The Colonel? Sam’s heart did a flip-flop in his chest. Pa had never told him about heading down to Louisiana with Pops, or about Pops running into the Colonel.
Here’s how it went, more or less. The Earle brothers were the first to spot him, this huge, legendary gator, coming out of a cave down in a place called Mermaid Cove. Pops gave the sign, and the boat grew dead quiet. I pulled up the oars while the others aimed their shotguns. Now, we’d all heard about the Colonel down at the bait shop, and I knew those Earle brothers were itching to make history, not to mention a whole lot of dough. Me, not so much.
I never did have the stomach for hunting. In that awful moment, waiting for the first shot, it was like a hand closed around my throat and I could see how it would all go down. Shots fired, ears ringing, a cloud of blood staining the water. Then the Colonel’s body would bob to the surface, and Kit and Marley would be laughing, because that’s Kit and Marley for you, and Pops would drag the Colonel out of the water and he’d be just another dead gator. Not a legend, not the oldest gator that ever lived, just some dead piece of meat to be stuffed or sliced up to make wallets.
That’s when I shouldered my rifle, the one I’d only ever used for shooting cans, and fired a shot at the clouds. The Colonel started. I swear his yellow eyes met mine, and then he dove into the depths before Kit or Marley or Pops could get off a shot.
On the way home, Pops said that was the last time he’d ever take me hunting, and that I was a disappointment and that he couldn’t so much as look me in the face. I said all that was fine by me. If Pops wanted a hunting buddy, he should stop being stubborn and take JoJo, girl or no girl. If not, he should adopt the Earle brothers as his sons and leave me the heck alone.
The only good thing about this trip was the place itself. The swamp. Bayou St. George, they call it. Now, if you subtract Pops and those ornery brothers, it would make a mighty fine place to live. Even accounting for the giant skeeters and roaches. From what I can tell, it’s a place chock-full of stories. The kind of place that gets its hooks in you and refuses to let go. Who knows, maybe I’ll find my way back there someday. The way Pops and I have been at each other’s throats, maybe someday soon.
Sam couldn’t believe his eyes. Here was a side of Pa he’d never known before. Sure, he knew how Pa only ever took his camera when they went gator “hunting,” and he knew he had a special liking for the Colonel, but he’d never heard about the trip with Pops. It seemed once again that, out of all his stories, Pa had never seen fit to tell Sam the most important ones, like what had really happened to Ma or how he’d first discovered Bayou St. George.
The thought opened up a tiny wound in Sam’s chest.
And what about Pa and the Colonel? He thought back once again to how the Colonel had gone after the Boy, almost like he was protecting Sam and Pa. Did the Colonel remember how Pa had helped him all those years ago?
He flipped through another notebook and another, each one older than the last. Pa talked about going to school in Holler, Oklahoma, riding bikes with Aunt Jo. He even found a passage where Pa told the story of letting the possum in the teacher’s lounge, and how it’d taken Mr. Redding a whole day to chase it down. That one made him laugh out loud. Especially the part about the possum chomping down on Mr. Redding’s mustache.
Mind reeling with new information, he picked up a more recent journal and paged through until the words Jo and birthday caught his eye.
September 15, 2017
Jo called the house today, asking for Sam. She wanted to wish him happy birthday. I know it’s been a year, and she says she’s doing better now, but I can’t forgive her for what happened. What almost happened. It’s like Pops all over again. Jo doesn’t remember, because she could only see the good things about Pops, never the bad. She was so desperate for him to notice her, it didn’t matter what he did. But he was a mean drunk, and he never cared about anybody but himself.
Like that time he backed into a flagpole outside that old gas station off Route 270. I was five, maybe six, and I conked my head good on the dashboard, but he made me tell Ma I’d tripped and hit a rock. Ma left not long after that. Not that I blamed her. That’s a lie. I did blame her, but at least I understood.
That wreck could’ve been a whole lot worse, the one with Jo, not with Pops. Dang, we sure have a thing with wrecks in this family. And if Sam had been in the car . . . well then, I don’t know what I would have done. That’s why I can’t have her here. Not yet. I said I’d pass on the birthday message, though, but in the end I never did.
