The Swift Boys & Me

by Kody Keplinger

  “I will.”

  He sighed. “All right, well … see you tomorrow, Nola.”

  If I’d known then that that night would be one of the last times Canaan Swift was ever in my house, I would have stopped him. I wouldn’t have let him leave. I would have asked Mama if Canaan could stay the night, sleep on the couch. I would have held on as long as I could.

  I wouldn’t have let him walk away, watching from the sidewalk until he was inside his house and the door had closed behind him.

  If I’d known, maybe things would’ve been different.

  A few days later, Mr. Swift still hadn’t come back. I’d sit next to the living room window, the one that looked out at the street, and watch for his Saturn, expecting it to pull up at any minute.

  I didn’t see the boys much during those days, but I figured that was because I hadn’t left the house much. I’d woken up the morning after Canaan ate with us with a stuffy nose and a cough. Mama kept me inside, pouring orange juice and chicken noodle soup down my throat. When she was at work, Richard would drop by to make sure I was all right. He was the boss where he worked, so he was able to get away for a few minutes to bring by magazines, movies, or new colored pencils for drawing to keep me from getting bored.

  At night, in my room, I’d tap on the wall next to my bed. Canaan’s bed was on the other side, and when we were six, we’d made up a code. One tap was “hi.” Two fast taps was “good night.” Then there were different rhythms and patterns that meant other things. We couldn’t have whole conversations or anything, but it was a good way to pass the time when neither of us could sleep.

  For two nights, I tapped on the wall and Canaan tapped back.

  On the third night, he didn’t reply.

  When I finally got over my cold, I went back outside, expecting the boys to be there waiting for me. But they weren’t. I looked in the backyard. I looked on Teddy Ryan’s trampoline. I rode my bike to Rocky’s and to the playground and to Felicia’s, thinking maybe they’d gone to play with her puppy. It wasn’t like them to not be outside in the summer. But I was too scared to knock on their front door after last time. What if Brian and Canaan got in a fight again? What if they were mad at me for some reason?

  I did work up the nerve to call their house once, but nobody answered the phone.

  I waited for them to come outside for two days. Then, Wednesday morning, I walked out into the backyard and found Kevin sitting on the swing set. He wasn’t swinging, just sitting and staring at the back of the duplex.

  “Hey,” I said, running toward him. “Where you been? Feels like I ain’t seen y’all in forever. Where’s Brian and Canaan?”

  Kevin didn’t say anything.

  “Hey, didn’t you hear me?” I asked, sitting down on the swing beside his. “I asked where y’all have been. Did you get sick, too?”

  He didn’t even look at me. He didn’t move.

  “Kevin?” I said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t bother.”

  I looked up. Canaan was walking around the side of the house, his arms crossed over his dirty-looking T-shirt. His eyes were narrowed and sharp. Like he was mad. Madder than I’d ever seen him.

  “He doesn’t talk no more,” Canaan said, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Kevin. “Ain’t said a word in days. He’s being a big baby.”

  “Canaan.”

  “Well, he is!” Canaan snapped. “He don’t shut up a day in his life, then Dad’s gone a couple days and he acts like it’s the end of the world. They all do. No one believes he’s coming back.”

  “I do,” I told him.

  Canaan’s shoulders eased and his face relaxed. It was like watching his whole body bend, like a flower wilting in a vase. But he didn’t say another word to me. He just kept looking at Kevin. This time when he spoke, his voice was quieter and not as harsh. “Brian’s riding his bike to the store. Do you want anything?”

  Kevin shook his head.

  “Fine.” Canaan turned and started walking back around the house again.

  “Wait,” I said, running to catch up with him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Just ticked off.”

  “I don’t blame you. It’s gotta be annoying, having them all act like that about your daddy.” I started to reach for his hand, the way we always did when one of us was upset, but he pulled away, folding his arms over his chest again. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my shorts instead, pretending like nothing had just happened. “We’ve gotta wash Mr. Fisk’s car today, you know. He said we ought to be there around three.”

  “I don’t feel like it,” Canaan said.

  “But we promised him. And we’ve gotta start saving now or —”

  “Can you do it without me?” he asked. “Sorry. I’ll help with the next one. I just wanna be alone. I’m sick of being around people.”

  “Even me?”

