Hank and Maisie looked at each other, worried.
Frank expelled a few more desperate chuckles. Then he shook his head and said, “I appreciate your concern, kids.” He turned to Maisie and added, “But please do not do anything like that again.”
Maisie and Hank both nodded.
He grabbed his knees, looked up in the tree. “You two have definitely made my life interesting.”
“We’re sorry,” mumbled Maisie.
Hank looked at the bottom of the aggressive walker. “We didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” Frank’s face was red from laughing so hard, but his expression had turned serious. He got up and slipped a cracker to Booler while Cowboy and Honey went to sniff the toolshed. Then he stretched his arms high above him, and when he started to wobble he quickly grabbed his walker. He began to roll his walker around the yard, stopping every few paces and sighing.
Hank got up and began to stroll next to Frank. He finished another cracker and said, “We were only trying to help.”
Frank nodded, took a few more steps, sighed once more.
Hank reached out and gently tapped Frank’s elbow. “I’m sorry your daughter is a lemon.”
Frank squeezed Hank’s shoulder. “She’s not a lemon. This is just hard for her—for both of us.”
Hank nodded sympathetically. “Because she hates bowling even though it put food on the table?”
Maisie walked over to them, her hands folded together and tucked under her chin. “Mr. Jorgensen, you just have to let that go. Not everyone wants to spend their childhood renting out bowling shoes.”
Frank scratched his chin slowly. “What are you talking about?”
“We heard all about it,” said Hank. “And how you fought in a war, but not the one with Nazis.”
Mr. Jorgensen looked at them with baffled eyes. “This is hard for Colleen because she has her own life and problems, and she just didn’t expect to have to deal with this.” He squeezed the handles on his walker tight and added, “Frankly, neither did I.”
Cowboy and Honey came and sniffed at the platter of crackers and American cheese. Frank shooed them away, and with a loud smack of his lips he said, “It’s nothing to do with the bowling alley. That was years ago.” He pushed the walker a few paces forward and repeated, “That was years ago.” Then he turned back and looked at them. Irritated, he said, “And for your information, I was never in a war.”
“You weren’t?” said Maisie.
“No.” Frank tilted his head. “I did manage a recreation center for soldiers for a few years.” He sat down again on the seat of the walker and rubbed his nose. “That’s actually where I got the idea for the bowling alley. The rec center had one.”
Cowboy came and dropped his head on Frank’s lap. Frank began to massage the dog’s neck. He got a faraway look in his eye and smiled. “Funny story: One day Bob Hope came by. He was visiting the troops. This one kid had broken his leg falling out of—I don’t know—I think it was a helicopter. Had a full leg cast. He had to hop to the bowling lane on one leg while balancing a bowling ball—and he still beat Bob Hope.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Bob Hope was the worst bowler you’ve ever seen in your life.”
Hank smiled and said, “Who is Bob Hope?” and for a minute it seemed like Maisie’s neighbor might laugh-cry all over again.
Hank looked at Maisie, who was wiggling a little, like she had to pee. She was holding her hands behind her back, twisting them. She seemed to be doing everything possible to prevent words from falling out of her mouth, but finally the dam broke. “I hate to say this, Mr. Jorgensen, but I think that maybe this wouldn’t be so hard on your daughter if she weren’t so snobby. She won’t even let Princess Lillikins play with Booler. She’s all, ‘My poodle is too good to sniff butts with your pit bull.’ ”
Frank chuckled again. “That’s not it.” Cowboy moseyed away and Frank stood up. He brought his walker back over to Booler and sat down again. “Colleen breeds miniature poodles, and Booler isn’t fixed yet. I’m hoping we can get his seizures a bit more under control before the operation. Colleen just doesn’t want any Lillikins-Booler puppies running around.”
“Oooh, but they’d be so cute,” said Maisie, coming over and rubbing her forehead against Booler’s.
Booler sighed and dropped onto the ground. He closed his eyes as Maisie began to rub his belly.
