Me and Jake

by Boo Riley

  Dad grabbed Cameron’s elbow and shook it. “Look at the man when he’s talking to you, boy.”

  Mr. Jordan eyed Dad, then waved him off. “That’s all right, Don.”

  Two Red Heeler dogs moseyed over to give me a good sniffing. I gave them a scruff that started their stubby tails to wagging.

  Mr. Jordan bent and patted one. “This is Buddy and Jake. They just come over to be sociable.”

  “I have a dog named Jake,” I said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes, sir, but he’s just a one-eyed coon dog.” I glanced at Dad to make sure he wasn’t giving me the shut-up eye. “He, he lost it one night chasing a coon.”

  “Well, I bet he’s a good dog. Don, I’ll have them home about seven, eight at the latest. Hope that’s OK? I know school starts the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll come get them. No use in driving out to the house.”

  “No, sir. I have a meeting downtown this evening. It’ll work out just right. When we get done, I’ll bring them home.”

  Dad lowered his voice. “Well, then, if you insist. That’ll be fine.”

  The discomfort in Dad’s face was easy to read. He looked like he might need to go into the house and sit for a spell.

  As Dad walked out, Mr. Jordan took me and Cameron by the shoulders. “Come into the house a minute. You boys remember my son, Randy? I think he’s a couple years older than you are.”

  “Yes, sir, I remember him.” I walked faster to keep pace with his lanky stride. I liked the man. His gray hair and easy manner made me feel comfortable and welcome.

  “Well, Randy’s been sick. I know he’ll want to see you.”

  I didn’t have a good opinion of Randy, but what could I say to his father? Cameron had a sour look on his face. The thought of Randy had spoiled his give-a-hoot.

  Dad drove away, his eyes glued to the rearview mirror.

  Mr. Jordan led us to the back door, a big, sliding glass thing encased in stone. A cool, sweet, mouthwatering aroma rushed into the afternoon heat as it slid open.

  The kitchen was almost bigger than our house. Its black-tiled floor glistened like water, reflecting the island stove and copper pots hanging from the rack above it. To one side, a dark wooden table with a dozen matching chairs stood on a large red and blue rug. Above it hung huge deer antlers with small lights scattered through them. Pictures and paintings of horses hung on the walls.

  “Ma, this is Ty and Cameron Ray. They’re going to help me awhile today. Maybe this weekend too.”

  Mrs. Jordan pulled a potholder off her hand and walked around the stove. A wisp of gray hair swung across her forehead. A dusting of flour covered the bananas printed on her apron.

  “Hi, boys. Can I get you something to drink? I just made some chocolate chip cookies too.” She waited a heartbeat for us to answer then baited the offer. “They’d go good with a glass of cold milk.” She opened what I thought was a cabinet, but it turned out to be the icebox with oak on the doors.

  Cookies sounded like the best idea I’d ever heard. Me and Cameron exchanged looks.

  Mr. Jordan answered for us. “Set them up, Ma. They look like they could use a cookie before we start. You boys sit here.” He motioned to one end of the large table and pulled out two chairs. “Come on, don’t be bashful. I’ll be right back.” He put his hat on the knob on the back of a chair.

  The cookies were big as an egg cracked in a pan, hot and full of chocolate chips. She gave us two apiece, with a large glass of milk. They tasted like a dose of heaven.

  Cameron inhaled his, but not me. I savored every gooey bite. The chocolate tasted bitter, but sweet too. Just right. I didn’t notice my sore tooth.

  Mrs. Jordan worked around the kitchen with a smile on her face. When our milk hit bottom, she refilled the glasses. I felt like giving her a hug and asking her if I could help her do something.

  “Hey, boys. Remember Randy?” Mr. Jordan pushed in a wheelchair.

  Randy was bald as a newborn piglet.

  15

  Randy managed a weak smile. He lifted his hand for a short wave then let it drop onto his lap. “Hi, Cameron, Ty.”

  Mr. Jordan pushed the wheelchair to the table.

  I was shocked. Here sat someone who used to make fun of me. My heart ached for him now, all the sharp barbs he’d uttered forgotten. What do you say?