  We reached the side of the duplex, where our bikes were leaning against the wall. He grabbed his and started wheeling it toward the sidewalk. I followed, but he didn’t really answer me. After a minute, he just said, “I need to be alone today.”

  “Um, okay. But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  He took off in the direction of the playground. I just stood there, watching him ride off, feeling disappointed. After being inside for a few days, I’d expected all the boys to be waiting for me to get better, ready to start working on our summer plans. They didn’t seem to want me around at all, though.

  I walked back around the house, where Kevin was still sitting on the swing. I sat beside him again, using my foot to push my swing back and forth. I’d never been with Kevin for more than thirty seconds without him saying something. It was scary and strange for him to be so quiet.

  I couldn’t help remembering when he used to roar. Literally. The boys and I would walk down the hill behind the subdivision, into the patch of woods. We’d pretend it was a jungle. Sometimes, Brian, Canaan, and me were explorers. Sometimes, we’d have been on a plane that had crashed there. But no matter what we were, Kevin was always a lion.

  He’d lurk behind trees, growling and roaring at us before running off in the opposite direction. Then, when we weren’t looking, he’d pounce on us. He’d always get really into the role. Even when me and the other boys got hungry and decided to head back to the house for lunch, he’d only follow us on all fours, roaring instead of talking.

  I wished he’d roar now. At least I’d know he could still make a sound.

  “There are lions at the circus, you know,” I said. “Big ones and baby ones. You got to pet one of the baby ones last time, but you probably don’t remember. Do you?”

  Kevin just shook his head.

  “Maybe you’ll get to pet one again. Wouldn’t that be cool? The circus is amazing, Kevin. I can’t wait for you to see it. There are so many animals. And people who walk on wires. I bet you can’t wait, can you?”

  Silence. He didn’t nod or shake his head or shrug or nothing. Just stared straight ahead.

  “Come on, Kevin,” I said. “Your daddy’s coming back. I promise. Canaan knows it, too. Biting your tongue won’t help none. You might as well talk to me.”

  Kevin lowered his head. I could see a few tears on his face then, which made me feel real bad. I slid off my swing and knelt down beside him, wrapping my arms around him. He leaned his head on my shoulder, his thick blond hair getting in my face.

  “Shh,” I murmured, the way Mama did when I was upset. But there was no point. Even Kevin’s crying was quiet.

  I just sat there, stroking his head for a while. But it didn’t feel like Kevin anymore. It felt like another boy I was hugging. Like a stranger. I believed he’d come back, though. Just like Mr. Swift. They’d both come back soon, and Canaan would stop being mad and Brian would stop looking so sad and this summer — our best summer ever — would go back to being the way it was supposed to.

  I hugged Kevin closer and told him what
I kept trying to tell myself. “It’ll all get better soon.”

  But a few days went by, and it still wasn’t getting better, as far as I could tell. Kevin still wouldn’t talk. He just sat in the backyard — if he came out of the house at all — and stared at nothing. I didn’t see Canaan much. Every time I knocked on the door, Brian said he was either already gone or asleep. And even though I told him they were all welcome over for dinner, they never came.

  I had plenty to keep me busy, though. Without Canaan’s help, the jobs we’d signed up for took twice as long. Most days, I left the house around ten in the morning and didn’t get back inside until dinnertime.

  “It’s awful hot out, Nola,” Mrs. Santos said, bringing me a glass of lemonade while I took a break from mowing her yard. “Why don’t you go on home and come back tomorrow? I’m worried you’ll get heatstroke out here.”

  “I’m all right,” I said, even though my T-shirt was soaked with sweat. Mama said it was supposed to get up past a hundred degrees today. I drank all the lemonade in one gulp.

  “You sure?” she asked. “I didn’t know you’d be doing all this by yourself. Wasn’t Canaan supposed to help you?”

  “He ain’t feeling well.”

  It wasn’t exactly a lie.

  She took the glass from me with a sigh. “Well, if you’re sure you’ll be fine …”

  “I will be, Mrs. Santos. I promise. If I feel sick, I’ll stop.”

  “You better. Your mama will kill me if anything happens to you.” She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I will.”

  I was on my way home that evening, tired and ready for dinner, when Mr. Briggs hollered at me. He was sitting on his front porch, barefoot, whittling a block of wood.