Hank looked around. There was a softness to the day. A gentle blue sky. A whisper of a breeze. Everything that could be green in Mr. Jorgensen’s yard was green. The trees were full of leaves, the ground was full of grass and weeds. And except for two lilac trees awash in purple blossoms and surrounded by an army of bees, everything seemed safe and constant and perfect. But it wasn’t. It was all in flux. It could all change on a dime. At any moment! And it did! It would! A car could go into a ditch and lead to a hundred unexpected, horrible consequences. A pit bull could befriend a poodle and lead to the unexpected, wrong yet adorable puppies. Here they were, Mr. Jorgensen, Colleen, sucker punched by change—even the possibility of change—as much as Hank ever was.
Hank went and stood next to Frank. “I don’t want you to move.”
Frank took a deep breath. His shoulders rose up to his ears as he explained that he really did not know what was going to happen. He really did not know what was best for everyone.
“That’s making me scared,” said Hank.
A sigh escaped Mr. Jorgensen’s mouth and his whole body seemed to shrink. He began to push his walker around the lawn once more. “Let’s not think about that then.”
So Hank tried his best not to think about it, until cruel change socked him one good.
What happened was this: Three days went by, and then Maisie showed up at Hank’s house after dinner. She was sweaty from running and she had a long scrape on her arm.
Hank’s mom swooped in close to her. “Maisie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just tripped. Can I talk to Hank?”
Maisie pulled Hank into his bedroom. “The evil daughter is coming back. She’s bringing a big U-Haul. She called my mom to ask if Cowboy and Honey could stay in our yard while they empty the house. And my mom said, ‘Well, what? Is Mr. Jorgensen moving?’ And she said, ‘Yes. He’ll live with me until we can find him an assisted-living home,’ and so my mom said, ‘And what are you finally going to do with the dogs?’ And the evil daughter said one of her grown-up kids was taking Cowboy, another was taking Honey, and that she was taking Booler since Booler has special needs, and that she was going to tie Booler up to her own tree. But I heard my other neighbor say that that wasn’t true at all. The evil daughter really wants to put Booler to sleep—she wants to kill Booler. She says he’s too much trouble for her dad and for her.”
Hank’s knees buckled and he collapsed onto the carpet. In his mind he saw Booler alone, cold, still, sleeping an endless sleep. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
She sank down next to him. “Now’s the time, Hank,” said Maisie, grasping his shoulder. “Now is the time that we have to be strong, that we have to save the day.”
“But how?”
“I’ve figured it out.” She let go of Hank, went and peeked out his bedroom door. Then she closed the door, crawled inside his closet, and motioned for him to join her. She slid the closet door until there was only a sliver of light to see by and whispered, “We’ve got to run away with Booler. We’ve got to go to the forest—just like the boy.”
Hank balked. “From the book! No way. Never.” But even as he spoke part of him was still imagining an everlasting-sleeping Booler.
“Don’t you see?” she said in desperation. “It’s the only way. The boy went to the forest to hide from the Nazis. We’ve got to go to the forest to hide from the evil daughter.”
“But… what?” The forest—all its darkness, all its unknowns, all its most terrible of unpredictabilities—descended on Hank.
“It’s the only
way to save Booler. We’re the only heroes Booler has. It’s up to us to save his life.”
Hank started to breathe more quickly. Save his life? Save his life. The words echoed in his brain. He stammered, “Forever?”
“No, no.” She tapped her elbow against his as she turned to face him in the closet. Half of her face still in shadow, she added, “Just until they’re gone, just a few days. Then we can come back and no one will be able to hurt Booler ever again.”
Hank didn’t answer for a while. Save his life. The Booler in his head stirred. Its tail gave a little thump. “And then what?”
“Then… he’ll live with one of us. We’ll figure it out. And he won’t be less anymore. And he won’t be tied to a tree.” She bit on her thumbnail. “But it will be sad that we can’t say good-bye to Mr. Jorgensen.”
Hank pushed open the closet door and let the light shine on them. He crawled out and lay on the floor. He looked like he was getting ready to make a snow angel. Save his life. “How soon?”