  Cameron licked chocolate from a finger. “Dang, Randy, what happened to you?”

  I wished Cameron would’ve kept his finger in his mouth and bit down real hard. My shoe against his shin under the table got me a hard look.

  Mr. Jordan pulled out a chair and sat. “It’s all right, Ty. He didn’t mean anything. Just doesn’t understand, do you? Well, neither do we, but we know the Lord will work it out.” He patted Randy on the hand. “Son, you feel up to a cookie? Mom just got them out of the oven.”

  Mrs. Jordan walked over, kissed Randy on the head, and then fussed with the front of her apron, waiting for a reply. Her green eyes never left Randy’s face.

  Randy took a deep breath, but he didn’t speak, as though it took too much effort to make the words. He shook his head.

  I couldn’t find words either. He didn’t look so menacing and uppity—not now. He was all boney fingers and sunken cheeks, all of him pale. And where did his hair go?

  Mr. Jordan smiled and stood. “Well, son, that’s enough for one day. Ty, you and Cameron want to wait for me by that white Chevy out there? I’ll be right out.”

  I managed to find my tongue. “Randy, I hope you get better. If I’d known you were sick, I would have brought you a present or something.”

  Like a rock striking a rock, a quick spark flashed in his dark eyes then went out. His voice was faint, but clear. “Thanks for the thought, but that’s OK. Bye.”

  I didn’t know how I turned my back and walked to the door.

  Cameron slid the big glass closed and followed me across the yard. “That was dumb. Told him you’d a brought a present. What was that supposed to mean?”

  “Presents are nice to get when you’re sick. And I would have—had I known.”

  “How would you know about getting presents? You never got one.”

  “I didn’t know what to say. You didn’t say nothing.”

  “Exactly. Nothing is sometimes best. You think I talk too much.”

  “What’s the matter with him, Cameron?”

  “I don’t know, but they had to cut all his hair off ‘cause of it. I hope it ain’t worms. He’s awful skinny.”

  That comment gave me a shiver.

  Mr. Jordan walked from the house. He stepped high, his smile bright as before. It didn’t make sense to be so happy when your kid was sick and looked like Randy did.

  “Come on, boys. Hop in and let’s run down to the lower forty. You know how to buck bales, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” I told him.

  Cameron looked like the milk soured in his belly and had risen to sit on the back of his tongue.

  Dad was right. Work was work.

  The lower forty, as he called it, had two thousand bales on it if it had one. A pickup pulling a long flatbed trailer with four guys following and picking and two guys stacking, worked the far side of the pasture.

  Mr. Jordan backed up to another trailer, a smaller one. “Boys, open that sack on the floor there. I got you each a pair of gloves. We’re going to load a few bales on this trailer and take them to a friend of mine on the other side of town.”

  Me and Cameron jumped out, slipped on our gloves, and started toting bales. Mr. Jordan hooked up the trailer.

  A small Jeep pulled up, and the man who’d been putting shoes on the horse got out. His shoeing chaps covered his bowed legs down to the knees. He rolled the sleeves of his blue shirt down and buttoned them.

  Mr. Jordan glanced at him. “Ed, you drive and we’ll load.”

  “Yes, sir, Judge.” He adjusted his tan, sweat-stained hat and gave me a wink.

  Man! A judge, not just a city guy.
This man put bad folks in jail.

  Mr. Jordan continued. “Ty, you jump on the trailer and stack. Cameron and I will toss them to you. Run them across the trailer to start. This won’t take long, and we’ll go to town.”

  Thirty minutes later, we had one hundred and twenty bales on. Me and Cameron switched out once, just for fun.

  We sat on the hay and shared a jug of water as Ed drove us back to where we started.

  Mr. Jordan shook hands with Ed. “Mind if I ride to the house with you? We need to talk about that red mare. Ty, can you drive?”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Well, I can. I can drive our old boat. We drive tractors, but I’ve never driven a pickup before.”

  Ed grinned and winked at me again. He produced a red bandana from his hip pocket, pulled his hat off and wiped it out, then folded the red cloth nice and neat and put it back in his pocket.

