The commissioner opened his mouth to speak then closed it as the governor continued. “As soon as my team saw what was happening, we immediately put a stop to it. We’re here today to do what’s right, and in just a minute this backhoe is going to remove the dam and let the river and freedom, flow back into the countryside.”
Peter looked up and noticed that Big Ed, who was not a fan of politics or politicians, had his lips pressed firmly together—as if to stop himself from blurting out something. Peter then looked over to the commissioner, whose face was red with anger as he stepped forward to get in front of the microphones.
“Now, Governor, let me—” the commissioner started.
“And without further ado!” The governor extended his arm toward the backhoe, drawing everyone’s attention to it, leaving the commissioner with half a sentence and no audience. The governor then pumped his arm as if pulling on a horn inside a train, and the backhoe grumbled to life. Everyone in attendance looked up at the giant backhoe, then took a step back away from the dam just in case the huge machine failed to obey commands.
Any chance the commissioner had to reply was lost in the powerful drone of the diesel and the loud scraping of the backhoe’s metal tracks as the man in the yellow hard hat, who was controlling the machine, made final tweaks to its position. There was no room for error for the operator of the backhoe as the machine was as wide as the top of the dam.
The backhoe driver revved the engine, and every camera caught the small puffs of black smoke that came out of the exhaust pipe mounted on the back side of the cab. The backhoe operator pulled on several of the many levers in front of him. The giant arm flexed, and the scoop dug into the top of the dam in front of the backhoe, leaving behind a large hole. The arm then moved to the side and dumped the contents of the scoop on the far, dry side of the dam on what used to be the river bank.
Big Ed squeezed both boys close and smiled down on them as the giant scoop reached down again and bit away another large collection of rock and dirt. The crowd cheered each time the backhoe repeated this process. The governor grinned as if he was the one operating the backhoe.
Eventually, the backhoe dug down far enough that the water began to run across the new channel that had been formed in the dam. The river’s current took full advantage of this opening and soon—in addition to the diesel engine—the crowd heard the sounds of rocks crashing noisily into each other on the back side of the dam.
Peter had never wanted to work in construction more than he did right now. He was mesmerized by the fluid motions of the great metal beast.
After the initial thrill of watching the upper part of the dam wall dissolve, the crowd, with Peter and Eli in the lead, ran up to the flat spot far behind the backhoe that had been created along with the dam, and they watched as the rushing water reclaimed its former place. The dry, white river rocks soon fell under a layer of cloudy, turbulent water. Peter gauged the speed of the current and expected that the water would again be flowing past their farm by the time they got home—assuming they were allowed to leave the cameras and the crowd sometime soon.
As if the governor could hear Peter’s thoughts, he spun back around, ignoring the commissioner next to him, caught the eye of one of his aides and shook his head as he pointed at the backhoe. The aide immediately put the walkie-talkie he was holding to his mouth and gave cryptic directions. The large engine immediately shut off, and the only sound that remained was the rushing water. The governor again reached for Big Ed’s hand. Big Ed reluctantly took his arm from its position around Peter’s back and shook the governor’s hand.
The governor, speaking directly into the cameras, bellowed, “This great wrong has been righted by the Davidson family!”
With the crowd now pressed all around them, the governor lifted Big Ed’s hand and shook it upwards as if he were holding the hand of the winner of a prize fight. The crowd cheered. Even the commissioner smiled.
The governor could not help himself. “And with a little help from your favorite governor!”
The cheering almost immediately slowed, though the governor kept grinning. After a few more awkward moments, the governor gently dropped big Ed’s hand and leaned down a little to address Peter and Eli. Still speaking loudly for the benefit of any microphones, he asked, “Boys, aren’t you so proud of your dad!”
“Yes, sir,” mumbled both Peter and Eli.
Big Ed laughed a little at their shyness, as did the governor. “Well, you oughta be. That’s a great dad you have there.”
Peter and Eli mumbled again and Big Ed, also uncomfortable with all the praise and attention, used his hands to tousle their hair.
“Say, Big Ed,” the governor asked, really trying to impress the audience that he and Big Ed were on a first-name basis. “I know you must have had a lot of help raising these two wonderful boys. Where is that beautiful wife of yours? I’ve heard so many good things about her.”
Big Ed’s arms clenched both boys tightly. One of the governor’s aides smacked himself in the forehead. The crowd, and even the river, grew quiet.
It was no secret that the governor had aspirations of one day holding an even higher office. It was also no secret that the primary obstacle to the governor’s dream was his own big mouth. Once he started talking, he often found himself unable to stop. His aides had no doubt briefed him about the Davidson family beforehand, but his mouth had again gotten out in front of his brain.
The commissioner, who very much wanted to be governor, saw his opening and took it. He quickly stepped closer to the extended microphones, his face adopting a sad, somber look. “Governor, perhaps you are not aware that the Davidson family and our larger community lost Mrs. Davidson to cancer several years ago.”
The governor’s face, despite the fake tan, went white. The cameras flashed. The commissioner smiled, mostly to himself, and Peter and his family went home.
