The Silent Strength of Stones

by Nina Kiriki Hoffman

  “I know you don’t get to have all the fun the other kids do, but then, their dads are different. Their dads make plenty of money. Their dads don’t depend on ’em the way I depend on you.”

  I stared at the worn hardwood floor, at the grime that had worked its way down into the cracks despite once-a-week sweeping and mopping Sunday evenings. My feelings crystallized into one solid sensation: dread. How could I leave him if he was going to be nice to me?

  “I know I kept the leash pretty tight on you all these years,” he said, and I heard a faint echo of Evan’s voice murmuring, “I’ll give you a long leash.” Pop continued, “You seen what happens when the parents get too loose on the reins with the kids. Remember those Clark kids from last summer?”

  I remembered them, Alicia and John Clark. A nastier pair I had never met. They had been convinced that everybody who worked where they could see it was some sort of subspecies, to be ignored if the work got done properly, abused if anything displeased John and Alicia. Kristen had been in the store one time when John came in and cussed me out because a fish hook got caught in his thumb (real fish hooks only worked on fish, not people!). She had gone red listening to him, and drifted farther from the cash register, I guess to spare me embarrassment; it worked out for me, because with Kristen out of earshot I could lean forward, stare into John’s eyes, arid say, “Leave. Now.” Kristen came over with a People magazine after John had gone, and said she was sorry. I had shrugged, wishing that she hadn’t been there to hear it and to see me stand there and take it as if I deserved it.

  “Yeah,” I told Pop. “I remember.”

  “That’s what happens when there’s no leash. You wouldn’t want to be like them, would you?”

  “No,” I said. I had the feeling there were other factors contributing to the way the Clarks behaved—I had seen the way their parents were with them—but decided not to mention it.

  “And you aren’t,” Pop said. “Anyway, I guess you’re growing up now, and I need to…I need to…” He blew breath up, riffling his bangs a little. “I need to let you go,” he said, then glared at me. “To dances, anyway.”

  I just looked at him, not knowing how to respond.

  “And dates, I guess. Look, I don’t want to reward you for insubordination. I hate it when you tell me made-up stories, and what you did tonight was wrong, defying me. I don’t want you to do that again. But I got to thinking about it.” His eyes shifted, till he was looking over my shoulder, but not at anything in sight “Got to remembering what it was like when I was your age. Gaw dang.” He shook his head slowly. “Your granddad and I sure didn’t see eye to eye in those days, no sir.”

  I straightened. I had never heard him talk about his childhood.

  “I was the second boy,” he said. “Your uncle, Luke, was the important boy, Dad’s favorite. He was as fine and golden as they come, not smart, but such an athlete. Granddad never paid any mind to me. I never knew he cared about me at all, not till much later.”

  “Uncle Luke?” I’d never heard of an Uncle Luke.

  “He went off to Vietnam and died.” Pop frowned. “You know I care about you, don’t you, Nick?”

  “I guess,” I said. I had never thought about it much. I knew he valued my work even though he had never said so. I knew he trusted me to run the store, and that had been hard for him—to let go control enough not to supervise my every move.

  I knew he couldn’t get along without me, even though this was the first time I’d heard him say it aloud. When he first started me on a full-day shift I had been proud of that, that I was helping us survive. When Mom left and I took over the cooking, I had felt the same. I liked knowing what I knew. I liked being able to take care of Pop and Granddad the way Mom had taken care of all of us. At first, I swore to myself that I would never leave the way she did, ripping the hearts out of us. Lately I had started feeling differently. I was glad I hadn’t made my vow aloud. I figured I could take my skills other places and use them to survive.

  Resentment and frustration had started building. How come Pop paid Mariah a token wage and me nothing at all, except a monthly allowance any kid might have gotten without any work? How come he never let me learn how to do the books?

  Pop said, “I do care about you. I’m glad you’re here. I need you bad. I know I’ve been tough on you. I think it’s time for me to ease up. Go to dances. Go on dates. But you got to be careful. Don’t get too moony about anybody staying at Lacey’s. That would never work. I mean, you can have a good time with those girls, but don’t be getting any ideas. They’d never plan to settle out here away from everything and run a store and a motel.”

