by Karen Harter
“But I could make you a knuckle sandwich.” A laugh bubbled up from deep in her belly. Her older children humored her with half smiles.
“And the blood could be ketchup!” Sissy said.
Ty tossed a carrot stick, hitting his little sister squarely on the forehead. She tossed it back. He dodged and it landed on the floor. Rebecca snatched it up, launching the orange missile at Ty. “Food fight!”
“Hey, I don’t think so.” Sidney reached over to remove the carrot from her son’s hand, but suddenly thought better of it. Instead she grabbed a handful of veggies from the cutting board. “There will be no food fighting around here,” she announced piously, and then spun around, hurling a barrage of vegetables at her children.
At first they looked stunned. Sissy squealed with delight. Rebecca and Ty suddenly scrambled for the carrots and celery that had hit the floor, and it became an all-out war. “Sissy, help me out here!” Sidney cried. “Ouch! Not so hard, Tyson!” He chased his mother around the corner into the living room, the girls following, still pelting one another, all of them laughing, stumbling over furniture. Duke barked, lunging from one child to the next, clearly convinced that this game was all about him. Rebecca tried to push carrots down the back of Ty’s pants, which led to a wrestling match on the floor. Rebecca ended up hopelessly pinned while Ty’s assistant, Sissy, tried to push celery up her sister’s nose. Since Rebecca clearly did not approve of the procedure, Sidney decided it was time to intervene. “Okay, that’s enough. Whoever doesn’t help clean this mess up has to eat that celery that’s been in Becca’s nose.”
Sidney went back to the kitchen and began slicing carrots all over again. Wind spattered droplets of rain against the window, but it was warm inside. The kids bantered cheerily in the other room while the scents of baking potatoes and spicy chili nourished her soul. Normally the thought of throwing away all those organic vegetables would put ringlets in Sidney’s smooth, dark blond hair. But nothing was wasted that night. All the beta-carotene and vitamins A, C, and E may have bounced right off her children’s bodies, but they had laughed together as a whole family for the first time in weeks.
At the dinner table, Tyson went quiet again. She and the girls carried the conversation, which was mostly about the events of their day at school. Both of her daughters loved school, but for different reasons. Rebecca was a real student, eager to please, always doing extra-credit projects. Her essays were accompanied by illustrations or magazine clippings whether required or not. For Sissy it was all about recess. That girl lived to kick balls and any boys who got in her way. At one point Sidney glimpsed Tyson staring at her. She smiled, wondering how long he had been watching her face, disappointed to see the familiar sadness back in his eyes again. He acknowledged her with a brief spreading of his lips, something between a smile and a frown, and went back to the business of eating his chili potato. When he was finished, he excused himself.
“Which subject are you working on tonight?” she asked, trying to sound positive.
He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.
“Tyson. Don’t think about all of it. Just pick one thing. One manageable thing. I’ll help you if you’d like.”
“No, I’m okay. I don’t need any help.”
“I need help,” Rebecca said. “I have to color in my state map and I can’t find a yellow-colored pencil. That’s for the goldfinch. I’m going to put our state bird and our state flower on the edges.”
Sidney watched her son walk away, her heart heavy at the sight of his chronically sagging shoulders. “Try the junk drawer, Bec. There are some colored pencils in there, I think.”
The phone rang. Sissy ran for the portable while Sidney began clearing the table. “Rebecca, will you bag up these leftover veggies for your lunches tomorrow?”
“Mom! It’s for you. It’s a man!”
Sidney sighed. What now? She took the phone from her daughter and walked into the living room. “Hello.”
“Hi, Sid. It’s Jack. How’s it going?”
“Jack! Hi.” She danced around in a joyful circle. “Things are good around here. What’s up?”
“I’ve got a peewee game in Ham Bone on Saturday. You wanna come watch? We could go out for pizza or something afterward.”
“I’ll have the girls with me on Saturday.”
“Bring them along. The more, the merrier. There will be lots of kids there.”