***
Peter sat on the grassy bank of the river and watched the water roll past. His dress shirt lay on the grass next to him, as his bare, pale shoulders soaked up the sun’s rays.
Eli sat next to him, his shirt also off, digging pebbles out of the dirt and softly lobbing them into the water, where they immediately disappeared. Big Ed, his dress shirt unbuttoned and his jacket nowhere in sight, sat on the other side of Eli, watching their river.
Peter looked over at Big Ed and noticed that the lines on his dad’s face were more defined, harsher than he remembered. Big Ed felt Peter’s gaze and turned to look at both his sons.
“I guess we won’t worry about getting you back to school today.”
Peter nodded. Eli just continued to dig out pebbles beneath him.
“Mom would have been really proud of you, Dad.” Peter stared at Big Ed, hoping that mentioning their mother would reclaim her memory in a good way. The governor’s ill-timed words had soured the celebration and reminded the family of losses far more important and painful than the river.
Big Ed scratched his shoulder absently and forced a small smile. He caught Peter’s gaze then stared at Eli until he stopped throwing pebbles and locked eyes with Big Ed.
“Your mother loved this river and our farm. She would have been thrilled to see the water flowing again.”
Both boys nodded, still staring at Big Ed.
“But what would really have made her happy was seeing how well both her boys have turned out. She would have been proud.” Big Ed smiled and the lines on his face softened. “I know I’m proud of both of you.”
Peter did not know what to say. A tangle of emotions welled up in his throat, cutting off his ability to speak.
Eli appeared to have the same struggle, but his frustration triumphed over his nostalgia. “Dad, Mom would have hated the governor. Are you really going to work for that guy?”
Big Ed frowned then squeezed his forehead with his hand, as if trying to remove painful thoughts. Eli’s question required him to either defend someone he loathed, or speak ill of another human being. Big Ed cou
ld not—would not—defend the governor, but he was reluctant to slander him. Several moments passed with both boys studying their silent father. Eli fully expected Big Ed to come up with some kind of cop-out answer that did not really say anything.
“You’re right, Eli,” Big Ed said sadly. “He’s only looking out for himself.”
Eli caught Peter’s eye and raised his eyebrows. Big Ed was not talking like Big Ed.
The boys were more surprised when Big Ed muttered, “Your mother wouldn’t have let him into our house.”
Eli seized upon his father’s candor and repeated his question, “And you’re going to work for him?”
Peter stared at his brother, trying to figure out if he was truly concerned about his father’s morality or simply concerned that Big Ed might turn down the job the governor had offered.
Big Ed pushed himself up and got to his feet. Brushing off his backside, he stared again at the river. He crossed his arms, and the wiry muscles of his forearms moved and flexed from the tension he held close. Peter watched but said nothing. Only hours before, his father had been happy, optimistic. The explanation of why things had turned out so well and how things would play out in the future had not mattered.
For any man of principle, particularly for Big Ed, the how’s and why’s were important. If something could not be done the right way, it was better not to do it at all. This approach had guided Big Ed all his life, all the way to a jail cell he willingly accepted in his fight for what he felt was justice.
The euphoria of victory was being whittled away in large chunks by Big Ed’s conscience. The job he had accepted from the governor now seemed like exactly what it was—a payoff—but it made no sense for the governor to offer it once he had already, somewhat magically, changed his stance and agreed to free the river. If the governor was trying to buy Big Ed’s vote and favor, and no one understood why he would, there was no need to throw a cushy, good-paying job on top. Changing his mind and freeing the river would have, in and of itself, been more than enough to win Big Ed’s heart—if Big Ed’s heart were for sale.
Big Ed continued to stare at the river. He had just allowed himself to be photographed shaking hands with someone he did not respect. The governor was going to milk that coverage as much as he could in his attempts to win the hearts, minds and votes of the rural communities within the state. He would also, of course, continue to make Big Ed pose for these hand-shaking photos every time they were both in Little Rock. It did not matter what Big Ed actually did in his new job for the state, as long as he was available to stick out his hand and smile at the governor every month. The happiness was gone. Big Ed had awakened from his dream.
Peter knew the source of this misery all too well. He stopped looking at his father and turned his gaze to his house in general and his room in particular. He could not see him from where he sat, but he knew that, within his closet, Orb sat dark to the world, unaffected by the turmoil around him.
***
The next day, Peter woke from his fog and found himself staring at the contents of his locker. He studied the delicate positioning of the binders and debris that were carefully piled to fit atop one another so they did not fall to the floor—unless Peter needed to get something out, in which case every single thing in his locker wound up in a heap at his feet.
With the chatter of students surrounding him, Peter could not remember how he had arrived at school. His last clear memory was of his father staring sadly at the river. He had no recollection of dinner, going to bed, breakfast, or the bus ride to school. He had experienced problems in the past with what Eli called “spacing out” but never for this long. It felt odd. It felt vaguely sinister. It felt like Orb was somehow involved.
He chewed on his bottom lip and tried to figure out what it was that he needed from his locker when someone tapped him on his right shoulder. Peter turned then looked up into the freckled face of Matt. Matt’s sandy hair hung down over his blue eyes. Like everyone else in Peter’s life at the moment, Matt looked sad.
