Soon, the town appeared, and Malcolm made his way along Main Street. Amazing, he thought, how much easier it was to walk without the burdens of a tent, a sleeping bag, and a backpack.
Argason’s Butcher was up ahead on the left. Malcolm approached the shop with his heart beating fast. He looked at the window by the door and saw the sign: Open, it said. Malcolm smiled. He was even more surprised—and relieved as well—to see Jamey inside all by himself cleaning up the shop.
Malcolm closed his eyes.
Jamey hadn’t given up, either.
Malcolm grabbed the knob, pulled the door open, and stepped inside Argason’s Butcher. A bell sounded above his head, and Malcolm stood there, awkwardly, shuffling his feet.
Jamey turned, perhaps anxious for a customer, not expecting to see Malcolm, of course. When he did, the rag fell from his hand and onto the floor. His jaw dropped open. His eyes stared wide in disbelief. It was a comical expression, and Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hello,” he said.
It must’ve been the way he looked, the wind lashed cheeks, long hair, as though Jamey were trying to convince himself that Malcolm wasn’t a ghost.
The large man’s eyes turned wet and glossy in an instant. A smile bloomed across his face. He wiped his eyes and chuckled to himself. Jamey pulled the apron off and walked around the meat counter, kneeling in front of Malcolm, and shook his head. His smile revealed that dazzling array of white teeth. “I don’t believe it,” Jamey said, and grabbed the boy by the arms. “If my eyes wasn’t seeing it, I’d say you must be a ghost. It’s you, ain’t it? Tell me it’s so!”
“It’s me,” Malcolm said, unable to keep from smiling.
“Can I give you a hug, boy?” Jamey said. “I promise I won’t break ya.”
Malcolm nodded.
Jamey pulled Malcolm close and hugged him tight. Malcolm’s arms moved up and around Jamey’s massive back, hugging him in return. After a while, Jamey pulled away and looked at him. “You look like one of the Beatles,” he said, and laughed. “Like John Lennon in his longer hair days.” Jamey shook his head again. “Dang, though, boy, if it ain’t good to see ya.” Jamey’s face was alight with nothing short of glee. “Where you been, son? Decide to take a little vacation without us? We was worried sick about you.” Jamey put his hands on Malcolm’s shoulders.
But Malcolm didn’t address any of this. He got right to the point:
“Do you know where my grandpa is?” he asked. “He wasn’t home. The house has been pretty quiet without him. I figured I’d come into town and see if you knew anything.”
Jamey’s smile fell instantly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Malcolm knew in that moment that his worst fears had come true.
“I was afraid of this, son,” Jamey said. He looked down for a second, then up at Malcolm.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Malcolm said, with tears in his eyes.
Jamey watched Malcolm closely. “I went over there one day,” he said. “Me and your grandpa, boy, we were turning into regular pals over you missing and all. I told him everything you told me. He wasn’t mad, either, no sir. In fact, I think he might’ve believed every crazy thing I told him. He was a fine man, if I do say so myself. A little frightening looking, maybe, but I liked him all the same.” Jamey paused.
Malcolm hated the words, but he had to say them again:
“Is he…gone?”
Jamey nodded a single time, pursing his lips. “I went over there just to pay him a visit,” the butcher explained. “You not having a phone, I took it upon myself to frequent the place, you could say. He was lying on the living room floor.” Jamey paused. “Heart attack. I’m sorry, son. I truly am.”
Jamey again threw his arms around the boy, and pulled him close. Tears spilled down Malcolm’s cheeks. His hands climbed up and over Jamey’s back again.
“It’s okay, son,” Jamey told him. “You just let it out. You just cry your eyes out. It’ll do ya good.”
Malcolm felt cheated. He was dizzy. Jamey pulled away, still holding him by the arms.
“So what’s gonna happen to me now?” Malcolm asked, wiping his nose.
Surprising him again, Jamey beamed. “Well, son,” he said. “That’s the corker. It’s kind of up to you, I guess. I talked to Sheriff Bimsley about it, not about your story and all…I knew he wouldn’t believe me.”