Sidney found herself pacing on the sofa, lifting her knees high in a jubilant march. Jack was back! Everything was going to turn out fine.
“Mom!” Sissy whispered with her eyes bugging out.
Sidney stepped sheepishly from the sofa to the floor, caught in the act of committing a major crime in the Walker house.
“The game starts at one, but I have to be a little early. Do you want to meet me there?”
“Sure. How’s your little team doing?”
He chuckled. “They bounce around the field like pinballs. I don’t know if any of the rules are sinking in, but they have fun. The good news is that so far the other teams we’ve played don’t seem any sharper.”
She laughed just picturing them—little boys peering out from helmets as big as watermelons, their little legs scurrying haphazardly across the field.
“Hot dang, I love that laugh of yours.”
She chortled again, not to show it off, but because it erupted from her naturally. She had apparently inherited her deep, spontaneous laughter from her father. It was a gift, probably one of the reasons she had enjoyed so many friends in school. Though it had gotten her in trouble with teachers more than once. She also suspected it was the sound that had lured Dodge Walker out of the forest of Christmas trees the night she first met him. “Yeah, well, just think twice before bringing me to a funeral.”
“I’ll do that. Hey, too bad Ty can’t come. Tell him we’ll have to go throw a ball around sometime after he’s sprung.”
Sidney smiled. “I’ll do that.” The clouds were lifting from her life.
After tucking the girls into bed and praying with them that night, she peeked in on Ty. His lights were already out, though it was only a little after nine. She leaned against the door frame, barely able to make out his still form beneath the blankets. She had wanted to see what progress he’d made on his poetry assignment for English—if any. The last time she checked, there was an open book on his desk beside a stark white notebook page, nothing more. It worried her. How could she motivate him? Maybe Jack could help. “Are you asleep?” she whispered. There was no answer. She had the urge to kiss him, but he was fifteen now so she slipped out, closing his door quietly behind her.
In her own room she ran a bath, sprinkling lavender bath crystals into the steaming water. Ray Charles sang love songs while she lit three dusty pillar candles and slipped into the water with a sigh. “Ah, romance. I’ve missed you so.” She could see herself in the full-length mirror on the linen closet door, her hair pinned loosely to the top of her head, warm candlelight reflecting off her skin. It occurred to her for the first time in ages that she was beautiful. Not like a movie star, granted. But she was more than just a mom or a bumbling insurance agent. Jack’s phone call had roused the sleeping woman inside her. They had talked for almost a half hour before she had to break off the conversation to help Rebecca with her map project. She knew now that Jack still had feelings for her; she was certain of it. A woman could sense these things. He had just been cautious in the beginning; that was all. At one time he loved her enough to want to marry her, but she had pushed him away. She had panicked. After all that Dodge put her through, she had been fearful to allow her feelings to run deep. All those years of gut-twisting emotions, of wondering and worrying while she lay in bed all night listening for her husband’s car. Then, when a good man came along, she couldn’t feel a thing. She’d gone numb inside.
She cranked the hot water on again with her toes. How long might it take for Jack to trust her again? As far as she was concerned, she was ready to start plannin
g the wedding right now. It’s not like they didn’t know each other well enough. They had dated for almost two years.
God had heard her prayers. Jack was back. Tell him we’ll have to go throw a ball around sometime. She smiled, sinking lower into the hot bath. Tyson was not out of the dark woods yet, but neither was he in jail. She had Mr. Bradbury to thank for that. Surely the Lord had orchestrated that series of events, too. The image of Jesus bending under the hood of her car to mess with her spark plugs came into her head. If her car had not refused to start, Millard would not have even been there to intervene with the judge. She remembered the grief she had felt as the corrections officer stepped forward to haul Tyson out of court and then the wonderful sound of Millard’s voice as he offered to take her son in.
“Thank you, Lord.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
She stepped out of the tub, dried herself, and donned her yellow flannel pajamas. As she yanked the top down on her body, the gold cross she always wore around her neck caught on the top button. She felt the resistance and then a quiet pop as the delicate gold chain broke. The cross fell to the floor at her feet. “Oh, no.” She picked it up, suddenly remembering that the necklace had been from Jack. He gave it to her for her birthday but it had held so little significance for her at the time. She couldn’t love him back then.
