The Secret Life of Sam

by Kim Ventrella

  Sam knew he should help, but he just stood there, stunned. It shouldn’t have been possible, but here he was, in Pa’s memory, and the story of the warthog hadn’t been made up after all. It had really happened.

  “Time to go.” A firm hand closed on Sam’s shoulder, and he shrank away at the sight of the Boy, grinning down at him.

  “No way. I have to see what happens.”

  The warthog bucked, sending Pa sprawling. Sam knew it was just a memory, but he couldn’t stand by any longer while Pa got pummeled. “Get off me!”

  Sam kicked the Boy hard in the shins. The Boy snarled, revealing his tiny, sharp teeth, but Sam was already off, running toward the clearing. He was tearing his way through a tangle of vines when Pa got to his feet again and, somehow, managed to wrap his arms around the warthog’s belly. That was when Sam saw something else wrapped around the beast’s middle, cutting into his lizardlike skin. That’s right! He had almost forgotten how the story ended. It was a coil of barbed wire, and without hesitation, Pa unwrapped it, careful to avoid the flailing tusks. As soon as he did, that wild warthog went quiet as a baby.

  The story had been true all along. Did that mean Pa’s other stories were true too?

  In the moment of quiet that followed, Sam’s boot cracked a branch, and Pa turned, a look of surprise registering on his muddy features. Sam opened his mouth to say hello, and then the Boy’s hand clamped down on his shoulder once again, cold fingers squeezing tight. The next thing Sam knew, he was being dragged across the treetops like a fish on the end of the world’s biggest hook.

  He didn’t know where the hook was taking him, or why, or how the Boy could change shape and fly, but soon the trees gave way to a twisting black tunnel, streaked with blinking lights that looked an awful lot like stars. The swampy air was replaced by a chilly wind that whistled in his ears and speckled his cheeks with frost. He landed, face-first, in a pile of snow at the edge of a heavily forested mountain. Nearby, a cozy cabin provided the only hint of light.

  As he turned over onto his back, a gold streak shot across the sky, followed by another and another. It took him a moment to figure out what they were, since he’d never actually seen one before. Shooting stars!

  The back of Sam’s neck prickled, and it wasn’t from the cold. Pa had only talked about shooting stars once before, when he told the story of how Sam was born. According to Pa, there’d been a whole shower of stars flying across the sky that night, kind of like what was happening right now. Sam went stock-still. Was he about to see himself as a baby? More important, was he about to meet Mama face-to-face?

  Pushing against the snowdrifts, he made his way toward the cabin, soon joining up with another set of footprints that led to a round green door. Instead of going in, he ducked beneath the window and peeked through the frosted glass. He glimpsed a crackling fire, the flames painting orange and red streaks on the rustic stone floor. He cleared away some of the frost, so he could see more details of the room inside. There was a threadbare rug in front of the fire, an old rocking chair, a pile of logs, an open suitcase with a familiar broken latch.

  A scream interrupted his investigation.

  The scream pierced the still night air, and Sam stumbled back. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that the scream was coming from Mama. It came again, louder this time, and Sam pressed his face to the cracked glass.

  He searched the room, fighting against the glare from the fire, and finally, off to his left, he spotted someone. It was Pa! Not much younger than Sam remembered him, kneeling beside a bed, holding a bloody bundle in his arms. Sam stopped breathing, and in that same instant the wind died down, and the sound of Pa’s voice doubled the ache twisting in his belly.

  “Hang on, now. Keep breathing. Just like that. Don’t stop.” He watched Pa form a cradle out of blankets and place the red-faced baby inside, kicking and wailing before the fire. It was a little like the story Pa had told of his birth, but not exactly. Pa had always said he was born beneath a sea of shooting stars and that he’d come out bigger than a giant catfish and twice as slippery. From what he could tell, he didn’t look all that big, but he definitely looked slippery. Also, he’d never said anything about all that screaming.

  As Pa moved aside, he saw her. Mama.

