Hideaway

by Nicole Lundrigan

  Then Telly held my shoulders. “You got nothing to worry about, you understand? I know you’re worried, but Row’s going to be back home in no time at all.”

  I made a mistake. He wasn’t angry at all. He let go of me and ate three ham sandwiches fast.

  “We should get cleaned up,” Gloria said, and she smoothed down her hair. “All of us. That new dress, okay, Bids? And Telly, a couple of your shirts are still hanging in the closet. The reporter lady’ll be here soon, and we’re a family, aren’t we? So we got to look like a family.”

  ROWAN

  I woke up dripping with sweat. A pile of blankets lay on top of me, a pillow tucked under my head. Near my chin I found a small furry bear, black plastic eyeballs, missing its nose. Carl had covered me up and tucked the blankets around me, just like Gran used to do when I was little.

  I expected to see the whole cabin destroyed, but the broken frames were back on the wall, hanging crookedly. The glass had been swept from the floor and rug. Books and torn out pages were piled in the shelves on their sides. Even the board-game boxes had been cobbled back together, fake money sticking out.

  Carl had cleaned up everything.

  I kicked off the blankets, and my skin erupted in goose bumps. My head throbbed and my eyelashes were weighted with crust. I pulled them apart with my fingernails. When I stood up my neck and my legs ached, like I had the flu. Sunlight slanted over the top of a curtain, and I realized it was late afternoon. I’d been sleeping all day. I noticed the couch had been pulled out from the wall. I leaned over, saw Carl sitting behind there, his forehead on his knees. Girl was lying flat, her chin resting on his shoes. Carl was humming. It was a gritty, sore throat kind of hum that came out in a long stream. Then he sputtered and rapidly sucked in air before starting again.

  Girl opened an eye then stretched out a paw. Carl mumbled and grunted and up came his huge head. There were more bits of metal nipped on his beard. He squeezed his swollen eyes together, and when he lifted his hands to rub them I saw that his fingertips and palms were crisscrossed with deep red lines. He was covered in cuts. He must have hurt himself while he was straightening up.

  He lowered his hands and opened his eyes. “Magic Boy.” His voice was raspy. “The circuits are broken now.”

  “But your hands, Carl—”

  “Urh,” he said. “Found the wires. I contained the breach and threw them off our trail. Fixed everything like it was. We’re okay now.” He wiggled his fingers and winced. “It’s secure, Magic Boy. We can stay.”

  “Carl,” I said softly. “Do you want a wet cloth or a Band-Aid?”

  He shook his head and his shoulders slumped further. I waited, Girl yawned and resettled, and then the humming returned.

  “Carl?” I whispered, but he didn’t budge. I looked at his hands again. They looked raw, dried blood in the creases. Water filled my eyes, and I yanked at the collar of my T-shirt and scraped away the tears. After last night, that asshole under the bridge, the panic inside the cottage, I couldn’t pretend Carl was okay anymore. He wasn’t just a man who lived life his own way. He needed someone to help him. He needed me to be a better friend.

  I went to the bathroom, and as I peed I looked out the window. The sun was touching the tops of the trees now, making the water sparkle. Soon it would slip down further and the shadows would thicken inside the woods. I wished I hadn’t slept for so long. I decided that tomorrow, as soon as there was daylight, I’d go home. I’d follow the creek until I came to the bridge. From there I knew the way. As soon as I could I’d go see Mrs. Spooner and tell her everything. She’d have the solution. Exactly what to do about Carl. How to help him.

  When I came out of the bathroom I realized how hungry I was. There was a dull cramp underneath my ribs, and I went to the kitchen hoping to find food. Sticky tape residue was still left on my feet, so with each step I was picking up dust and hair. Fuzz from the rug. But no shard of glass stuck in my skin. Carl must have gotten it all.

  There was an undersized fridge in the tiny kitchen with an opened pack of bologna, a loaf of bread, margarine, and an enormous jar of jam. I tore into the bag of bread, spooned mounds of jam onto a slice, stuffed it in my face. In a cupboard I found a can of peaches. I opened them, and with a fork stabbed the pieces and brought them to my mouth. I barely mashed the chunks with my tongue, just let them slide down to my stomach.

