by Boo Riley
9
When Dad walked around the corner of the house, Cameron and I had our heads down, weeding the strawberries. He looked like he couldn’t believe what he saw and was lost for words. Probably thought the right jab he’d delivered to my face had straightened me out for good. Made me the perfect son.
Jake had found a wet, shady spot and scratched out a hole to lie in. Just another hot, lazy day for him to sleep through.
Dad watched us a minute and walked away. The screen door slammed. Me and Cameron glanced at each other because we knew he was going inside to take a nap.
I rocked back to sit on my heels. “Here it is. When I cranked the motor over hard and Dad fell, he screamed that he couldn’t swim.”
Cameron squinted, his forehead wrinkled and lips pooched out.
I was going to have to spell it out. “Cameron,” I held my hands up. “I’m going to…”
I heard something behind me and turned as Jake padded up and sat next to me, ears pricked my direction. Heat rose in my face and guilt flooded my soul like nothing I’d ever felt, even after telling a lie. Jake was my angel, my watcher, and now he was trying to listen in on my conversation.
Cameron waved his hand in my face. “Hey, wake up. What are you going to do?”
Jake never moved. He didn’t want me to scratch his head or pet him. Just waited for me to open my mouth. I couldn’t. Not now. “Jake, go lay down. Go on.”
I waved my hand at him, but he never raised a paw, only moved his head as my hand passed by. “Jake, get! Go on!”
Cameron shook my arm. “T, you’re yelling. Dad’s going to hear you.”
I threw a weed. My temper flared toward my friend, and I yelled, “Quit staring at me, you one-eyed monster!”
Jake’s ears dropped and he trotted toward his hole, eyeing me over his shoulder.
I’d convinced him to leave, so we could talk in private. Then, my heart sank because of what I’d called him. I’d insulted one of my best friends.
The screen door banged, and I knew I was wrong on both counts. Cameron had tried to warn me about yelling, and Jake knew he was coming.
Cameron threw a muddy clod at me. With a broken voice, he said, “I told you. Why don’t you listen?”
Dad stormed around the corner, shirtless and barefoot. He’d already turned red. His rage brought Momma Ray from the garden to watch. Hands with yellow gloves at her sides, she stood in the flowerbed. A haggard scarecrow with rosy cheeks dressed in a baggy shirt and a straw hat. Emotionless.
Poor Cameron. Because I didn’t listen and wouldn’t keep my mouth shut, Dad vented most of his anger on him first. I’d get my turn, but it wouldn’t last as long and wouldn’t be as violent. I guess if Dad had a favorite, it was me. He saved me for last. The best for last? I don’t know.
When Dad finished with Cameron and started on me, Jake howled from somewhere in the woods close to the house.
I kept my head down. My tooth meant more than the rest of me. I could hide bruises with a shirt and pants, or make up an excuse. I knew how to make good excuses. Fell off the tractor, slipped with a wrench, ran into something in the dark, or had a pig get after me. But I didn’t want to gum my food or be afraid to smile.
Dad ate well, grew fat over the years, and didn’t work hard, so he didn’t last as long. He gave us one last kick in the behind and sent us to the barn to start our chores.
Enough pain over enough time will dry tears. I’d made up my mind to never cry again. Cameron too.
Behind the barn sat several drums, tall weeds in and around a stack of bald tires, and a broken-down push mower. Dad’s attempt at a chicken house stood naked, its frame leaning to one side. Next to it, a pile of gray boards full of rusty nails and an old yellow washing machine.
I hopped onto one side of the washing machine, Cameron onto the other, our backs together. Jake plopped down at my feet and laid his head down, stretched out on his paws.
My tooth was something I couldn’t keep my tongue off of. Like meat stuck between two molars only a toothpick could dislodge.
I shouldered Cameron. “I’m sorry. Kind of lost my head.”
Cameron let his foot bang on the side of the washer over and over. “You better leave that tooth alone. It might set again if you do.”
“How did you know I’m messing with it?”
“Been watching you.”
