by Susan Vaught
Dad paused mid-pea-hull bite. “Um, no.”
“Why?” I asked.
Aunt Gus nearly choked trying to get down some potatoes before she said, “Honesty is good for the soul, Derrick.”
“Enough.” Dad gave her a fork point. “But okay. I’m not friends with Sedon because he’s a loudmouth and a bully, just like he was in high school. Never got over his glory days.”
I nodded. “I think it’s either the two of them, or Trisha Parks’s older sister Meredith’s friend Nancy. But I guess Josh is still in the running, because Maleka said he couldn’t really be trusted. And there’s always somebody we haven’t even considered, but I think we’ve considered the most important people.”
“Nancy, Josh, Maleka,” Dad echoed. “Total strangers, the principal, Coach Sedon. Wow. You’ve really dug into all this.”
“I told you I would,” I said. Then I drew in a breath and got ready for the lecture, for Dad to tell me how all this was silly, how it would just blow over.
Instead, he looked deeply into my eyes from across the table, and before I could look away, he said, “Thank you.”
Aunt Gus really did choke this time, and I jumped up to bang her on the back because I didn’t really know how to do the Heimlich maneuver we learned about in first aid last year.
She waved me off, though, so I ended up standing there listening to dogs whine and watching Dad as he watched me. I had no idea what to say, so I just went with “You’re welcome. I love you.”
He smiled at me. “Maybe tomorrow, we can try to get a call with your mom together. A family minute or two. We haven’t talked to her together in months.”
I sat back down and went after my meatloaf again. “I’d like that.”
For a few minutes, I didn’t focus on anything but eating and tallying what Aunt Gus was hiding for Charlie so I could match it for Sam-Sam. Dad told some silly jokes and Aunt Gus groaned a lot, and we all seemed to finish at the same time. I helped clean the table off, and then Dad and I got the dishes into the dishwasher and turned it on. I snuck Sam’s scraps into a baggie when everybody’s head was turned, and tucked the baggie under my shirt.
When Dad moved the baby gate, Sam almost bowled me over, trying to jump to my waist, where he obviously could smell his hidden treasures. Charlie, more used to this routine, ambled over to Aunt Gus’s favorite recliner and sat, drooling and wiggling his nub tail and waiting for her to sit down and start dropping him bites.
I kept Sam at bay, and as we got to the living room, I said, “Dad?”
He looked up from fishing across the table for the television remote. “Yes?”
“Can I have my phone back?”
Well? It was worth a shot.
Dad tapped the remote against his palm and asked, “Will you tell me what OBWIG means?”
My heart sank a little, and I shook my head. “No. Sorry. That’s a secret.”
Aunt Gus heaved a dramatic sigh and took the remote away from Dad. As she plopped into the recliner, she said, “Just give her the phone, Derrick. If she and Springer can communicate, they might have this case cracked before you ever have to go to court.”
“All right, all right. I know when I’m outnumbered.” Dad headed back through the kitchen toward his bedroom to get my phone while Aunt Gus flipped channels to her favorite local news.
She started giving Charlie his nibbles as she watched for a few seconds, then whistled. “Look at the size of that front.” She leaned back in her chair, giving Charlie more room to stand up against her knees and beg. “Bad weather’s coming, Jesse.”
I worked a pinch of meatloaf out of my baggie, made Sam sit, and gave him a bite. “When?”
“That’s always hard to predict,” Aunt Gus said. “Weather isn’t a perfect science.”
Dad came back with my phone and my charger, and I put them in my pocket. Then I picked up Sam and snuggled him under my chin while he tried to turn upside down to get to the baggie.
“I’m not scared of bad weather,” I told him. “Are you?”
Sam-Sam smiled at me.
Of course he wasn’t scared.
My fuzzy war dog of fury never got scared of anything.
27
Monday, the Night After the Train Came
I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Dad said. He sounded as tired as I felt, which was why I was sitting on a pile of boards Springer had brought to the curb so I wouldn’t get muddy. The darkness over our heads seemed so total, so absolute, like even the stars didn’t want to come out and look at the disaster below.
