guys going back.

  “No.” Mark gave his head a quick shake. Then a grin took over his face and he said, “I’m going to college.”

  “I’ve been talking to Mark about using his GI benefits. He’s thinking about Penn State.”

  Everyone talked about Penn State. “But that’s not even close to here,” I said.

  Mark shrugged. He didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “You just got back. Don’t you want to stick around for a while?” If I was from somewhere, I’d be glad to be back. You wouldn’t see me taking off right away.

  “It’s only two hours away,” he said. Then to Dad, “I can come back whenever my laundry pile gets too high.”

  They laughed.

  “Yes, sir, I like that idea a lot. So does my old man.”

  I said, “I thought your dad wanted you to deliver bread like him.”

  Mark tapped his hand against the armrest. “Yeah, but then your dad here talked to him. Convinced him that going to college would get me a lot further than a bread truck ever could.”

  “That’s right,” Dad said.

  Mark grinned. “But when you told him the service would pay for college, that sealed the deal.”

  I remembered what Mark had said about wanting to make a difference. “What are you going to study?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “That’s okay,” Dad said. “You’ll figure it out. You’ve got your whole life in front of you now.”

  “Yep,” Mark said, his face turning serious.

  It felt like he was going to spend his whole life here tonight. I rubbed the tops of my legs and patted out a rhythm. I sent mental messages to Mark: Time to go home; time to go home. Go home so Dad will go to bed and I can bait the trash can.

  They were still talking when I got up and wandered into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I saw Millie’s chicken in a big container, just waiting for me. First, I’d—

  “What’re you poking around in there for?” Dad yelled from the living room. “There’s more pizza out here.”

  I rolled my head upward and shut the fridge door.

  Oh, man! Back in the living room, I saw they’d started on the second pizza.

  “Jack needs to go outside,” I muttered. Jack’s ears pricked at the word “outside.” He sprang and darted around me, almost blocking my way to the back door.

  “Don’t go too far,” Dad said. “It’s late.”

  I reached for Jack’s leash and hooked it onto his collar. “Yeah, it is late,” I said, then Jack and I slipped out the door.

  The night air chilled the backs of my arms. Tiny emissions of light sparked against the darkness, fireflies threading their way through the trees. Except for Jack’s excited snuffling, it was dead quiet out here. He tugged toward the woods, but there was no way I was heading up the mountain in this blackness. I pulled him away, and we jogged down the hill.

  The coyote had struck this morning. I wondered where it was now. Maybe it watched me from deep within the woods. No, I thought, Jack would know. Jack would smell him. Still, a shiver zipped through my spine. I felt like a soldier in the bush.

  After we reached Mrs. Puchalski’s house, we turned around for home. Mark’s car was still in the driveway. Once inside, I unhooked Jack and he rambled into the living room to greet them. I sighed heavily as I hung up Jack’s leash.

  “I’m going upstairs,” I said, skulking through the living room.

  Dad looked up. “All right, kiddo.” Talk about oblivious.

  “See you later,” Mark said.

  I shut my door on them.

  chapter 33

  It had been nearly a week since I came up with my plan, but every single night got messed up. Twice, I fell asleep before Dad did. Once, I set the alarm, but that set Jack off and Dad woke up.

  Mark was becoming a regular visitor. I wandered into the living room after supper one night when Dad had to take a phone call, leaving me alone with Mark.

  “Hey, little man. What’ve you been up to?” Mark stretched his legs out.

  “You’re kind of here a lot.” Oh, man. I couldn’t believe I said that. I watched his face for insult, but he nodded.

  “My dad told me the same thing.”

  I sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Why are you here so much?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Remember when you first moved here and you felt like everyone hated you?”

  “Yeah …”

  “And even though you’d seen some stuff, you couldn’t get anyone to understand you?”

  “Yeah …”

  “Well”—he glanced off to the side—“that’s how I feel.”

  “But you’re from here!” I erupted.

  He shook his head. “Not anymore. I just … Everyone expects me to be the same as I was before. I’m not.” He drew his eyebrows together. “I mean, I’m still me, but I’ve got this whole other thing now, you know? And nobody wants me to have it.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Except your dad. He knows.”

  And then I realized there are some bonds that are sacred. Like the bonds between soldiers. Between families. Between Jack and me.

  Bonds that cannot be broken.

  Only
I could protect Jack. It came down to me. He was more loyal than any friend I’d ever had, and he trusted me. Prater, that policeman, even Dad—they were against Jack. But he was innocent and I knew it. I would capture that coyote on film and deliver the true enemy.

  Waiting out Dad that night was hard. I tried to read, but my head kept dropping with sleep. Jack slept at my feet; he had no hint of the mission that lay before me.

  At midnight, I slunk out of bed, careful not to disturb Jack. I crept into the hallway and padded my way through the dark, quiet house to the kitchen. When I threw open the refrigerator door, there was the chicken, wrapped up in aluminum foil. I took it out and went through the back door, closing it gently.

  The midnight air was cool, and a chill shuddered right through me. I crept around the house to the trash cans. Earlier, I’d positioned them for the perfect camera angle. Now it was time to load the bait. I unwrapped the chicken, and the delicious smell of garlic and spices rose up. My stomach gnawed at me—I’d pretended I wasn’t hungry at supper because I wanted to leave as much chicken as possible for the trap.

  I broke off a drumstick and smeared the inside of both trash cans and lids with it, making sure they got good and greasy. Then I broke the meat apart and put some in both cans and left the lids teetering on the rims. Yeah, when those fell down there would be plenty of noise. I looked up to my window. Perfect.

  I slipped back inside, washed up, and slid into bed with no one the wiser.

  chapter 34

  Jack and I ran down a grassy hill, kicking up dandelions as we ran. Fuzzy white bits floated and drifted in the breeze and I laughed. Suddenly Mrs. Puchalski ran down the hill banging her pot lids. Jack turned and barked ferociously at her.

  I woke up. Jack was really barking and I heard the clatter of trash cans. My heart almost leaped through my chest. I tore to the window just in time to see two furry creatures feasting on the chicken. Raccoons.

  I threw the window open. “Hey!” I yelled. Jack stood with his front paws on the windowsill, barking excitedly. The raccoons looked up at us; they held our gaze for a moment as if deciding how bad the threat was. Then they took off.

  My bedroom light blinked on. “What’s going on in here?” Dad asked. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were half-shut.