Two chickens pecked their way around the corner of the barn, both white but one speckled with black like it roosted under Dad’s pickup and got oil dripped all over its feathers. Like our pigs, Dad didn’t have a breed of chicken, just colors, all colors. White, red, black, and one blue Bantam that laid green eggs. The rooster was a flogger. He was dark red and black with a large red comb on his head, sharp spurs on his legs, and mean enough to use them if you got too close.
“Cameron, do you remember loving Dad? I know that’s not something we talk about, but didn’t you love him at one time?”
“How come you asked that?”
“I don’t know. I loved Dad. Couldn’t wait to meet him when Mom told us about him. Remember our surprise when she said we had a dad? We used to talk about him all the time.”
“That’s because we were young and dumb.” Cameron laughed without humor.
A hawk passed overhead as the thoughts in my head fluttered in and out. “I don’t know if I love him now though. I think it’s turned to hate.” I mulled over that feeling a second. “I wonder what Mom’s doing?”
Cameron stopped kicking the washer for a beat then continued. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know, seven o’clock or about.”
“She’s drunk.”
“Yeah, I figure she is too.”
Cameron whispered, “If she changed, quit drinking and running around with those men she used to bring home, maybe she’d come get us.”
I laughed this time. “No, people don’t change, brother. Dad hasn’t changed. Momma Ray hasn’t changed.”
“You never told me what you planned before you started yelling at Jake.”
I eased off the washer. Guilt came back and sat heavy on my chest. It’s now or never, watcher angel or no watcher angel. “You said you felt free the other night, when you snuck out, remember? Well, I think I have a way for us to be free forever.”
“How’s that?” Cameron turned and looked me in the eyes. Then he hopped down.
“Dad can’t swim. I think I’m going see how he likes it on the bottom of that slough tomorrow.”
10
Cameron edged up to the corner of the barn. “I don’t see him.”
I peeked over his shoulder. “Nah, he isn’t coming out. Too tired after whupping on us for interrupting his nap. Had to take a longer one.”
“Momma Ray ain’t even looked our way. Just pulls weeds. Don’t bother me none, except I managed to sneak and eat a couple of tomatoes without her seeing me earlier. I wouldn’t mind doing that again if she’d disappear inside the house.”
“You didn’t save me one?”
Cameron stood up straight and moved his hands up and down his body as if to say, “Look, dummy, where am I going to hide a tomato?”
The point made, I pulled at his shirt. “Come on. The sun’s getting low. She’ll go inside and cook supper for Dad soon. They’ll be in there like two lovey-dovey birds, cooing back and forth, watching television.”
“Yeah, and eating. That’s something we won’t be doing, not for a while away.”
Clouds rolled in from the north bringing darkness and skeeters, both earlier than normal.
Jake hadn’t paid much attention to me since I blabbed my plans. Cameron could ignore me, often did, but Jake never ignored me. He looked away when I glanced at him, like I’d disappointed him or hurt his feelings and he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
Jake’s an angel for sure.
My gut gnawed and twisted at my insides and not from hunger. Guilt wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. It just hadn’t lasted as long before, or made me so uncomfort
able.
We snuck into the house a few minutes after the last light went out in Dad’s bedroom. Two pieces of bread with honey smeared on them awaited us. The bread must have come from the bottom of the bag, the dregs of the loaf. It was on the verge of falling apart in our hands and wouldn’t go down without water. The honey tasted wonderful.
I checked the slop bucket for something Jake could eat. Not much there, but I poured it out in a tinfoil container for him anyway. He sniffed at it then looked into the night like he had another option. I closed the door and left him to it.
In bed, I put my hands behind my head and stared into the dark. The big oak outside the window couldn’t muster a shadow on our wall, not with the clouds hiding the moon.
“What you going to tell the cops?”
Cameron’s voice gave me a start. The question surprised me. “What do you mean?”
“Just exactly what do you think is going to happen when you dump Dad out of the boat? The police are going to ask you a million questions.”
The police? My stomach flipped.