Bright lights blazed from metal poles set up by the few emergency workers who had made it into our neighborhood. I couldn’t look at them. I sat on a curb five houses down from mine—actually five piles of stuff that used to be houses down from mine—leaning against Springer’s shoulder and keeping my eyes closed and holding my dog and kissing his nose because he’d led Dad and Mr. Regal and me to another trapped person, an older lady visiting from out of town who got stuck in her daughter’s garage.
In front of me, Dad and an Emergency Services worker wearing a name tag that said JOSIAH LINDERS argued like I wasn’t sitting right next to them.
“Please, sir.” Josiah Linders turned both hands palm up, pleading. “We don’t have any search-and-rescue dogs here yet, and this little guy is doing awesome. It’s almost like he’s been trained.”
“He has been trained,” Springer said. “Only more for sniffing bombs—er, I mean, hidden treats.”
“My mom’s dog Shotgun finds explosives in Iraq,” I said without opening my eyes. “Dad and I talked to her yesterday. And Sam-Sam’s not going anywhere without me.”
Even with my lids closed, I could see more blinking, swirling, lights headed toward us, and I knew sireny vehicles were filling up our roads.
About time.
But I really wished I had some earplugs.
It’d probably be months before a store even opened to sell them, though. Maybe I could order them online—but wait. Had to have a mailbox for that, right? I kissed Sam’s nose again. Dad and Springer and Mr. Regal and I had been digging people out for hours. Or it seemed like hours. Long enough for it to be this dark, anyway. And cold enough that one of the firefighters had draped his jacket around me and Springer.
“Squads are on the way with at least four dogs,” Josiah Linders told my father. “We also have specialized cameras and audio detectors coming in by helicopter. That stuff can pick up body heat and even a baby’s breath—but it’ll be hours yet. For now, Sam’s nose and our ears are all we’ve got to find people.”
After a few seconds of not hearing Dad, I opened my eyes. Springer’s dad stood in the center of our street, talking to a crowd of men and women dressed in yellow rescue jackets and hats. He had on real gloves now, and he was pointing to different piles of rubble that used to be houses in our neighborhood. Springer’s mom was helping to set up a tent in the yard across the road. Aunt Gus was busy swearing at a medic who kept trying to dab her head with something that she said “burned like hellfire,” and demanding that the man splint Charlie’s leg instead.
“We’ve got a call in to the emergency vet, ma’am,” the man said. “He’ll be over here with his mobile van as soon as he finishes with the horses at the fairgrounds.”
“Jesse.” Dad knelt beside me on one knee. “What if I take Sam and—”
“No!” I gripped my dog. “He can help, but only if I get a leash for him, and only if I go, too. I don’t want him away from me. I don’t want him to get hurt!”
Dad lowered his head. When he raised it again, I thought he’d start fighting with me, but he looked like he had a couple of days ago, when he suddenly thanked me for investigating who really stole the money out of his desk.
“You know what?” he said. “Okay. You’re right. He’s yours, and you’ll take care of him better than anybody. So how about you look after him, and I’ll look after you? We’ll do this together.”
Springer straightened,
and I lifted my head.
“Acceptable,” I said.
“I’ll help,” Springer said. “I’m more good with you guys than with Mom, because I can’t do tents worth anything, and Dad’s too busy.”
“Done,” Dad said. Then to Josiah Linders, Dad said, “Can you find some sort of leash? We’ll go with you if we can keep the dog safe.”
The guy nodded and jogged off into the mayhem of people and noise.
I got to my feet, and so did Springer. Then I leaned into Dad’s arm as he stood beside me. “If we’re both helping search for people who need help, who’s going with Aunt Gus to the hospital?”
“Hey,” Springer said. “I could do that.” He held up his phone. “I can text you if you need to come. You know, to get her out of jail or something.”
“Just don’t let her spit on anybody,” Dad said. “Or smoke in the bathroom and set off fire alarms.” He gestured to the sea of people, and the ever-growing number of people in uniforms rushing around everywhere. “These people are busy.”