  When I had enough, I sat down on a chair. Jogged my knee up and down. I heard a splash, then someone shouting outside, laughing maybe, and all at once I remembered that Carl didn’t own the cottage. We’d broken in, and there was still plenty of damage done, even if he’d cleaned everything off the floor. I watched the door. At any minute a person could charge in, arrest me and Carl. We would go to jail. Probably for a long time.

  A fishing pole was leaning by the back door. I didn’t want to be inside anymore, even if there might be people outside who knew I didn’t belong there, so I grabbed it, went out, then sat on the edge of the dock. I dipped my feet into the cool green water. I couldn’t see much beyond my white toes, but I knew the water was really deep. There were a number of cottages spaced around the lake. Docks stuck out here and there. Other rowboats tied up, red and green. A bright yellow paddleboat. What appeared to be buckets and rubber boots. No one was around, though, except for a single person gliding in a red canoe far, far away.

  I wiggled my toes, counted up the hours. I guessed at the time, figuring Carl and I had been together for forty-three or forty-four hours. Not even two whole days. It felt so much longer, like I’d been away from home for weeks. I wondered what Maisy and Gloria were doing at home. Were they having dinner, or maybe throwing the Frisbee for Chicken? Did they miss me? Were they worried? Would Chicken spin in circles when I made it home?

  I pulled out some line and let the hook drop into the water. I didn’t know how to throw it further out where the fish were jumping, making bubbles. Casting, I thought it was called, but maybe I could catch something near the dock. If it was big enough, I could cut off the head and scrape out the intestines and fry it in a pan. Carl and I could share it. A meal might make him feel better.

  I closed my eyes, and for a moment I forgot that Carl and I were criminals. Thieves, like my sign said, but now plural. Instead I thought about Telly and Dian, what they’d been talking about when I went to the garage to see him. A cottage vacation in the fall. I remembered how excitement shot through me when I imagined Maisy and I going along. Our first actual vacation. The leaves would be turning color. The air would smell sweet and sharp with wood smoke. We’d build puzzles and drink cherry soda until our lips were stained. At the time, I’d really believed that was possible. Until Telly told me to stop coming around. Even though I only came around once.

  The sound of dribbling water made me open my eyes. The man in the red canoe was coming closer, silently, except for drips from his paddle when he lifted it. When he was almost beside me he held his oar in the water and the canoe slowed. He was old and tanned, wearing a clean white T-shirt, a wide beige hat with a string hanging down the back. “Quiet evening, hey?” he said.

  I swallowed, pushed the hair out of my eyes. “Yeah. Quiet.”

  “You friends of Bertie’s?”

  “Bertie’s?”

  “Marilyn’s then.”

  I realized he was asking about the cottage. Those must be the names of the actual owners. “Oh yeah. Yeah.” I nodded. “My dad knows her.”

  “Figured as much. Bertie’s crowd is all button-down types, you know.” He smiled, touched the brim of his hat. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s good to meet new folks.”

  I stared into the water, lifted my rod, pretended to check my hook. Black insects skated over the surface, looped around my legs.

  “Fish bitin’?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “My grandson pulled out a perch this morning. Close to the dock like you’re doing. Not much else, though.” He laid his oar across his lap.

 
“How do you know?”

  “Know what, son?”

  “If you got one hooked.”

  “What? You’ve never caught a fish before?”

  He was gaping at my face. Maybe at my split lip, still swollen. But then, with his finger, he patted near his left eye. People often did that when they noticed my spots. Touched their own skin in the same places where the white blotches were growing. To check, maybe. Or to feel if they were still normal. I could feel my cheeks go pink. “No, sir. I haven’t.”

  “Oh, you’ll know, son. You’ll feel the pull. They don’t just sit there, all polite, waiting to be reeled in. They’ll fight you for their lives. Like they should, right?” He watched me for a second, then said, “Digging worms, I take it?” He pointed at my T-shirt. There was so much grime that it was hard to make out the picture of the donkey.

  “Yeah. Playing around in the woods and stuff.”

  “That’s what summertime’s for, isn’t it? Getting filthy and you couldn’t care less. Don’t tell my wife I said that.” A wink.