  The dread took root in my stomach and spread through my body, made my legs and arms feel very heavy, as if I couldn’t walk, let alone run. I am going to get away from here. I’m going somewhere else. I heard Junie saying those words in my mind. How far away had she gotten? Halfway around the lake.

  “Anyway,” said Pop, “I guess what I’m trying to say, your time off the job, it’s yours. I know you been running around, morning and evening, but you get stuff done. You get our meals on the table. You do the chores. You run the store. I appreciate that I really do. So no more grounding or anything like that. Listen, maybe you could even drive down to the valley sometime if you want. You do something really screwy, though, and—well, just don’t, all right?”

  I felt the cement setting around my feet. I was going to be stuck here running the store forever. “Pop?”

  “What?”

  “Can I have a dog?”

  “Wha-a-a-a-at?”

  “He won’t get in the way, I promise, and I don’t think we’ll have to pay much for food. He hunts for himself.”

  “Well, this is very strange,” said Pop. “Not exactly what I expected you to say.”

  I half wanted to ask him what he had expected me to say. Thanks very much, Pop? Gee, I’m glad you noticed, Pop? I’ll stay here forever, Pop? You’re the best?

  “But okay,” he said. “Whose bitch has puppies?”

  “Uh,” I said. I went to the door and opened it. “Evan?” I called softly.

  A moment later the wolf stood in front of me. He looked bigger than I remembered, and much more ominous. He had had his head on my chest, I remembered. Now that I could actually see him by security light, I felt a small thrill of fear.

  I held the door open. “Come on in.”

  He walked past me.

  Pop scrambled to his feet, grabbing for the broom in the corner.

  “It’s all right,” I said, telling Pop and myself. “This is Evan, Pop. He’s—he’s my dog.”

  “Since when?” whispered Pop.

  “Tonight, I guess.”

  “Son, that is a wild animal.”

  “He does look pretty scary, doesn’t he?”

  “That is a wild animal, Nick. It’ll tear out your throat the instant you go to sleep.”

  “No, he won’t,” I said. I put my hand on Evan’s head, and he glanced up at me, jaw dropping into a grin, tongue lolling between his teeth. “You’re not interested in tearing my throat out, are ya?”

  “Naw,” he said.

  “And you can do tricks.”

  “What!”

  “Show Pop.”

  “Nick,” Evan said. It came out in a growl.

  “If you want to stay in the house, you gotta act like a dog.” I stroked his head. “Speak,” I said.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said.

  “If I had one of those doggie treats, I’d give it to you, but I don’t have one. Sorry. I could give you a piece of jerky.”

  “No thanks.”

  He didn’t like jerky? I’d never met anybody who didn’t like jerky. I shrugged and said, “Sit.”

  He glared at me, then sat, his tail curling around his front paws.

  “Thanks,” I said. “How about shaking hands?”

  He huffed, then held out a drooping paw, his eyes narrowed with disdain. I gripped his paw and released it. “W
e gotta work on that one,” I said.

  “Ffff,” he said.

  “Would he attack people for you?” Pop asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I only got him tonight.”

  “Where’d you get him?”

  “Somebody at the dance gave him to me.”

  “So you planned to have him even before you asked me.”

  “I hoped you’d say yes,” I said.

  “And if I said no?”

  “I’d just have to let him go.”

  Evan said, “I would then turn you into a chihuahua and take you into the woods with me. Tell him that.” He laughed.

  “A chihuahua?” I cried. It was too horrible to contemplate.

  Pop said, “Well, thank God you didn’t get one of those toy dogs, Nick. Guess I should just be glad you got a respectable critter, huh?”

  “Please,” I said.

  “A chihuahua,” Evan muttered, “or a poodle. A little white toy one. With pink bows.”

  “Can you do that?” I asked him, feeling worms crawling among my guts.