Maisie spread herself out next to him. “Whenever she gets here… a few days maybe?”
From outside Hank’s room came the sound of Sam talking. Sam had learned the word “that,” which he pronounced “dat,” and now he kept repeating, “dat, dat, dat,” to which his mom kept replying, “Which? This? This? This?”
It confused Hank. How could his mom and Sam act like everything was normal when, in fact, everything had turned all wrong? Squirming, Hank said, “Maybe we should talk to Mr. Jorgensen. Maybe he could tell her no.”
Maisie nodded, her face screwed up tight, but then she said, “But what if he tries to tell her no and she’s all, ‘You have to do what I say because I’m the boss now and if you live in my house you have to live by my rules’? My parents try that one on me all the time. Plus, you know how much she wants to keep Booler and Princess Lillikins apart. No. I’m sure of it. She’ll never let them live together. She said as much.”
Hank tried to let that sink in; he tried to let it all sink in. Maisie got up.
“I’ve got to get home because my parents don’t even know I’m gone.” She looked down at him. “Don’t worry. We can do this.”
She turned to leave, but at the last minute she bent down and whispered, “And, Hank, don’t say a word! If anyone learns what we’re up to—wow—it will be curtains for sure for Booler.”
He heard the front door close and his mom walked into his room. “Everything okay?”
Hank turned over so that his face was shoved into the carpet. He didn’t say a word. But he was thinking. Oh, boy, was he thinking. Save his life. Save his life. Save Booler’s life.
“Well,” said his mom, her voice wavering a little, “I’m here if you need anything.” She leaned against his door for a minute. When Hank still didn’t answer, she walked away.
Hank kept it together. He did not know how he managed, but he did. He walked to school the next day—slowly—as stiff as a board. He didn’t even notice it, but he had begun to hum their favorite song. His gait grew a little looser. And soon he had begun to sing, “Do, do, do, do. ‘Oh, we could be heroes, just for one day.’ He stopped. Just for one day. Just one day. Or a few days. In the forest. It wouldn’t be so bad. It was nothing he hadn’t done before—except that his parents wouldn’t be there. That made it completely different. His belly turned to ice. The refrain from the song looped in his head once more. He thought, But we could be heroes. We can save a life. We can save Booler’s life.
He got to school just as the class was entering the classroom. He ran to the back of the line and took his seat.
Maisie was ready for him. She passed him a note.
“Well? What do you say?”
In a firm hand he wrote back, “We are the heroes of this story. It’s time to save a life.”
She read the note. From the corner of his eye he watched as she tried to hold back a smile. She glanced at him for a second and then wrote some more. She slid the new note to Hank. “I’ve figured it all out. Meet me at the back fence at lunch. Now eat this note so no one finds it.”
Hank crumpled the note and held it in front of his mouth. He glanced dubiously at Maisie, who frowned, grabbed the note, and shoved it into her own mouth.
When lunch came they raced to the back fence. Maisie bent down. “Pretend we’re looking for rocks,” she said. “Spies could be anywhere.”
He got on all fours and began to rake through the gravel.
Maisie copied him. She whispered, “Okay. The most important thing is that we need to steal Booler, but if we are going to steal Booler we also need to steal his medicine, because if he doesn’t have his medicine he’ll for sure have seizures—and he hates those most of all.”
Hank sat back on his calves. “Hold on,” he said. “So, we are the heroes of this story, but the problem is that stealing is against the law. People who steal go to jail. So, you know, I’m not gonna steal anything. No way.”
Maisie sat back. She brushed her hair out of her face. In a soothing voice, she said, “We’re not really stealing. We’re rescuing. We are rescuing Booler, but we can’t rescue him without taking his medicine, right? And we can’t be stealing his medicine because it already belongs to him. Get it?”
Hank stood up. His right hand did a lazy circle.
“What’s the big deal? You took Mrs. Vera’s book and set the bathroom on fire. This is way less than that.”