  Mr. Jordan looked, I don’t know, like he was thinking on an important subject. He started to say something, then paused and looked at Ed. “I’ll see you at the barn in say,” he checked his watch, “thirty minutes. You mind hanging around until we can talk?”

  “No, sir, take your time. I got a few things I can do. See you, boys.” Ed gave us a quick salute.

  Mr. Jordan pointed at his pickup. “Cameron, you jump in the back or get on the trailer and sit down. Ty, you get in the front, no, the driver’s side. As soon as you learn how to drive, you and Cameron can trade places, and I’ll teach him.”

  Well, Cameron could have blown me over with that big weenie puff of a whistle he blows all the time. We were going to learn how to drive. I was nervous as a cat sneaking food from a dog’s dish.

  “Ty, relax. A clutch is a clutch, pickup or tractor. Put her in first and just ease it out, slow like, and give it a little gas. We’ll go a ways, then try shifting gears.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Jordan.”

  “Don’t forget you got a trailer of hay back there, and Cameron is sitting on it. You don’t want to buck him off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Me and Cameron had no trouble. We drove all over the pasture. I’m sure the other men picking bales thought we’d fell off the rocker. Mr. Jordan even let Cameron drive us up to the barn, and he did great. He looked like he stood a foot taller when he got out and stretched. “Proud” was written all over his face.

  Mr. Jordan clapped as he walked around the front of his pickup. “Good job, men. You’re ranch hands now. Relax here a minute. I need to visit with Ed before we go.”

  When he walked out of hearing range, Cameron elbowed me. “What kind of job is this, eh? Cookies and milk, load one measly little old trailer with hay, and learn how to drive. This ain’t right. Dad must owe him a bunch of money or something. I’m telling you.”

  “Oh, quit your whining. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be when you work for someone.”

  “Ty, he’s a judge. He don’t need no hillbilly kids working for him. You see that barn and house? Look at this place. You think he had Dad bring us here so we could see his sick kid and learn how to drive?”

  “Randy looks terrible, like he’s going to die. That has to be sad for his mom and dad, and sad for him too.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. I’ll say one thing. Mr. Jordan never missed a lick. Picked up half of them bales himself. He talked the whole time too. The weather this and the weather that and something about the hundredweight on the price of cattle, like I’d know something about that. He asked about Dad, Mom, Momma Ray and school. He wondered why we didn’t play sports. Why would he care about all of that stuff?”

  “Cameron, Dad would have driven, forced us to run to keep up, then yelled about how long it took. Might’a got a good licking today too—just because.”

  Cameron looked toward the barn and ran a gloved finger across his nose. “I tell you one thing. I ain’t telling Dad we learned how to drive and ate cookies. He won’t let us come back.”

  16

  I had a million questions on the tip of my tongue, but didn’t know how to utter the first word. Cameron sat with his hands on his lap, content to look out the window. He seemed less trusting of our job today and he wouldn’t say why. But then that was Cameron. He had to see something for himself before he’d believe it. He could be slow to forgive and forget too.

  Dad’s old truck didn’t have an air conditioner, unless you counted driving fast with the windows down. It didn’t have a lot of things. This one was sure fancy. Automatic windows and door locks, cold air blowing and all kinds of gadgets and dials displayed on the dashboard. And it rode real smooth and sure smelled good. Jake might even have trouble hearing this one coming up the road.

  Mr. Jordan turned the fan up a gear and held his hand in front of the middle vent. “Y’all getting plenty of air? I appreciate you men coming to the house to help me today. Randy usually helps, but since he’s been sick, well, I just like to have some young men around.”

  Cameron sat up straighter and opened up. “Did the doctors shave all the hair off of him?”

  Mr. Jordan laughed. “No, the medicine he took did that. He’s been on chemotherapy, and it causes your hair to fall out. It’ll grow back now that he’s off of it.”

  “Is he going to be OK?” I asked. “He looks real sick.”

  “Ty, well, sir, I…” He downshifted and turned on the right blinker.

  A narrow, well-kept lane led to a house with clapboard siding, not unlike our own, but the grass was mowed short and neat. It looked much nicer than ours. The small, red barn behind the house didn’t have a brand painted on it. Attached to one side was a chicken-wire cage with the odd white feather stuck in the wire.