  “Guess I can,” said Pop.

  “Of course,” said Evan. “I know lots of tricks.” He padded over to the sewing supplies and stared at a spool of pink ribbon.

  “Thanks, Pop,” I said, looking away from Evan with effort.

  “Just don’t let him scare the customers away, that’s all I ask.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks, Pop. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Never even knew you wanted a dog. Should have told me.”

  Something hot and sweet and hurting twisted in my chest at that. All these years alone. I went to Evan and knelt beside him and put my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his fur and thinking about nothing at all. He smelled like wilderness.

  “He’s sure patient,” Pop said after a while.

  I took a deep breath and let go of Evan. He swiped my face with his tongue. I rubbed my cheek on the sleeve of my T-shirt and said, “He’s the best.” I glanced at my watch. I blinked. It was after one.

  “Yeah,” said Pop. “It’s late. Hope you were having fun tonight.”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “Two guests up at the motel. They’ll be needing coffee and rolls around eight tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay,” I said, climbing to my feet. I set my watch alarm for six. “Good night, Pop.”

  “Night, Nick.”

  Evan watched with interest as I did a short set with my weights, then washed up, brushed teeth, and got ready for bed. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” I asked him.

  “No,” he said.

  “Need to go out?”

  “I’ll let you know,” he said, grinning.

  “Are you really going to turn me into a poodle?”

  He laughed and rolled the barbells off the rug with his nose. “Wonder if I’ll like being domesticated,” he said, turning around three times and then curling nose to tail.

  I switched off the light. “Good night,” I said. “This has been the weirdest day of my life.”

  “Good night, Nick. Go to sleep.”

  “What’s that noise?” someone asked loudly in my ear.

  “What!” I struggled up, fighting covers, to discover my watch alarm peeping and a wolf beside the bed. “Ow!” My head felt thick.

  “Wake up,” said the wolf, and my head cleared instantly. I switched off the alarm.

  “Thanks,” I said. I got out of bed and did an extended workout with the weights. Evan lay down, muzzle on front paws, eyes watching me.

  “Got to shower,” I said. “God, I’m tired.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Evan. “You feel rested and energized.”

  And I did. “That’s spooky,” I said.

  He laughed.

  I took my shower, did my Saturday morning shave, then asked Evan as I got dressed, “Do I need to sleep at all?” Not that I would know what to do with that many more hours. If everybody else was sleeping, there wouldn’t be anything to watch. On the other hand, I could still explore the lake and the forest, though my night vision wasn’t any better than anybody else’s, as far as I could tell. On the third hand, maybe not everybody else was sleeping. Willow’s family, for instance, might have odd night habits worth investigating. Everything else about them certainly bore further study, and now I had a double agent right in the room with me.

  “You do,” he said. “At least…I think you do. We could experiment. I like to sleep.”

  “Sometimes I really like to sleep.” Especially if everything was rotten in the waking world. “You hungry yet?”

  “I’ll catch something when we go out.”

  I tied my shoelaces and led him downstairs, where I set out a bowl of dry cereal for Granddad and checked the expiration date on the milk carton. Still good. I got a salad bowl we hadn’t used in ages out of a cupboard and filled it with water. I put it on the floor. Evan looked at me, then drank long and deep. Ate a quick bowl of cereal myself. I loaded the coffeemaker’s filter with fresh grounds, poured water in and flipped the switch, set up and switched on the coffee maker in the store, and led the way up to the motel office, where I started that coffeemaker and microwaved some frozen pastries and rolls, then stocked the buffet with napkins, cups, plates, plastic spoons and knives, a dish of margarine, and things to put in coffee. The pastries and the coffee smelled good. I offered Evan a croissant, but he wasn’t interested. By that time it was almost seven-thirty.

  Evan watched everything I did without comment.

  At last we stepped outside and headed for my trail.

  I stopped first and dipped fingers in the lake. Evan watched me, his head to the side.