It could be fixed. There was no jewelry store in Ham Bone, but she could have it done in Dunbar. She went to place it in the jewelry box on her dresser for safekeeping.
Puzzled, she stared inside the box. Things were missing. The sapphire and diamond ring she had inherited from her great-aunt Louise was gone. She remembered seeing it just a few days ago in its usual slot in the red velvet lining. There was no doubt in her mind. The chiming refrain from “Some Enchanted Evening” playing from the music box became suddenly annoying. Where was the gold bracelet from her father? The rhinestone bracelet and earring set? Her silver locket?
Sidney’s heart sank like a boulder in quicksand. She knew that neither Rebecca nor Sissy would dare get into her jewelry. They had used it for playing dress-up once and learned their lesson during a week of restrictions. She hugged herself, suddenly chilled. Deputy Estrada had seemed so sure that Tyson stole someone’s jewelry, and now hers was missing, too. But what could Ty do with it? He was on house arrest; there was no way to fence it for cash. And what desperate need could he possibly have for cash in his current situation?
Her mind whirled. Ty was too smart to steal from his own mother where he was sure to be caught. Besides, she reasoned, he wouldn’t do that to her. Ty wasn’t like that. She went to the girls’ room first, feeling as if Deputy Estrada were looking over her shoulder, his narrowed eyes shouting, See? I told you so! Her daughters didn’t stir when she turned on a lamp or when she quietly opened and closed drawers. She didn’t search hard. She knew the jewelry wasn’t there.
In Ty’s doorway she paused, fear and fatigue rooting her bare feet to the floor. “Tyson,” she whispered. He didn’t stir. She couldn’t hear his breath. “Tyson, I need to talk to you.” This time she spoke firmly. When he didn’t respond, she turned on the light. The lump under his covers didn’t look right. She made herself walk up to the bed, stretching out her arm, knowing before she touched the mound of pillows beneath his comforter that her son was not there.
16
MILLARD LAY WIDE-AWAKE in his bed, his thoughts jumping between his mole problem and the moody boy who had invaded his home. He knew there was a way to rid himself of the mole. In fact, the solution was tottering at the edge of his mind, so close to falling in that he held his breath. But then, uninvited, the image of that sad-faced kid would fill his brain again, scattering shadows of emerging ideas back into hiding.
Tyson had started to open up to him that day, but then had closed again like a threatened sea anemone. Millard had never known a kid so enthralled by nature, one who not only knew and understood the wild things around him but had relationships with them. A student he was not. But he was smart. And the kid had passion; Millard had seen it in his eyes as he stared out at the four-point buck and the woodlands beyond.
It was the phone call from his probation officer that caused the boy to recede again into his dark, secret world. If it was the threat of being taken back to jail again, why didn’t the kid just get busy on his schoolwork? Millard had had no patience for students like that back when he taught at Silver Falls High. Kids that had good brains and wouldn’t use them. He wouldn’t even let a wrestler on his team compete if his grade-point average dipped below 2.0. There he had been struggling to raise a son with a brain the size of a marshmallow while others with healthy minds willingly let them go to waste. It made him angry, then and now.
When his phone rang, Millard’s heart reverberated like a gong after being struck with a heavy mallet. He blinked in confusion and sat up, fumbling for the switch on his bedside lamp. Eleven-thirty. Nobody he knew would call him that late. Not unless it was an emergency. He stumbled down the hall, still shaking, to the phone by his easy chair. Oh, God. Not Rita. Not the kids. “Hello?”
“Millard. It’s Sidney. I’m so sorry to wake you; I saw that your lights were out. It’s just—well, Tyson is gone. I thought for some reason he might have gone over there.”
“No.” He turned on a lamp and looked around his living room even though his doors were locked. The boy couldn’t possibly have gotten in. “Did you call the sheriff?”