Cameron stirred, shaking the bed, his voice a whisper. “I been thinking about it. You tell them Dad fell out. You gave it too much gas, turned the motor, and ker-plunk. You tried to help him, but he’s so fat you couldn’t. That’s what you tell them. Nothing else. You got to cry too. They’ll want to see you cry, or they won’t believe your story.”
“What if he floats? What’ll I do then?”
“Heck I don’t know, T. Run over him with the boat.”
Kill Dad? It hit me. Cameron and I were talking about murder, planning a murder, and it was my idea. This didn’t begin in my mind as murder. Oh, why did I open my big mouth?
“Hey, are you listening to me?” Cameron shook me.
“Yeah, I’m listening.”
Cameron talked and I listened, but I didn’t hear. Could I really do what I said I would and set us free? After committing murder, even if I got away with it, how could I be free trapped in my own guilt? After sitting with the feeling for a couple of hours, I didn’t know that I could live with it.
He either grew tired of talking or realized I wasn’t going to answer and turned his back to me. After a minute, his breathing leveled out and he slept.
Time passed and gray replaced black. If I slept, I didn’t know it. Time was running out.
The next thing I knew we were doing chores again. Chores were never ending. Chickens, pigs, garden, and when a calf hit the ground, milking twice a day. Our hay would be dry soon, so we’d be rolling bales after school.
Jake stayed in my shadow, but I didn’t pay him any mind. He didn’t bug me to pet him or wrestle. I’d look at him and he’d blink and look away.
The sun hung in gray clouds like the heart in my hollow chest. My mind was in turmoil. My world was about to end, and I felt helpless to stop it.
Dad strode from the house as me and Cameron looked over our fishing supplies. To our surprise, he bent over the bumper, unhooked the boat, and let the trailer tongue fall to the ground with a bang.
My heart beat again.
The door slammed. Momma Ray walked from the house, black purse hanging from the crook of her elbow, swinging at the pace of her short, stuttered walk.
Dad stood and took a deep breath. “You boys get in the house and have your breakfast. We got a chore in town to take care of. When you get done, get busy pulling weeds in the garden. We won’t be long.” He pointed at me. “You and I are going back to the river when I get back.”
Dad and Momma Ray drove off as we walked up the concrete steps. Cameron opened the screen door and stopped. He cocked his head, listened, and then turned toward me. “Let’s get them eggs.”
Holy cow, my heart soared. I forgot all about them. We were going to eat this morning. Didn’t need a good front tooth for eggs. We ran for the oak tree.
~*~
As he cooked, Cameron blew what I’m sure he thought sounded like a tune. He couldn’t whistle and sounded more like a leaky tire. He only managed to emit a squeak every other puff.
I took a peek at the frying pan. “Did you use plenty of grease?”
He gave me a sideways glance. “Well, course I did. I found a slice of bacon in the slop bucket. I’ll heat it up and we’ll split it.”
Oh yeah. Getting better all the time.
Jake sat at the door. He knew what we were doing, and he knew he’d get a share of it.
I kept an eye on Jake. He’d be our first warning when Dad returned.
“Cameron, don’t forget we got to hide the eggshells in the woods.”
“I know. I put them in the slop bucket. We’ll dump it in the hog pen when we get through. They’ll disappear in there.”
Cameron liked his eggs hard. Jake and I didn’t care, though the white had to be cooked before I’d eat them. Jake would lap at them all runny if he had to.
With the two eggs Momma Ray made, we had a total of thirteen. Cameron divided them evenly, right down to cutting the last one in two, six and one-half a piece. He put our plates on the table. I poured water for us, then let Jake in and slid two eggs off my plate into the foil container for him. Cameron started to eat, then stood and gave Jake an egg.
We ate with deliberate motions. Even Jake seemed aware of the special moment and picked at his portion. Cameron cut one bite, placed the knife next to his plate, picked up the fork, ate a piece and chewed.
When he finished, Cameron pulled a thin stick from his shirt pocket, put it between his teeth, leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his belly. “Boy, what luck. Couldn’t have been better, I’m telling you.”