Instead of winning Hank over, these words disturbed him even more. His hand began to circle faster. He remembered what he had promised his mother in the aftermath of the boys’ bathroom disaster. No starting fires and no taking things that did not belong to him. Only now, only in that moment, did he realize that taking and stealing could actually be the same thing. He had already stolen. He had stolen Mrs. Vera’s book. He had tried to steal Booler once before. He had already committed actual criminal acts. He could have been put behind actual bars. He felt a lump in his throat and he suddenly felt that he was actually behind bars, not prison bars, but invisible bars, bars that tightened around him, limiting the possibilities of that very moment. Uncertain how to respond, his body followed his spinning hand so that all of him circled round and round.
He said, “Um, I’m not allowed to take things that don’t belong to me. It’s one of the rules.”
She began to jog next to him, but backward so that they were still face-to-face. “How about this?” she said, starting to pant. “I’ll get the medicine. I’ll get Booler. You don’t have to take anything.”
He spun a minute more and then stopped. He put his hands up to his mouth, pinched his lips together with his fingers. He let go of his lips. “So,” he said, staring at the ground. “I won’t be stealing anything. I’ll just be heroing.”
“Exactly.”
A soccer ball raced by them, then two girls, and then three more girls.
The bell rang and Maisie said, “We’ll talk more after school. I’ll come to your house, okay?”
It was more than okay. Hank was keeping it together—he was even pre-heroing—but he needed time to absorb it all. Soak time. A lot of soak time.
* * *
“We’re gonna need camping supplies,” said Maisie. They were sitting on Hank’s front steps. Hank’s mom had made them do their homework—which had blessedly stretched Hank’s soak time even more—and now she’d given them Popsicles as a reward for their hard work. The melting Popsicle juice threatened to slide down Hank’s arms and so he had begun to bite quickly into the frozen juice to avoid getting sticky.
“The good news,” continued Maisie, “is that I have hiking shoes, a sleeping bag, and an actual canteen from back in the day when we used to camp. I can bring hot dogs, mustard, and marshmallows. I’m pretty sure those are the most important things. What can you bring?”
Hank fought off the a’a feeling. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was Mowgli, the boy from The Jungle Book. Mowgli was always brave and clever. Mowgli never felt pierced by sights and sounds. He never felt p
rickly and light and dense all at once. Hank thought of all the camping trips he’d made with his family. He thought of all the things they brought, used.
He said, “I have a tent, a sleeping bag, a tarp, a camping backpack with a mess kit and water bottle, a tiny emergency kit, a Swiss Army knife, a flashlight, a laminated guide to rocks and minerals, and a roll of toilet paper because sometimes there’s no TP.”
She paused for a moment. “Okay. Yeah. Those are good things too.”
“I can make ham and cheese sandwiches and bring a can of peanuts.”
Maisie wrinkled her nose. “I hate nuts.”
“Peanuts are not actually nuts. They are officially more like peas.”
She poked him in the shoulder. “So they’re fake nuts, which is even more reason to hate them.”
He poked her back. He needed her to see that this was not open for debate. “Mowgli likes peanuts when he goes camping.”
“Okay, fine—but don’t let me see them.”
Maisie bit into her Popsicle. She glanced back at the house. Her voice barely audible, she said, “So here’s the thing. We have to be ready by the time Colleen gets back. So just get all your stuff, and when I give the word, we go.”
Hank realized he’d been holding his breath. He gasped and began to breathe again.
From the living room, Sam erupted into loud wails.
“I thought you babyproofed the TV stand,” Hank heard his dad say.
“I did,” said his mom, her voice fading as she explained that she had taken the padding off to get something from inside one of the cabinet drawers.
Hank blinked. “What if my mom asks?”
“Asks what?”
He shook his head and sighed. “Anything.”
She placed a hand on his elbow. “Here’s what you do. If she asks anything about Booler or Mr. Jorgensen, say, ‘Just a minute, I have to go to the bathroom.’ Then go to the bathroom and wait awhile. When you come back she’ll have moved on to something else.”
We Could Be Heroes Page 11