“Am I gonna have to live in a home or something?” Malcolm said, with fear in his voice.
During their journey, he’d felt like a responsible diplomat, a true leader and guide. Now, he was just a helpless, dependent kid again.
Jamey’s smile grew wide. “Your grandfather might’ve been in his own world for a while,” he said. “But he wasn’t stupid. We talked a long time. I guess he took to me about as much as I took to him.” Jamey paused. “He made a will. A little while ago, in fact. He talked to me about it, things he had in mind. I told him they were pretty darn good ideas, too. He even let me read it.” Jamey paused again, as if looking into the past. “Kinda strange, really. Even got it notarized, made sure it went through all the legal channels, so there was no hang-ups. I signed as a witness. You being his only living family, he, of course, left everything to you. The house is yours, what money he had. Everything. He took care of you real good, son. Probably taken care of for the rest of your natural born life. Of course, you can’t inherit it all until your twenty-one.” Jamey stopped and looked at Malcolm. “And there is, of course, one condition.”
Malcolm looked up, sniffing back tears. He cocked his head. “What’s that?” he asked.
Jamey smiled. “You be adopted.”
“Adopted?” Malcolm said, eyes going wide, the color draining from his cheeks.
The idea was not a pleasant one. Being adopted was the last thing he wanted. Why did his grandfather have to die?
“Taken care of, son,” Jamey said. “Not in an orphan home, of course, but in the care of someone who wants to take care of you, someone who can care for you…maybe not like a granddaddy, but like someone good just the same.”
Malcolm didn’t seem to be hearing any of this. The world was spinning out of control, swallowing him whole. “So,” he said. “I have to sit around in an orphan home until someone wants to adopt an eleven-year-old boy?”
Jamey smiled. “Somebody already wants to adopt an eleven-year-old boy,” he said. “Might not be the best parent, maybe, but surely they ain’t the worst. Good folks. You’ll like them.”
“What do you mean?” Malcolm asked.
“Well, the way I reckon it, see, someone’s already looking to adopt you. Papers need to be signed, basically, all that red tape kinda stuff.”
“What?”
Jamey nodded. “Might have to help around the shop sometimes, but that ain’t nothin’. I can train you early, scholar. You can have a job here until you go off and be one of those famous architects, or land developers, or something. Maybe you’ll want to write books like your granddaddy.” Jamey paused again. “Course you can go to a foster home if you want to,” he said. “If you think it’ll be strange growing up with a black man, and a butcher at that. I might decide otherwise, but hey, that’s just me. It’s a long way from fantasy writers, that’s for sure. The thing is you do have a choice in the matter.” Jamey paused again. “Anyway, that’s the condition. That’s the rule. I’ll let you think about it.”
Finding out his grandfather was no longer alive had undoubtedly broken his heart, but he’d never expected this. It was strange how Algernon had made amends the best way he knew how. If only Malcolm could’ve said something…let his grandfather know they were going to be okay. He’d died not knowing a thing about his grandson. Malcolm wished he could’ve left a note now, wished he’d decided otherwise.
“Don’t rush none in your decision, boy,” Jamey said, standing up. “Take all day if you want to. It’s your life. Right there in front of you.” He smiled, patted Malcolm on the shoulder, and turned back to the counter, grabbing his apron. H
e was humming to himself.
“I don’t want to live in a foster home,” Malcolm said.
Jamey turned to Malcolm and walked over to him again. He knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. “Boy, you don’t have to live in a foster home if you don’t want to. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Might be kinda strange growing up with a black guardian. How does that sound? ‘Black guardian.’ Like a knight or something.” Jamey laughed.
Malcolm shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood for humor, not now. He was still trying to sort through it all. “No. I…” he tried to say. “I do want you to adopt me, Jamey. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
Jamey beamed. “Scholar, you have just made this old man very happy,” he said. “I’ve had a dull, lifeless existence up ’til now, but that is one bright spark, yessir! One bright spark, indeed!”