  She cried out again, thrashing against the blankets, hands gripping her stomach, and Pa rushed back to her side. He dipped a cloth in water and wiped her forehead, and held her hand, and when he pushed the hair out of her face Sam could see that it was really Mama. He didn’t remember seeing her in real life, but he knew her face from the one picture he’d found hidden in Pa’s closet. Her curly black hair that billowed out around her head, like an invisible wind was lifting it up from underneath. Her sad brown eyes that made him think of a mountain love song, the kind that always had a tragic end. He pressed his hand to the glass, longing to touch her, but then his world split open.

  She threw back her head, screaming yet again. But this scream was different from the others, and she curled up in pain, and he could see the fear on Pa’s face . . . No. This couldn’t be happening. Sam knew she’d died when he was a boy. A boy. Pa had never said anything about her dying when he was a baby. As much as Pa loved stories, he’d never wanted to talk about this one much, or about Mama. All Sam knew was the part about shooting stars and him being a fat baby, but what if . . . ? What if there was a reason Pa hadn’t wanted to tell him? No, this couldn’t be happening.

  It wouldn’t.

  Not if he could help it.

  He raced around to the front of the cabin and threw open the door. Pa shot up and their eyes met, but then he marched right past Sam like he didn’t see him and slammed the door shut. “It’s this dang storm,” Pa said to Mama, still ignoring Sam. He made sure to lock the door tight this time, and he piled more fresh blankets on top of Mama. “You stay here,” Pa said, his face dripping sweat despite the cold. “I’m going to get help.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Mama said, and her voice was weak and raw and beautiful. Sam had never heard it before. He walked right up to the bed, shaking, and took Mama’s hand. Except he didn’t. His hand slipped right through, like maybe he was the ghost and not the other way around.

  “Mama?” Sam said. She didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. It was like before in the forest when Pa had run right past him. Sam thought he’d just been distracted by the warthog, but maybe part of being in Pa’s memory was that he wasn’t really here, at least not where anyone could see him.

  He reached out again as Mama moaned, every inch of him longing to touch her, to comfort her, but all he could do was watch.

  Pa picked up the baby, blankets and all, and settled it in Mama’s arms. Sam had to admit that he was a fat baby, but not nearly as big as a giant catfish. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  He stood to go, but Mama caught his hand. “Not this time, Jack West. You’re staying right here with me. You and I both know there’s no one around for at least fifty miles and no car and no one else fool enough to be out in this storm. So you’ll stay right here where you belong, and you’ll promise me something.”

  Slowly, like it was taking the weight of the world to drag him down, Pa sank into the mattress beside Mama.

  “He ain’t yours, and so I don’t blame you if you can’t, but—” Mama let out a deep cough and grasped her belly. Pa reached for the water, but she drew him back. “Promise me you’ll be his daddy. I know it’s a lot, and maybe I don’t have the right to ask, but there it is. You’re a good man, Jack West, and I’m asking.”

  The firelight painted lines down Pa’s face, making him look older than he really was. “But he is mine, Little Mama. I told you that the first day we met. Remember? There you were, just about pregnant as can be, wrestling a rattlesnake with your bare hands. I’ve seen a lot of wild sights in my life, and I’ve done a lot of wild things myself, but nothing quite like that. Now, you look at this boy here and tell me he’s not a West.”

  Mama smiled, and sh
e cried a little, too, and then she doubled up and screamed. The sound cut right into Sam’s chest, and he reached for her hand again, but it was too late. Just as Mama went still, her body giving one final, quiet shudder, the invisible hook snagged Sam behind the belly button, and he was flying.

  He fought and kicked and grabbed at the air, but nothing he did could stop it. “No! Let go!” he cried. He had to get back. He had to save Mama, to make her see him. To say he was sorry for being the reason she was dead. But he kept on flying.

  No wonder Pa had never told him the full story.

  He had known Pa wasn’t his real dad, not in the technical sense, but he’d never known the truth about Mama’s death. How could Pa have kept it from him? Why had he spent so much time telling him stories about ghost lights and mermaids, but he’d never once mentioned that Mama had wrestled rattlesnakes? Or that she’d died because of him?

  Thoughts racing, he dropped out of the sky and slammed onto solid ground. He expected to be back in Holler, staring up at the ugly yellow sun, but he wasn’t.