  “Yeah.”

  “Looks like the bugs made a meal out of you, though. Ran out of spray?”

  I scratched my neck, and when I looked, my fingernails were filled with brown powder. Dried blood.

  “Well, we’re just two over, if you and your dad need anything. I’m Jim Russell, and my wife’s Jackie.” He laughed, tapped his hat again. “Jackie Russell, you know, like those small dogs. No end to her energy. Always in a super mood.”

  I smiled, but I’d never heard of Jackie Russell dogs. Chicken was a Heinz 57, same as the ketchup. I think Girl was too. I could picture her, though, Mrs. Russell, thin and hyper, running here and there. She probably smelled like ginger cookies, the same as Gran did. I couldn’t help imagining myself climbing into the canoe with Mr. Russell, gliding across the water. Just two over. Mrs. Russell would be there waiting, and she’d have something cooked. Baked drumsticks, mashed potatoes. Steaming corn on the cob with real butter. She’d make me sit down, pile up a plate. When I was full to bursting, she’d lift the glass dome off a chocolate cake. Rainbow sprinkles all over the top. With a drink of icy milk. She’d say, “He’s a growing boy, Jim. See how he packs it away?” She’d hug me to her side, pressing my face into her ribs, and I’d sniff in her cookie smell. Mr. Russell would tell me to go swim myself clean: “Put that dirt back in the lake, son. Where it belongs.” And I’d listen. To everything. I could be such a good grandson.

  “Anything you need, okay? You just tell your dad.”

  “My dad?”

  “Sure.”

  Carl. The bubble popped. Worry seeped out around me. The sun had just gone below some clouds, and everything had turned dull and gray. Was Carl out from behind the couch yet? Would he think the intruders were back? Planting wires, or whatever it was they did. Last night I’d listened so hard that I was certain I heard things too. Scraping and moaning. Branches. Or creatures stalking through the darkness. “I will,” I said.

  “Happy fishin’, then.”

  “Thanks.” As soon as his back was turned I stood up and wound in my line. It snagged, and when I yanked the line snapped, floated up in the air. Rod in hand I walked across the dock, a trail of wet footprints on the weathered boards. Just as I reached the back door of the cottage, Carl opened it. Girl rushed out between his legs and squatted down on the soft grass.

  “She really had to go,” I said, and tried to smile.

  He nipped strands of his beard between his knuckles. “Who was that man, Magic Boy? Who was that man you were talking to?”

  MAISY

  Me and Gloria were waiting on the front step when a van came driving down the circle. It was white and big and had “Channel 6” on the side and it had muck, too. It came into our driveway. A lady wearing a pink sweater and pink skirt got out and so did a man with a big camera thing.

  “Mrs. Janes?” the lady said. “I’m Anita Cahill. Detective Aiken mentioned we’d drop by? To record an appeal for the news?”

  “Yes,” Gloria said. She patted her hair.

  “Is your husband here as well?”

  “Telly’s my husband.”

  “Is he here, Mrs. Janes? To be part of the appeal?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry. He’s almost ready.”

  The lady touched my arm. “You must be Maisy. Detective Aiken told me how helpful you’ve been. And what a lovely dress.”

  It was one Gloria bought me from Stafford’s. It was mostly blue and had puffy sleeves and tiny squiggles all over it. I wasn’t sure if I liked it, and Gloria said she was going to put it straight back in the bag and give it to Shar. But it went in my closet.

  “Well, what do you say, miss?” Gloria bumped me.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I like your, your belt.” It was red.

  The screen door banged and Telly ran down the stairs. He was buttoning up a blue shirt. “Sorry,” he said. His cheeks were pink and shiny. “I was in, you know, searching the woods. And I had to get washed, and, and shave.” He squeezed his eyes closed and he was breathing hard. “I mean, I didn’t have to. I just—I’m just not used to—”

  Gloria rubbed Telly’s back. Her shirt was blue too, and it had sparkly beads sewed around the neck. Her eyebrows were fixed with a brown pencil and she had on lipstick.

  “I understand. This is as difficult a situation as anyone can face, isn’t it? I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay? We’ll have a conversation. Please forget about the camera, and just share your thoughts with me.”