  “Boys, no one knows why things happen to one person and not another, or why bad things happen to people, good folks and the bad folks alike. We have to have faith. The Lord is in charge, and He loves us and has our best interest in mind.”

  “What’s faith?” Cameron asked my question.

  Mr. Jordan stopped in the middle of the lane and put the pickup in neutral. “Faith is hope in something, for something, you can’t see.” He looked at us. “You understand that? No, well, how do I say it? I have faith, hope, that God exists even though I can’t see Him. I have faith that Heaven exists, and when I die, I’m going there to live for eternity. And I have faith my son will get well, grow to be an old man and have many children, like you boys. Faith that God is in charge is the only reason a man can keep a smile on his face and step light when his son is sick.”

  I could see I might have faith, believe in something I couldn’t see, but Cameron? I didn’t know if Cameron could.

  Mr. Jordan put the truck in gear and pulled around the house to the barn.

  A short, thin, black-headed lady, wearing jeans with a shiny belt and buckle, red top, and white tennis shoes, walked from the house. “Hi, Judge. I didn’t expect you today.”

  “No, Elizabeth, I hadn’t planned on coming, but I managed to find two good hands to help me this afternoon. This is Ty and Cameron Ray. To tell the truth, I hoped to surprise you and have this load in the barn for you when you got home from work. We’re running a little late.”

  Her white teeth flashed and she extended a slim, firm hand for us to shake. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Elizabeth Daniels. You can call me Liz. Let me get the doors, Judge. The hay goes in this end, shouldn’t take us long.”

  We helped her with the doors, propping them open with a brick each. The inside of the barn had a slab of concrete on one side, where a few bales were stacked against the wall. The other side had half a dozen stalls made out of green tube-steel. A brown and white paint horse stood looking at us.

  “So, boys,” she turned and grabbed a broom and scoop shovel to move them out of the way, “school starts Wednesday. You’re going to be in the what, eighth grade?”

  Cameron had his guard up again and didn’t respond. I liked conversation, especially about school. Lunch in particular. Fish sticks, taters and gravy, tater tots, pudding, peanut butter cookies, mi
lk, even cold chicken legs. It didn’t matter to me. I’d eat my helping and anything my classmates didn’t want to eat. Maybe Cindy would be in some of my classes.

  “No, ma’am—Mrs. Daniels—the ninth.”

  “It’s Miss Daniels, Ty. Please, call me Liz.”

  It wasn’t in me to call her by her first name. That meant a licking at home or pulled ear at school.

  Cameron and Mr. Jordan emptied the trailer, and I helped Miss Daniels stack.

  “Ty, tell me about yourself. You live north of town. Any sisters?”

  “No, ma’am, just my brother, Cameron there. I do have a dog, Jake, but he don’t count as family. Then we have pigs, laying hens, and an old milking cow.”

  She grinned and placed a bale on the stack. “Oh, yes they do. You can love a dog, or any pet, just like family, and pigs are one of the smartest animals in the world.”

  Pigs didn’t strike me as having much sense. Don’t take much for smarts to wallow in the mud all day. “Well, yes, ma’am, I sure love my dog, but I don’t know ‘bout hogs.”

  “What does your mom do? Does she work?”

  Cameron dropped a bale at my feet, took a deep breath, and broke in. “She ain’t our ma. We call her Momma Ray ‘cause that’s what she wants. Our ma don’t live around here.”

  Miss Daniels’s lips turned down at the corners. “When’s the last time you saw your mom?”

  I had to think and looked to Cameron for help, but he shrugged and turned away. To be honest, I couldn’t remember. It had been years, a lot of years. Time had slipped by without notice. All I could do was give her a shrug of my own. “It’s been awhile.”

  We finished and me and Cameron loaded up. Standing around visiting with adults wasn’t something we did.

  Cameron waited until I closed the door. “They ask too many questions. What does she give two hoots about our family for?”

  “She’s just being nice. Not everyone in the world is like Momma Ray and Dad.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  Mr. Jordan hopped in, cranked up, and turned the air on high. “You men ready?”