“No. That wouldn’t be a very good idea under the circumstances.”
He felt stupid for suggesting it. “No. I guess not. I suppose he’s off in the woods somewhere.”
“That’s what I was hoping.” Her voice sounded deflated. “I thought maybe he was taking a little break from being stuck indoors. But then I found this note. It doesn’t sound like he’s planning to sneak back in his window tonight. It says: ‘Mom, please don’t worry about me.’” She started to cry.
“Is that all it says?”
She sniffed and seemed to be gathering herself. “‘I love you. Ty.’”
She broke down again. He stared helplessly at his white knobby knees. He had turned down the electric heat before crawling into bed and was beginning to get goose bumps standing there in just his Fruit of the Looms and sleeveless undershirt. “Now, don’t get all in a dither,” he said, though he couldn’t imagine why not. The kid was certainly destined for jail this time—if he could be found. “What did he take with him?”
“I’m pretty sure one of our sleeping bags is missing. Then again, it could have been left at someone’s house after a sleepover for all I know. I don’t do a regular inventory.” She hesitated. “I’m also missing some jewelry.”
Millard pondered this. What good was stolen jewelry to a fifteen-year-old kid in Ham Bone? Could he fence it anywhere around there? “What about cash?”
“Well, I don’t think he had any saved up.”
“Did you check your purse?”
“I didn’t even think of that.” She put the phone down while she rummaged through her purse. “I still have the $20 bill I came home with. There is one other place I should check, I suppose. My secret box. Can you hang on a minute?” She was gone for at least two. “Millard?” Her voice was weak. “My emergency fund is gone—$225.”
He frowned. Stupid, selfish kid. “Doesn’t sound like your secret box was a secret.”
“I’ve had it since Ty was a baby. It’s an oriental puzzle box. I thought only a genius could figure out how to open it without the directions.”
“Well, I don’t think he’ll get far. He’d have to thumb it all the way to Dunbar to catch a bus to anywhere and I think he’s smarter than that. He’d be a sitting duck for law enforcement out on the highway at night.”
She let out a long sigh. “Millard, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” She sniffed and then laughed dolefully. “I’ll bet you rue the day you ever met me.”
They said their good-byes and Millard made his way back t
o his bedroom, shivering as he crawled beneath the cold sheets. He lay flat on his back, eyes closed. This was really not his problem. Not a thing he could do about it. The kid could be anywhere. A guy wouldn’t know whether to go north or south, east or west looking for him. The boy would surely keep under the cover of the trees, and there were woodlands spread around them in all directions. East was unlikely. The mountains were too cold this time of year; there had already been some dustings of snow on the foothills. Let it go, he told himself. Let the kid run. He’d survive. If anyone could make it through a cold October night in the Cascade foothills, Tyson could. He might just crawl inside that old stump with the skunk family since they all seemed to get along so well.
Counting sheep had never worked for Millard. He tried conjuring up comforting images of his dear departed Molly, but for some reason tonight her apparition appeared frowning, arms folded across her chest and foot tapping as if he had forgotten to clean his whiskers out of the sink again. He finally huffed in frustration and threw the covers off his body. What he needed was a big slice of Sidney Walker’s zucchini bread, that and a glass of milk. Give his mind a chance to settle down so that sleep would come. He slid his feet into his brown slippers and grabbed the green flannel robe from the back of a chair. As he fumbled for the armholes, he paused by the bedroom window. The lights were still on in the Walker house. Then he noticed a small, single light bouncing off the trees at the edge of their yard. A flashlight. He opened his window a crack. Sidney was calling her son’s name into the wind.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered. Suddenly he yanked his arms from the bathrobe, turning it inside out and dumping it in a wad on the chair. He pulled on the khaki pants he had worn for the past three or four days and donned a shirt and the faded gray cardigan that Rita tried to replace every Christmas with gaudy plaid V-necks and the like. “That little woman is going to drive me to drink.” He threw on a jacket and grabbed his keys from a peg on the kitchen wall before storming out the front door.