  “What if”—Telly put his hand on his neck—“what if nothing comes out right?”

  “Please don’t worry, Mr. Janes. We’ll edit it at the station. And believe me, our viewers will be very understanding, given the circumstances.” She looked at the cameraman. “Should we start?”

  Then the man lifted the camera thing up on his shoulder. I didn’t like the flashing red light. The lady asked a lot of questions and Telly and Gloria talked about Rowan in a microphone. “He’s quiet and gentle,” Telly said. “And he’s got a dog named Chicken that’s always by his side.” And Gloria said, “He likes to read a lot. If he’s not in school or outside poking around, he’s at the library. You can’t drag him away from a book.” Anita said, “What would you say, Mr. and Mrs. Janes, if you could talk to Rowan right now? What would you tell him?” Telly said, “We love you, Row. We’re doing everything we can, and you just got to hold tight. We’re going to find you.” Gloria started crying and Telly put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “Mrs. Janes?” Anita put the microphone near her mouth. Gloria rubbed her nose and then said, “Rowan? If you’re listening, all we want is to have you home. Back with us, with your mom and dad, and your sister. You belong with your family. We’re right here, together, waiting for you.” She put her face on Telly’s shirt and her back shook bad. Telly held my hand, and I put my cheek on his shirt too.

  When the man took the camera down the lady said, “You’re both so strong. And you too, Maisy. What a horrendous ordeal you’re going through. I can’t imagine.”

  People kept saying that. They can’t imagine. But if they were thinking it, weren’t they imagining it too?

  “We’ll feature it on the six o’clock, and again on the eleven.” The lady did a sad-smile, the same as Mrs. Spooner’s. “I’m praying it will help get word out.”

  Then they got in the van and drove away. Gloria took a big breath and said, “I’m going to put together something for us to eat. I won’t be a minute. Telly?”

  Telly looked at his truck and scritched his head. “Sure, Glow. Sounds good.”

  I followed Gloria inside. She went to the kitchen and got food out of the fridge and filled up three plates. Rolled-up meat. A slice of tomato on top of lettuce. An ice cream scoop of leftover potato salad and a biscuit jammed full of butter. Chicken was right there. His eyes watched Gloria and his tail banged on the floor.

  “Can we take some out for Rowan?”

  Gloria frowned. “Oh, Bids. I
t’ll only make us all more sad, won’t it? Why don’t we just have supper. The three of us.”

  Telly walked into the kitchen. “What’s the harm in it, Glow?”

  “You’re right.” She put another plate on the small kitchen table. “Of course you are.”

  “Who knows? He might come home right in the middle of eating. Never did miss a meal, did he?”

  I sat down and tried to swallow, but the food got stuck in my throat. I could hear Gloria and Telly chewing. The phone rang and Gloria got up to answer it. “No,” she said. “Kind of you, but we’re just trying to have quiet family time together.”

  Gloria sat down again and said, “Just Erma. Wondering if I wanted her to pop by for company.” She took a long drink of water and said, “But I told her I got you here.”

  “Yes, you surely do, Glow. We’re going to get through this. I just got this sense Rowan’ll be home soon.”

  “You do?”

  “I do,” he said, and he touched her hand.

  Gloria’s eyes turned wet, but she didn’t cry. “Sometimes it takes a tragedy to put everything right.”

  Then she was talking about all the stuff she wanted to do. Paint the front porch and fix up the basement and next summer grow more vegetables out back. Maybe even try a few watermelon plants. Aunt Erma got some small ones in her backyard.

  “So much to do when Rowan comes home. Right, Telly?”

  Telly coughed and smiled at me, and then he put a big spoon of potato salad and a whole roll of ham into his mouth.

  ROWAN

  Carl looked terrible. His face was puffed, and sections of his chin were hairless and raw. There were smears of blood on his cheeks and nose, probably from his injured hands, which he kept curled against his chest. The sight of him standing in front of me in his oversized coat, his eyes dark and confused, made my chest fill with sadness. But also a tight knot of fear.

  “It was just a man, Carl.” I remembered what he kept saying about two people together. “He lives by himself around the lake. He asked if I caught a fish.”