Maybe next year, when she’s got her life together, things’ll be different.
Sam closed the notebook, letting Pa’s words settle in. Part of him was angry, because the Pa he knew would never have lied to him. But part of him understood. Pa was trying to protect him.
Strange, how you could know someone so well and not really know them at all.
He wanted to read through all the notebooks, every single page, but he was too tired. Brain tired. And tomorrow was a big day. He ran through his plan one more time in his head. First step, find Pa. No more listening to the creepy boy or running off after warthogs. Next step, tie Pa and him together, so that when the mysterious force came up and yanked him back, Pa would be dragged out right along with him.
Speaking of step two . . . he’d had all day to think of the best way to tether himself to Pa. Rope could work, like the lasso on the wall, but it took a long time to tie a solid knot. He didn’t have handcuffs or wire, but he had something even better. Something that had gotten him and Pa out of some truly dire scrapes.
He dug through his stuff, currently sitting in a heap by Pa’s dresser, and pulled out a roll of duct tape. It was quick, easy, and nearly indestructible. Pa had once used it to fasten the Sunbird onto the back of his old truck, and he’d towed that car ten miles over some of the bumpiest roads imaginable. If duct tape could hold the Sunbird, then surely it was strong enough for Pa.
After securing the roll in his backpack, Sam finally sat down and took the foil off his plate of lasagna. It was cold, but still tasty. True, the bacon was all chopped up and she’d forgotten to add jalapeños, but it tasted like home, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
He thought about going downstairs to wash his plate and maybe say hi to Edie but decided not to. Instead he took a long shower and brushed his teeth. It felt good to be grit free.
Even though it was still early, he decided his brain needed a rest. It took a long time to fall asleep with so many thoughts battling in his head. Like how maybe Aunt Jo wasn’t a stranger after all, and how maybe things would have been different if Pa hadn’t asked her to stay away. Then he thought about Pa and the Colonel, and how Pa was waiting for him right now, wondering if this would be the moment Sam returned.
Then other thoughts slipped in. Like how he’d promised to help Edie with the science fair and how he worried about her mom and about Edie being home all alone and how, sometimes, when he closed his eyes in class, he’d think about her. About the cute way she wore her glasses or how, when she smiled, it lit up her whole face.
But how could he think about Edie when Pa needed his help?
And then he thought how things had changed with Aunt Jo, in the space of only a few days, and how maybe if Holler, Oklahoma, started to feel like home, to really feel like home, then one day he’d forget about Pa altogether. And what then? Then he’d move on and that would mean he’d never really loved Pa in the first place. That would mean that his whole life, everything he and Pa had ever done together, would be a lie.
Except that would never happen. Sam was going to get Pa back.
12
AUNT JO OFFERED TO MAKE eggs for breakfast on Saturday morning, but instead they ate warmed-up turkey lasagna in chipped ceramic mugs.
“We missed you last night,” Aunt Jo said. She poured herself a cup of coffee without offering him any. Pa always let Sam sip coffee from his thermos whenever they got up early to fish. It tasted like dirt and burned like
lava, but Pa said that’s because coffee is an acquired taste. Something you can only learn to love over time.
“Sorry. I guess I fell asleep.”
“I figured.”
Sam washed the dishes while Aunt Jo finished her coffee. He thought about asking if he could take some leftover lasagna to Edie’s place, since that’s where they were headed, but then he thought how Aunt Jo might think he liked Edie if he offered to bring her lasagna, as in like-liked her, as in more than just a friend, and it was way too early in the morning for that conversation.
The reason they were going over to Edie’s was partly to work on their project, partly to help Edie’s mom do stuff around the house, like clean out the gutters and mow the grass, at least according to Aunt Jo. But Sam knew she really wanted to check up on Edie.
“Baby Girl heads out in five.” Aunt Jo chugged the last of her coffee and clanked her mug on the counter. “You ready?”
“Hang on. I just need to get something.”