“She won’t go until the vet comes to X-ray Charlie’s leg and fix it up,” I said. “You know that, right?”
Dad sighed. “Let me go talk to her.”
After he walked away toward Aunt Gus, I snuggled Sam-Sam and said, “Thanks for being willing to take care of my aunt, Springer.”
He shrugged. “I like her. I wish my grandparents were still alive—and that I could get to know my own aunts and uncles, but Mom’s people live in Rhode Island, and Dad didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”
I kissed Sam’s wet nose and thought how weird and neat it was, learning something new about Springer in the middle of a disaster area, with emergency lights strobing blue and yellow and red all over everything, and a tent getting set up to “triage the wounded and organize the first responders,” and Sam and Dad and I about to go on a mission like Mom usually did. Was that what friendship was like? Always finding out more and being happy about it, even in the middle of a great big bunch of mess?
Dad came back frowning. “You’re right, Jesse. She’s not budging until that dog gets attention.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Springer said. “I’ll get her to go to the tent at least.”
“Thank you, young man,” Dad said.
“You’re welcome,” Springer said, sounding almost cheerful as he headed out to face the fire-breathing dragon who was currently screaming for a cigarillo and threatening lives over lighters.
Dad watched him go. “He might be a keeper, Jesse.”
“Okay,” I said, even though I had no idea what that meant. Then, “Oh, wait. You’re talking about boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, aren’t you?”
“Maaaaybe,” Dad said.
“Why do parents always think about boyfriend-girlfriend stuff? He’s my friend, Dad, okay?”
“Got it, got it,” Dad said as Josiah Linders came jogging back toward us. As he got closer, he held up a pink leash. It was attached to a pink jeweled collar that looked big enough for Sam-Sam, if I threaded it through his fur.
“Chihuahua,” the guy explained as he got to us. “Lady says she can keep the dog in her purse for now.”
Sam and I eyed all the pink. We looked at each other.
“Sorry,” I told Sam. “I wish it were purple, too, but pink it is—just for tonight.”
Josiah Linders fished a baggie out of his pocket. “She sent these, too.”
I smiled.
“Bacon treats. Thanks. That’ll help.”
• • •
An hour later, we left the third collapsed house two streets away from mine. By my count, we had searched seventeen houses. Dad walked Sam-Sam on his pink leash. I rode on Dad’s back. My arms hurt. My legs hurt. My hands stung from all the cuts I got rescuing Aunt Gus before Springer thought about the sock mittens. I was hungry enough to eat a bacon treat, but just then, Sam pulled on the pink leash and started alert-barking.
“Okay, then,” Dad said, letting go of my legs. “You’re up again, honey.”
He put me down.
I took the leash and let Sam lead me forward.
A group of Emergency Services workers crowded in behind me.
Sam led us to a house where one side had been flattened and the other side seemed mostly okay. He went to the crumpled part and headed to the left, sniffing. His fluffy tail wagged. As we turned where the corner of the house should have been, Sam froze and poked his nose farther into the rubble. Then he pulled back.
Bark! Bark! Bark!
“Good boy,” I said. “Now, shhhhhh.”
Sam-Sam shhhhhhed and sat, waiting for his treat.
As I gave it to him, the nearest rescue worker shouted, “Anybody in there?”
We all strained and listened.
Sam’s head turned as a worker leaned to one side, turning his ear to the rubble.
There.
I heard it, too.
A faint voice, croaking, “I’m here. I’m here!”
“Got something!” the worker cried, motioning with his arm.
“Good boy,” I told Sam, and gave him another bit of bacon treat.
He snarfed it up, his wet tail flopping on the ground.
An emergency crew descended on our spot, and the planning to get the trapped people out got started in a hurry. My stomach rumbled, and I wondered if anybody had a sandwich, but then I figured nobody was thinking about sandwiches but me, and maybe that was selfish. My stomach rumbled again. The flashing lights and yelling and rock smells and water smells and burning stuff smells and dirt smells dug into my brain. I made myself think about Mom again. Really, I had thought about Mom pretty much nonstop all night. That her life at war was sort of like what we were doing, only it never stopped. Mom lived like this all day. Every day. I didn’t know how she stood it.