  For the first time in an age, I thought about what I was doing. Mom had taught me this lake greeting. After she left, I had ditched a lot of what she had given me, but this one was important, still. Ever since that winter day when I lay on the ice and tried to let it freeze me, I had felt an intense connection to the lake. Ice had crept up over my bare hands, but I had not frozen. I had taken off my jacket, shirt, and long Johns, and lain back down, determined to do a good job of it, and ice had embraced me. It melted a little under me and closed over me. I lay feeling it over me like a blanket, holding me in what I was certain was false warmth, and my mind slowed; I could feel my thoughts calming and crystallizing. Ice held me while I watched the short day fade and the stars blink into being in the dark sky. Later, when Pop came out of the house, calling for me, nothing in me had frozen. I sat up out of crackling ice, brushed a film of ice from my face, dressed, and went back to the Venture.

  I had never told anyone. I was pretty sure it had been a dream. Still, when I touched the lake, I felt a quickening inside me, and when I went swimming in it, I dove down and stayed down for longer than I could hold my breath, to remind myself that something strange was going on. I liked it.

  I touched my wet fingers to my face and straightened. I wondered what Evan was thinking. He seemed wholly wolf, though, so I didn’t ask. I headed for the path instead.

  After yesterday’s heat, the morning’s cool felt wonderful. The blue of the sky was clean scrubbed, not dusty the way it got later in the day when people drove around kicking up clouds. I took some deep breaths. No sound but birds and crickets and bees and the conversations pine needles have with themselves when there’s a touch of wind. Our footsteps didn’t make much noise on the fallen needles.

  My thoughts drifted to who I was going to spy on today. It occurred to me that this might be awkward. How much did Evan know about my habits? Maybe more than I thought.

  “Were you watching me yesterday morning?” I asked Evan.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “While I was watching Willow.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t do anything.”

  “Neither did you.”

  Studying him, I walked.

  He said, “If you had tried anything—anything—toast, buddy. But all you did was watch.”

  “Tha
t’s all I ever do.”

  “Not last night.”

  I thought about kissing Willow. “That was different. It stopped being a watching thing. We moved past it.”

  We traveled a way in silence. He said, “What was strange to me about yesterday morning was that you could see Willow at all. She was warded against the sight of outsiders.”

  “She disappeared, Evan.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be able to see her even before that.”

  Lauren had mentioned second sight, something I had even heard of, unlike a lot of the weird words with which Evan and the others peppered their language. “Where did she disappear to?”

  “I don’t know.” For a while we walked. “That was a woman’s mystery; I don’t understand it.”

  We were approaching Lacey number five. I sat down in the path and looked at Evan, face to muzzle. “So,” I said, “this is where I sneak up and see what they’re up to.”

  He laughed.

  I said, “I was thinking. There’s lots you could tell me about what goes on here.”

  He blinked at me, then slowly smiled.

  “Or you could tell me to get out of here and stop watching them. And you know I would.”

  He looked up into a nearby tree. He yawned, tongue curling.

  “Or you could just sit there and let me do what I do. Want to give me a hint, here?”

  “Or I could turn you into a snake and you could slither right up to the cabin. How about that?”

  “A snake?” I said. “I don’t think snakes can hear very well. Let’s go with the chihuahua.”

  “All right,” he said, dipping his nose.

  “Uh—no, I wasn’t serious.”

  He laughed. “Sooner or later, Nick. Sooner or later.”

  “Later, I guess.” I shuddered. “I have to open the store pretty soon.”

  “Well, you do your watching; I’m going to see if anything is stirring that I can eat. Usually I hunt at night.” He vanished into the underbrush with hardly a rustle.

  It felt strange to be alone. Even though I couldn’t figure out when he was teasing (and if he wasn’t teasing, I felt apprehensive about what he had said), I liked having him with me. This was what I had been missing since Mom left and maybe before, someone to be with me; jeez, even someone I could just touch without worrying about it too much; although I hadn’t asked him if that was all right; it just felt right. Which was probably what rapists said afterward. I had better ask him next time.