  His fingers touched the damp wood of the dock behind the little white house, his house, and he could hear water burbling calmly down below. Everything was so quiet and serene. Almost like nothing had happened, but it had. Because now he knew that Pa’s stories were real, but he also knew that Pa had lied about Mama. Someone whistled nearby, and Sam spun around to find the Boy perched atop the same post, tapping the face of his watch.

  “You’re running out of time, young man. Tick-tock and all that.”

  Already the sun was dropping behind the trees, coloring the canopy a deep rustic amber. But it was too soon. Yesterday, he’d spent an entire afternoon with Pa, but today . . . all he’d done was chase shadows. He needed more time. He needed to ask Pa why he’d never told him about—

  “Sam, you’re back.” Pa came out of the house, the screen door banging shut behind him, and he scooped Sam into his arms. “I’ve been waiting. I was starting to think that yesterday was all a dream.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Sam said, and he pressed his face into Pa’s shirt and breathed in the scent of sweat and raw fish and motor oil. When Pa finally let him go, he was relieved to see that it was his pa, the one he remembered, not some younger version who couldn’t see him. Pa’s gaze drifted over Sam’s shoulder, and he turned, expecting to see the Boy, but the Boy was gone. Instead, he saw the canoe bobbing in the water, knocking gently against the dock like it was waiting for them to climb in.

  That got Sam thinking. True, he wanted to ask about Mama and everything that had happened on that cold, awful night, but all that could wait. The canoe had given him an idea, at least the start of one. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? If the Boy was right, and the doorway would close up before long, then there was only one solution. He had to bring Pa back with him—before that happened.

  He wanted to kick himself. He’d wasted so much time lately thinking about how Pa would never be able to eat his favorite pizza again or track down the Colonel, when really he should have been finding a way to get Pa back.

  “Come on. We have to go.” Sam climbed into the boat and waited for Pa to follow.

  “Go where?” he said. A few feet away, a pair of milky yellow eyes surfaced, a massive snakelike shadow darkening the water. Sam knew it was the Colonel. Pa saw him, too, but he didn’t look worried. Sam had a feeling there was more to Pa’s relationship with the Colonel than he’d let on.

  “Please, we have to hurry. I’m going to take you back.”

  At those words, Pa seized Sam’s hand and hopped into the boat. Green water splashed over the sides, but not enough to slow them down. Like before, the canoe moved of its own accord, and the Colonel followed them, his massive body leaving a wide wake just beneath the surface. And below him, illuminated in the strangely glowing water, Sam thought he could make out other shapes: catfish the size of sharks, pale yellow lights bobbing against the current, purple tendrils dancing in the depths, and a sparkling pink tailfin that could only belong to one of Pa’s imaginary mermaids.

  Sam stared in wonder as the canoe cut a steady path across the surface.

  As they approached the far bank, he turned to Pa. “I saw Ma today.” He tried hard not to let the ache in his belly show on his face. “You never told me she wrestled a rattlesnake.”

  Pa laughed, and Sam explained some more about the memories and the Boy who looked like Pa, or a cat, but wasn’t either. He didn’t say anything about it being his fault that Ma had died. He figured he’d save that conversation for later, once he had Pa back safe and sound. They agreed, in those few seconds drifting toward shore, to make the Boy their enemy. Because what else could you call someone who tried to keep the two of them apart?

  “Now!”

  As soon as they hit the shore, they ran. Sam could already feel the tug starting up in his belly, and he knew that any second now he’d be dragged away and the hollow would be closed up tight until tomorrow. Fine. Let the Boy drag him—but this time he wouldn’t go alone.

  Sam squeezed Pa’s hand, and they pounded their way through mud and weeds to the tree.

  “You first!” he cried, but it was too late. Before Pa could move an inch, the world turned into one ginormous tornado. A force greater than any he’d felt so far ripped him free from Pa’s grasp, and he was hurtling into the hollow. He tried to grab on, to stop himself, to scream, but the tunnel zipped by at frightening speed, going up and up and up, leaves and twigs tearing at his skin, and no matter how hard he fought, he kept right on flying.