Malcolm sniffed back tears. He felt like his heart was going to explode. He couldn’t believe it. Something about a reward, what Ben had said? He loved and missed his grandfather terribly, but this wasn’t so bad, was it? This wasn’t bad at all.
“I was just wondering…” Malcolm began.
“Fire away, son,” Jamey said. “Fire away.”
Malcolm took a deep breath. “Would you be willing to live in the house for a while?” he said. “Or would we have to sell it? Grandpa wanted to get things going again, make it look the way it had before. I just thought…”
“I know what you’re thinking, son, and it’s dang noble of ya. I would be happy to help restore that house, make it all cheery inside and out. It’d be a dang nice project. Yes sir, a dang nice project.”
Malcolm looked up. His tears were heavy now. He couldn’t stop. He wiped his eyes, the reality of loss and gain in such a short time was hard to handle. He’d lost everything when he realized Algernon was dead, and yet he’d gained more than he’d thought possible.
A tiny part of his mind heard the Dragon wail in the darkness. Long after death, it’s punishment continued even now.
“Son,” Jamey said. “What the heck are you crying for?”
Malcolm shook his head, stepped forward, and put his arms around Jamey’s neck. He wept for the loss, and he wept for the gain. Jamey hugged the boy in return.
“I’m just glad to be home,” Malcolm said. “I never thought I’d make it back. I’m just glad to be home.” Malcolm buried his face in Jamey’s shoulder and continued to cry.
“Well, son,” Jamey said, holding onto the boy. “That makes two of us. Maybe someday you’ll tell me about it.”
Malcolm agreed, nodding into the butcher’s shirt. He continued to hold onto Jamey Argason, and did not let go for a long, long time.
ii
Eddie’s Journal: Jan. 25, 2005
Coming back home was no easy chore, not walking into this house. There’s always better things I could be doing. But what the heck? I was hoping things would be different, I guess, but that’s not the case. Dad is still the same storm brewing he’s always been. Mom almost fainted when I came through the front door. Elise stood in shock. Dennis tried to play it cool. Dad asked me right away where the hell I’d been, I ought to be ashamed of myself, making him worry, being gone all this time, I was grounded, go to my room, did I have any idea what I’d done, or how much hurt I’d caused the family, you know, making a kid feel real welcomed and loved and glad to be home.
Thanks, Pop.
I was glad to be home, though. Dad said I was grounded and couldn’t go out until next summer. Maybe by then, I’ll find a way out of this mess.
It hasn’t been easy coming home, though. I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. I guess I’ll just hope something will happen to make things easier. Mom’s the only one I really care about now anyway. She is my best friend. We have these quiet moments together when no one else is around. Dad’s usually snoring in the living room, and Elise is always out with some boy. Dennis has a mission to get straight A’s all the time.
Go, Dennis!
Anyway, Mom will be fooling around in the kitchen and sneak over, putting a huge dob of whipped cream on my nose. She’ll laugh so hard, it makes me laugh, and then she’ll give me a great big hug, and tell me how much she loves me. I think my mom is the coolest person in the world. And I hate it when I’m not with her, or Dad is making it hard for her. She’s always doing things like that, bringing me a huge bowl of chocolate ice cream while I’m watching a movie downstairs. She’ll give me a big hug again and tell me how good it is I’m back, that I’m alive.
Maybe we can go away together, just me and Mom, why—to a palace maybe—and live happily ever after.
Ah, it’s a good dream.
Elise is so preoccupied with boys, she went out on a date with some guy named, Hugh Vincent, instead of giving me a hug or hearing about me or anything. Well, I guess I can’t blame her. I’d take every opportunity to get away from Dad, even if it meant going out with some guy who sounds as though he belongs in every bad horror movie ever made.
It’s still weird to be back, to have come into town that day, watching Seth battle the Dragon, and feel as if we all live in a quiet, peaceful town again. It’s weird.
Dennis is going to school in the fall. I hope he makes the best of it. I can tell he’s excited about leaving, about getting out of this desolate town, and away from Dad.