Cameron was right again. “Doesn’t get no better.” We reached across the table to slap hands. “How’s your face and neck?” I asked. “Did Dad say anything to you?”
“About what?” Cameron put a hand to his neck.
“That coon scratched you up. They hurt?”
“Nah, I don’t feel anything.”
The screen door bumped against the jamb. I jerked, and my heart jumped in my throat. Jake had nosed it open and walked out. He glanced back on the way down the steps with a look that seemed to say, “What? He’s not coming yet.”
We laughed as the tension eased.
I stood with my plate. “Come on. Let’s put everything back where it belongs before they come home and catch us.”
“I don’t care if they do. This was worth a good licking.”
We cleaned and inspected the area to make sure nothing would give us away. I grabbed the slop bucket and opened the screen.
Cameron stopped me. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“You goin’ to do it?”
11
Dad seemed different when he got back from town. He carried himself different, dejected or beaten down, even cowed. I couldn’t put a finger on it and thought maybe it was just me, but I saw Cameron looking at him funny. Something was up.
Momma Ray got out of the pickup and marched toward the house with her nose in the air, elbows working at her sides, purse swinging in one hand, papers clutched in the other.
I couldn’t imagine what might have happened. They could’ve had a fight, but Dad led those. He didn’t lead this. Momma Ray didn’t have papers in her hand when they left, so that might be what made her grouchy.
Dad hooked the boat up. “Ty, get in the pickup. Cameron, you get back to the garden. We won’t be long. Just going to check the trotline. When we get back, you boys got a job in town to do for Mr. Jordan.”
I forgot. I meant to tell Cameron that Dad planned to make money off of us.
Cameron started to say something, looked at me and took a step in my direction.
Dad pointed toward the garden. “Cameron, you don’t need to talk to him. Go on and do what I told you.”
Cameron watched and when Dad turned, he held his hands behind his back and gave me a thumbs-up with one and crossed fingers with the other.
Guilt returned.
I didn’t want to thin
k about Dad on our ride to the slough, so I put my mind to pondering Mr. Jordan. He was the mayor or a councilman, something big like that. I’d seen him a couple of times and he always had on a fancy coat and tie and polished cowboy boots. His kid, Randy, was a few years older and kind of uppity. He talked to me and Cameron like we worked for him. Now it looked like we were going to. Good thing he moved up to high school last year or he’d rub our noses in it in front of the whole school.
What kind of work could we do for a rich man that he couldn’t hire out good and proper? Must have a ton of money hidden somewhere, a big house and a fancy car. Big city guys had to make a lot of money.
Clouds threatened rain. We didn’t need it, not with hay down. Much more than a sprinkle and we’d have to turn it so it would dry. That meant more work. It would get me out of the boat and Cameron out of the garden. Too much rain would turn it all black and rotten. Only a cow can eat rotten, moldy hay. I don’t take much to ciphering in school, but I know moldy hay doesn’t sell for much.
To my surprise, Dad turned in at the bait shop. The cheek-lady warned him that I better have meat on my bones the next time she saw me. That was yesterday and I didn’t feel different. Dad risked another tongue-lashing.
When Dad got out of the pickup, I followed him. I wanted to hear it if she had at him again.
A man with a small net leaned over a big silver tank full of water and minnows. He looked up. “Can I help you?”
Dad didn’t look at him. He turned down a row of nets, stink bait, lures and the like. “Two dozen big minnows and two large bags of ice will do.”
The man nodded and propped the net against the tank. “Did you bring your minnow bucket?”
I didn’t wait for Dad to look at me. The lady wasn’t there so I wouldn’t miss much. I ran out to the boat to fetch it and brought it to the man.
“Thanks, son. What’s your name?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Weldon.”
“I’m Ty.” I took the hand. It was cold and damp from the minnow water. One crooked finger stayed straight. I squeezed.
“Son, look at me.”
He kept my hand and squeezed it harder, but not too hard. His eyes were deep blue, intense, the kind that could see into me. He grinned, his teeth crooked but white, the sweet smell of fruity gum on his breath.