Up in his room, he grabbed his backpack, checking to make sure the roll of duct tape was still in the bottom. It seemed kind of weird carrying around a backpack with only one thing inside, so he added a flashlight, a few comics, and an old shirt to even it out.
“One minute to launch,” Aunt Jo called from downstairs.
Sam did a quick scan of his room, wishing he had more time to iron out the first part of his plan. He knew what to do once he got inside the tree, but the hard part would be convincing Aunt Jo to drive him there, at the exact right time, and then getting her to leave him alone long enough to rescue Pa. He’d gone over a bunch of possible stories in his head, but each one sounded less believable than the last.
The front door banged shut, and outside he heard Baby Girl’s engine revving to life. Great. Time was up. He’d have to wing it.
He raced down the stairs and climbed into Baby Girl just as she started rolling down the driveway. Aunt Jo kept right on driving, despite the fact that his legs were dangling and he couldn’t get hold of the door long enough to shut it.
“Cutting it close,” Aunt Jo said, braking hard at the end of the drive. Sam seized the opportunity to pull his legs inside and slam the door.
“What was that? You could have run me over.”
“Don’t blame me, that was Baby Girl. If there’s one thing you’ll learn fast around here, it’s that Baby Girl waits for no one.” She gave the dash a loving pat, like Baby Girl was a puppy, not a piece-of-junk car. With that, she pumped the gas and sped off, and Sam couldn’t decide if he should be mad or laugh or maybe both.
A few minutes later, they arrived at Edie’s house. He hadn’t noticed before how different it was from Aunt Jo’s. While the outside of Aunt Jo’s house looked like an ad from some fancy catalog, Edie’s house reminded him of a sad gray turtle, with its squat exterior, sloping roof, and peeling paint. Weeds the size of small horses sprouted from the flowerbeds, creeping up the warped siding and enclosing each of the windows. The hatchback in the driveway was gone, but then he saw that the garage was open and there was Edie coming outside to meet them.
She hurried over at the sight of Baby Girl and tapped on Sam’s window.
“Hey,” he said, turning the crank as far as it would go.
“Hey.” She pulled the sleeves of her purple hoodie tight around her chest. “Sorry you had to drive all this way. Mom’s still sleeping. She wanted me to ask if maybe you could come back tomorrow?” Edie stared down at the curb the whole time she was talking, and Sam had the annoying urge to reach out and touch her hand.
“Asleep at this hour?” Aunt Jo said, shutting off the engine and getting out of the car. “Not if I can help it. You still keep the mower in the shed out back?”
“Actually, I think we’re out of gas and most of my science project stuff is still at school, so we should probably—”
“That’s why I always come prepared.” Sam heard Aunt Jo pop the trunk and decided he’d might as well get out too.
“Sorry,” he said to Edie, but not loud enough for Aunt Jo to hear.
“Brought extra gas, a ladder, and a Weedwacker,” she said as she set each down on the driveway. She paused for a moment, her face scrunched up in a frown. He wondered if her leg might be hurting her but didn’t feel right asking, and then she continued on as if nothing had happened. “Now, why don’t you two wheel that mower out here while I go inside and have a talk with your mom.”
Edie looked panic-stricken as Aunt Jo stomped off toward the house. Sam wished he could help, but his brain was still a vat of grape soda that could never come up with the right words when he needed them.
Aunt Jo was struggling with the screen door when Edie slumped down farther into her hoodie and followed the stone path up to the house. “She’s not here,” she said, her voice suddenly flat and hard around the edges.
“Who’s not?” Aunt Jo spun around, fire in her eyes, and for a minute Sam was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of her wrath.
Edie didn’t answer, and Aunt Jo didn’t push it. Instead she gave Edie’s shoulder a squeeze before taking out her phone. “You two get that mower started. I’m going to have a good, long talk with your mom.”
Sam could tell Edie wanted to argue, but Aunt Jo was like a bloodhound on the hunt, and it was no use trying to stop her.
The grass was even taller in the backyard than it was out front, like Edie had her own private jungle. They waded through without talking, making their way toward a dumpy shed, and the whole time Sam was thinking how he wished he had a better brain, because then he wouldn’t be standing here saying nothing like a zombie.