Who knows anything about Dad, right? I don’t. Sometimes I wish he’d take a flying leap off a cliff, but I know that’s not very nice. I focus on Mom, and how she tries, despite Dad, to make things pleasant around here. I feel sorry for her most of the time, though, ’cause Dad has her walking on egg shells. Sometimes, I swear, I wish I could go in there and slug him over the head with a big baseball bat. Who knows? Maybe I will!
I think I’ll be putting the pen down and closing the journal for a while. Call it a new beginning. I feel, more than anything, that I do it hating it more than liking it. I just don’t understand keeping one, I guess. Some people say it’s good for you, but I don’t know. I disagree. It seems like you open it up and re-read what you’ve written only to feel depressed over the things you’ve jotted in it. Kinda like bringing all the ghosts in the closet back up when you’ve tried so hard to push them down.
I’ve read over the last few entries, too, and was shocked by what I saw. I honestly don’t remember writing them. It kind of scares me. I mean…what’s up with the spelling?
Seth is right, though. Things just aren’t the same. And they never will be. I guess that’s okay.
I’m gonna close this now. But not before I say one final thing:
Hope and faith? Who knows which is which? Faith, I think, is when you lose hope and give up your life to the Fates. The outcome is usually good. That’s faith at work.
Hope is the belief that you don’t get your head blown off in the process.
With that, ta ta . . .
Higgs.
iii
Something special had been happening since her brother had come home. She was so relieved to see him that tears welled up in her eyes every time he was near. She spent most of the time going to the bathroom to blow her nose, or carrying Kleenex around with her wherever she went. She’d walk up to him and hug him fiercely for no reason at times, and Seth would look at her with an expression of shock and dismay, and then together they’d laugh. She’d plant kisses on him, wanting to remind him—Meep! Meep!—that his big sister loved him.
Seeing Mom the way she was now also made Masie Auburn feel equally good. Her mother was humming under her breath while baking in the kitchen, making the house smell warm and tantalizing. Whatever evil had stalked these streets was gone now; of that she was certain. Seth was equally convinced, even though he never said anything about it. The sword he’d brought home had mysteriously disappeared. She did not ask him about it. She could see his silent assurance, the quiet conviction in his smile, how special and calm everything was going to be from now on. Masie saw it in the way she walked through town. People were out, despite the January weather, swee
ping front porches. Long time Closed signs had turned to Open. She felt it all, warmth and safety, livelier streets, smiling faces, and overall good cheer.
Ellishome was coming to life again.
Masie was on her way to see Jasper Bellows, her step light and buoyant. She had not talked to him since that day after school when Rudy had spotted her. She didn’t have as many questions now, but she wanted, in a way, to display her gratitude. She felt as if Jasper had answered her questions, whether he realize it or not. He’d done her a favor, pushed her in the right direction, and she wanted to bestow her thanks.
The day was bright and clear, albeit chilly. Masie wore a bright blue scarf, a parka to match, white gloves, and white earmuffs. Her cheeks were red, her breath visible as she walked. The air was refreshing, brisk, and new. Winter always felt new, she thought. The snow wrapped everything in a bright white package, a beautiful blue to the sky when the clouds cleared. Summer could be put on hold forever with the feelings she had now. Masie didn’t care.
She passed various shops along Main Street. People walked by her, some nodding and smiling, and soon, the small white church came into view on the east side of the road. She crossed the street, not knowing if Jasper would be there.
She was going on faith.
Masie did not hesitate as before, sneaking around the back, but went directly through the front doors. She walked inside and turned left through a pair of open double-doors leading into the chapel.
It was simple, the most simple chapel she’d even seen. Not that she’d seen many in her day. Nothing fanciful adorned the room. It was appropriate, the way God, she supposed, would have wanted it.
Jasper emerged from a door to the right of the pulpit, seeing her immediately. He wore a gray and white striped shirt tucked into baggy jeans. A smile stretched across his face. He was carrying the same turntable she’d seen him putting in the back of the truck months ago. Masie laughed at the sight. How come he didn’t upgrade to a CD player?
Snapdragon Book II: In the Land of the Dragon Page 27