“Peter, do you know what’s going on with Eli?”
A number of responses flashed into Peter’s mind. Most included the existence of Orb, which Peter could not talk about. He was also thrown off by one of Eli’s friends talking to him about anything. They were the older, cool kids. Peter was just the dirty little boy who was always in the way.
“Why? What did he do?”
Matt shifted the notebook he was holding from his right hand to under his left arm. Peter saw “Irene” had been lovingly written on the front of the notebook several times. In each spot where her name appeared was now a large scribble attempting to block it out.
“I was trying to talk to him this morning about going fishing this weekend, but he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. It was like he was on drugs.”
Peter caught on that he was not the only one in his family sleep-walking through his day. Eli might have been sore at Matt for blowing him off to spend every day with Irene, but Eli was always good for a snarky word. He did not do the silent treatment, and, unlike Big Ed, Eli was happy to share his unvarnished opinion.
“I don’t know. There’s been a lot going on lately.”
Matt patted him on the shoulder, freckles stretching across his cheeks as he grinned. “You’re not kidding. Your dad is the man! I even heard he landed himself a cushy job working for the state.”
Peter felt the strange combination of pride and jealousy again. He had to fight back the impulse to say that there was a lot more to the story that had nothing to do with Big Ed. The urge to boast about his own role in the success passed, but he could think of nothing useful to say so he continued to stare at Matt.
Matt frowned at Peter, trying to figure out what was going on. “Shouldn’t Eli be happy? He’s like a zombie.”
Peter shrugged. How was he ever going to get out of this conversation? A diversionary tactic occurred to him, and he used his eyes to draw Matt’s attention down to the notebook. “Maybe Eli’s still a little unhappy about the whole Irene thing.”
Matt blushed, looked quickly in either direction, then leaned down to whisper to Peter. “That’s done, I think. She’s got some college guy now.”
Peter saw the hurt in Matt’s eyes and got the idea that the last thing he wanted to talk about was Matt’s love-life. “Sorry to hear that.”
“And it’s not even a real college! Community college? Come on, that’s not much different than high school.” He broke eye contact for a moment and stared at the contents of Peter’s locker. The picture on the side of one of the folders squeezed in among the mess showed part of a muscle car.
“He does have a nice ride though. New Mustang.” Matt grimaced, squeezing the freckles together around his nose. “Daddy probably bought it for him.”
The awkward exchange was brought to a merciful end by a loud bell. The students left in the hall began scurrying toward their next class.
Matt stopped thinking about Irene, her new boyfriend, and how much he himself wanted a new Mustang. He stood and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Tell your brother to knock it off. I’m coming by after school. If he needs to yell at me about the whole Irene thing, that’s fine.”
Peter nodded dully and watched Matt stride away toward the high school side of the huge campus. With no idea of what he needed from his locker, he shut it, refastened the padlock, and walked slowly to the seventh-grade biology classroom.
“Mr. Davidson!” a voice boomed behind him.
Peter turned and saw Coach Jackson in the doorway of a classroom. Coach Jackson wore the odd, long polyester shorts that had never been in style. Anywhere. Ever. Coach Jackson and most of the other coaches wore these same shorts every day. Where do they sell these coach shorts? Peter thought. Are there enough coaches in the world wearing them to keep a factory in business?
Coach Jackson, who was never amused by anything, particularly children, frowned at Peter’s lack of fear before him. Coach Jackson reached down to scratch at his fleshy white knee
and then stood back up, grasping the whistle that hung on a cord around his neck as if preparing to blast it. Peter stared, unmoved, his mind having moved on from the shorts to another question—why do they let the football coach teach eighth grade history?
Coach Jackson’s unruly eyebrows arched, his right hand gripping the whistle as he inclined his head to suggest angry curiosity. “Aren’t you late for something, Mr. Davidson?”
Peter never liked being called by his last name as it generally meant he was in trouble. “Yes, sir. Biology.”
Coach Jackson’s arm, which was just as furry and unruly as his eyebrows, came up, his index finger pointing farther down the hall. “Then go, son. I know your family is the big deal around here at the moment, but that doesn’t give you any special privileges in my book.”
Peter fought back the urge to ask Coach Jackson about his book, and why it was that he was so concerned about the hallway, and who was in it.
“Having a tough day, Coach Jackson?”
Both Peter and Coach Jackson spun to look at Mrs. Garcia, the English teacher, standing in her doorway across the hallway from Coach Jackson’s history classroom. Her narrow face could barely contain a smile threatening to burst across her face. She used her long index finger to tease a strand of her frizzy black hair that hung next to her cheek.
Continuing to point down the hall, Coach Jackson opened his mouth wide and turned his fury on Mrs. Garcia. “You will please, Mrs. Garcia, mind your own business. My conversation with Mr. Davidson has nothing to do with you!”
Mrs. Garcia, now smiling, leaned casually against the metal frame of her classroom door. “Actually, Coach Jackson, you made it my business when you disrupted my class by screaming in the hallway.”
A loud round of giggles erupted from her students. Without looking, she gestured downwards with her hand and the laughter slowly stopped.
The Promise of the Orb Page 8