“Do you think she knows we’re okay?” I asked Dad as I leaned against him, holding Sam’s leash. “Mom, I mean. She’ll see about the tornado, right?”
“I marked us safe on Facebook, and I sent a message through the network, and left one with Base Command at Fort Campbell, too.”
Confusion fluttered through my insides. “You sound confident and worried, too. Why do you sound confident and worried at the same time?”
Dad ruffled my hair. “Because I am.”
“Both things at once.”
“Yes.”
“People are so weird.” I bent down and picked up Sam-Sam and held him close. “Dogs are way better.”
• • •
Hours later. Some other house, streets away from mine. I couldn’t even count anymore. My brain kept getting stuck, and I’d forget where I was and have to start over again. When I started trying to count start-overs, I sang songs in my head to make myself stop.
Emergency crews worked where Sam had pointed and barked.
My dog hadn’t been wrong yet.
I ate a paper bowl full of pineapple that somebody stuck in front of me.
I don’t even like pineapple.
• • •
Sometime later, I woke when Dad shifted me in his arms.
I held on tight to his neck, because we were still moving.
A man said, “Sir, I can carry her for a while if you’d like.”
“No thanks,” Dad said. “My daughter and I made a deal to do this together. We’ll see it through.”
• • •
The next time I woke up, Dad was carrying Sam-Sam, too.
My poor dog looked like a wet mouse, but he smiled at me and licked my face.
I licked him back and burped pineapple in his face.
“Gross,” my father said, and I fell asleep again, before I could even laugh.
28
Tuesday Morning, the Day After the Train Came
I sat in the front row of the courtroom, between Springer and Aunt Gus. Dad sat a table in front of us, on the other side of a wooden fence with a gate in the middle. He and Stan talked to each other in hushed voices.
My heart seemed to be beating in m
y throat.
“It’ll be okay,” Aunt Gus whispered. “Easy. It’ll be okay.”
Springer offered his hand, and I took it.
“All rise!” the bailiff shouted, and we stood.
A judge came in from the side door and headed to the bench. When he sat, we sat. I expected a speech, or a discussion, or something—but he just looked at Dad, said, “Guilty!” and banged his gavel.
Police seemed to close in from everywhere at once.
I jumped up and tried to climb over the wooden fence. “Dad!”
He saw me and reached for me.
I reached for him.
“Dad!”
• • •
My breath left in a wheeze as I sat up, fighting blankets, my aunt’s hands, and a suddenly wiggling and licking Sam.
“Easy,” Aunt Gus said. “It’ll be okay. You’re okay, Jesse.”
I blinked at her, hearing the echo from my—my bad dream? Sam-Sam tucked himself under my chin, and I hugged him, counting his breaths until I could count my own and slow them down.
My galloping pulse slowed a fraction, and the world came to me slowly, in bits and pieces of light and motion and voices and people, and the strong smell of coffee. Gray light told me it was morning, or maybe rainy daytime. I couldn’t tell. I realized I was under a big tent, a green one, not like Mom’s sand-colored version. A lot of people seemed to be close by, talking and moving around. I heard them talking, but so many voices it all ran together like one big loud murmur.
Aunt Gus was sitting beside my cot in a fold-out chair. She had a bandage on her head. Charlie sat beside her panting into a cone of shame, his back leg in a little blue cast.
“Where’s Dad?” I croaked.
Aunt Gus jerked a thumb toward a tent wall. “Out there with Mr. Regal. They’re drinking coffee. Springer’s with them, but I don’t think he’s the coffee sort.”
“You’re okay?” I squinted at her bandage. “Not going to fall out or anything?”
She gave me a snort. “Spent the night in the emergency room for concussion observation, but they discharged me when I threatened to use my bedpan as a Frisbee.” Her hand dropped to her side, and she scratched her dog’s ears. “Place is boring as heck. Plus, there were a lot of people there who needed help a lot more than me.”