  10

  HE HIT THE GROUND WITH an almighty crack, and for a second he was certain he was dead and gone, just like Pa. Slowly, Sam rolled onto his back blinking up at the sun. A sudden gust of air ruffled his hair, and he sat up just as a stream of glittering blue and green disappeared inside the hollow. A group of kids ran after it, laughing and reaching their hands into the tree, pulling out clumps of dirt and dead leaves.

  “I don’t understand. Where’d they all go?” one of the kids said.

  “Stop that!” Sam said, dragging himself to his feet. “Get out of here!”

  At the sight of Sam shouting and waving his arms, the kids raced back to the baby playground, squealing with laughter.

  Sam ignored them. He didn’t have time for games. He thrust his hand into the hollow, and then his head, ignoring how the rough bark scraped at his skin. He punched and clawed at the wood, but it was no use. He’d failed. With that thought slicing through his brain, he sank to the ground again, defeated.

  The wind lifted his hair and rattled the few dead leaves still clinging to the tree. He’d left Pa behind, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake tomorrow. All he had to do was act fast, get the Boy or the cat or whatever out of the way, and then he and Pa could escape before time ran out.

  A surge of hope like he hadn’t felt in weeks filled his chest. But what if it doesn’t work and the doorway closes for good? that same cruel voice whispered in his head. Then he’d just have to make sure that he and Pa couldn’t get separated. Use a rope, or maybe handcuffs. When the invisible hook came to get him, it would capture Pa, too, and then they’d both be sucked out the other side.

  His brain whirring with plans, Sam got to his feet, surprised to find he wasn’t hurt. It all seemed so simple now. Pa might be dead, but that didn’t mean he had to stay that way. Sam could bring him back.

  “Hey, there you are.” Edie jogged over, her purple hair blowing wild around her head. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Nothing. I just . . . I needed some air.” Sam didn’t like lying to Edie, but he was a lot more concerned with his plan.

  “Are you okay?” She tugged on the sleeves of her flannel. It was the same one she’d worn the day before, since she hadn’t gone home to change. She cocked her head. “Is it about your dad?”

  “No. Well, yes, but . . . you wouldn’t understand.”

  Edie’s expression hardened, her mouth straightening into a thin line. “I lost m
y dad too, remember?”

  “I know, but this is different.”

  He could feel the hurt simmering behind Edie’s eyes, but he didn’t know what to say to make it better, and he didn’t have time to focus on someone else’s problems.

  “You’re right, it is different,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if she was mad at him or just sad about her dad leaving.

  Sam wiped the dirt off his pants, trying to think of something to say. He didn’t want to hurt Edie’s feelings, but he couldn’t tell her about the tree or Pa or any of it.

  “I’m sorry. Forget about it,” she said. He watched the anger drain out of Edie’s face, and she leaned in close to him. For a wild moment, he thought she was going to kiss him, which sent his already chaotic thoughts into a frenzy, but instead she plucked a piece of bark from his hair. “What were you doing out here anyway? I was waiting for almost an hour.”

  Sam’s throat had gone dry, and he racked his brain for an answer, a lie, anything.

  “Mr. Redding had to go home. He looked pretty upset. And I had to wait in the office with Miss Ross.” She crinkled up her lips like she’d just eaten a bad lemon. Whoever Miss Ross was, Edie clearly wasn’t a fan. “Anyway, I already called Miss J to pick us up. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. I guess I lost track of time.”

  She frowned, giving him that same sad-puppy-dog look all his neighbors had worn on the day of Pa’s funeral. “It’s okay. We can work on the project this weekend. As long as you promise not to disappear on me again.” Edie held out her pinkie. “Swear on it?”

  “Sure.” A lump caught in Sam’s throat as they interlocked pinkies. Tomorrow was the day he would rescue Pa, for real this time, no two ways about it. He didn’t have time to think about some science fair project, but he also didn’t want to hurt Edie’s feelings. “Sounds like fun.”

  Baby Girl crunched over the hill just as Sam and Edie released their pinkies. Sam climbed into the back so Edie could have the front seat, but she scooted in beside him.