It took both of them to pry open the rusty shed door. The mower was wedged into a mass of junk: a broken washing machine, a twisted car bumper, tires, tools, a pile of black garbage bags, a bike with missing handlebars, another bike with a piece of wood taped on in place of a seat.
“Sorry about this,” Edie said. “I mean, this is probably the worst Saturday ever, right? Doing boring chores all day?”
She stared down at her shoes, which had little mouths where the soles had separated from the tops.
“It’s not so bad,” he said, surprised to find he was telling the truth. In fact, apart from going out fishing with Pa, he couldn’t think of a single place he’d rather be than right here in this trash heap of a yard. “Do you ever ride those things?” He nodded toward the bikes, and only part of him was thinking how maybe he could use one later to slip away, because the other part of him was happy right where he was.
“Not for a really long time. I doubt they still work.”
“Oh.”
Once again, his brain died, and he was left standing there, sweating through the armpits of his shirt, despite the cold. Thankfully, Aunt Jo hollered, saying how that grass wasn’t going to cut itself, and that sparked them both into action. They took turns, one of them using the mower out front, while the other hacked away at the grass in back with these huge clippers, which was kind of like trimming a giant’s beard, if the giant’s chin took up the whole backyard.
Every few minutes, Sam stole a look at his watch, counting down the time till he could see Pa. After they’d finished the grass and moved on to the gutters, Sam casually suggested that Aunt Jo drop him by school after lunch, since he needed to get something from his locker, and it might take him a while to find it, so she could just leave and come back in an hour. It sounded pretty reasonable in his head, but Aunt Jo didn’t sound so sure. “You know the school’s locked on Saturdays . . . but if you can’t live without it, I can call Mr. Redding to let us in.”
She started to dial Mr. Redding’s number, and Sam panicked and said, “Never mind, I think maybe it’s in my backpack after all.”
Aunt Jo flashed him a suspicious look before returning her gaze to the overflowing gutters. Great. Sam’s heart beat faster as he checked his watch yet again, and it slowly began to dawn on him that he might not make it to the tree in time to rescue Pa. But he had to make it, even if it meant stealin
g Baby Girl or riding a broken bike or running, in which case he should stop wasting time.
“Whoa, what’s that?” He was momentarily distracted by Edie, who came out of the garage carrying a device that looked like a giant grabby hand, but with a motor and a dial on one end for controlling direction and speed.
“I call it the Gutter Destroyer 3000. It’s a prototype. Also, I should probably change the name, because it’s not actually supposed to destroy gutters, it’s supposed to clean them.”
Sam couldn’t do anything but stare as Edie aimed the device at the overflowing gutters, the motor popping and whirring, and proceeded to grab and dump giant handfuls of wet leaves. Aunt Jo clapped, snapping pictures with her phone. After a while, Sam took a turn, but the giant robot arm proved harder to control than it looked. He nearly took out a window, and Aunt Jo had to duck once when he stepped in a hole, but eventually he got the hang of it.
By the time they’d cleaned out the gutters and bagged the leaves to Aunt Jo’s satisfaction, it was 2:52 p.m. One hour before he had to be at the tree to rescue Pa. If he started running now, he might just make it.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, look at the time.” Aunt Jo clapped them both on the back, smiling way too wide for someone who’d just spent all day knee-deep in leaves. “Guess your science project will have to wait. How about three Saturday specials down at Gina’s Diner? That’s a chocolate milkshake, Gina’s famous fried pickles, and all the chicken wings you can eat. Even you can’t say no to wings.” She dug her elbow into Sam’s ribs, and his heart sank. 2:53 p.m.
“I thought I might try out one of those old bikes,” Sam said, but Aunt Jo swatted down his words like flies.
“Nonsense. Nobody’s starving to death on my watch. Now, you two go get washed up while I start the car. And remember, Baby Girl waits for no one.”
Double great.
Sam followed Edie to the front door, but she stopped before letting him inside. “Sorry, it’s kind of a mess. I haven’t had time to clean up since . . . anyway, just try not to look at anything.”
The Secret Life of Sam Page 12