  “I hear you and the Swift boys are trying to earn some money,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly like rocks by the riverbank.

  Mr. Briggs was old. The oldest man I’d ever met. Mama said he was old even when she was a kid. He was sort of a town legend, too. Mama told me he fought in World War II. And that he was the first black man to serve on town council back in the seventies. Nowadays, though, he mostly just sat on his porch, whittling these pretty little things. We had a few of his carvings in our house, actually. He sent them to every house in the subdivision at Christmas. Last year, he sent Mama and me a little statue of baby Jesus in the manger.

  “Yes, sir. We are,” I said.

  Carefully, he put down his knife. “Well, I might have a job if y’all want it.”

  “Sure. What can we do for you?”

  “I’ve got a bunch of these little trinkets here. I need to get them to some people around town. Would y’all mind delivering them? I’ve got about twenty, and I’d be willing to pay.”

  “Are you selling them now?”

  “Nah. I just make them for fun, and if people want them, I’ll give them. But they’re not worth nothing.”

  “That ain’t true. They’re real good, sir.”

  “You’re a sweetheart. But I’m not sure I’d feel right taking money for them.”

  “Well, then are you sure you wanna pay us to deliver them? If you’re not making money off them —”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I can pay you and the boys. Come back tomorrow and I’ll write down the names of all the people who asked for one of my little carvings.”

  “All right. I’ll tell the boys. Thanks, Mr. Briggs.”

  He just nodded and smiled and went back to his whittling.

  I was walking up to the duplex, about five minutes later, when Canaan’s bike turned onto our street. I stopped in the driveway and waved my arms over my head. He didn’t notice me, though. Or if he did, he sure didn’t act like it. He hopped off his bike and rolled it over to his side of the house. I ran to meet him.

  “Hey,” I said. “Where you been? Ain’t seen you much.”

  “Busy,” he muttered. He turned around and walked past me, back to the front of the house. I followed.

  “Well, I’ve got good news! Mr. Briggs has a job for us. He wants us to deliver some of those little wooden carvings he makes. There’s loads of them. And you know how much he likes us, so he’ll pay real good I bet.”

  “Do it yourself,” Canaan said. He was halfway up the steps to his front door, reaching for the handle.

  “Hey.” I reached out and grabbed his arm, but he jerked away. “What’s going on? I can’t keep doing all this by myself. We’re supposed to do this together. Don’t you wanna go to the circus this summer?”

  “I don’t really care.”

  “You used to…. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  He turned around so fast that I stumbled backwards. He looked so mad. So mean. “Don’t you get it? He ain’t coming back, Nola! He left us. He left and he didn’t say good-bye and he ain’t coming back.”

  I shook my head. “No, he will. He couldn’t have left for good. Your daddy wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well then, where is he?” Canaan yelled. He’d never yelled at me before. “Why ain’t he back yet? Brian’s right. He’s gone.”

  “Canaan …” I started to reach for his hand, but he shoved both of them into his pockets and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I —”

  “You’re lucky your dad’s dead,” he snapped.

  It took a minute to realize what he’d just said. My face got hot all of a sudden, and it wasn’t from the summer heat, neither. I wanted to hit him. Punch him right in the mouth. Or kick him, maybe. But I’d never been in a fight before. Especially not with a boy. Especially not with Canaan. So I just stood there for a second with my mouth open.

  I expected him to apologize right away. To say something like “Nola, I didn’t mean that” and to reach for my arm, then it would be my turn to jerk away. Then I’d run off and he’d chase after me, feeling horrible for what he’d said and desperately needing my forgiveness. Just like boys always did in TV shows and in movies.

  That’s not what happened, though.

  Canaan didn’t say another word. He just turned around, walked inside his house, and slammed the door in my face.

  I told myself not to cry, but by the time I opened my front door, my face was already soaked with angry tears.

  “Mama, can I go play with the boys?” I asked one cloudy Sunday in June. Mama was mopping the kitchen floor while I sat at the table scribbling in a Disney Princess coloring book. She looked over her shoulder at me and shook her head.

  “Not today, Nola Baby.”

  “How come?”

  “It’s Father’s Day. I’m sure they’re doing something with their daddy today.”

  “Oh.” I looked down at my box of crayons. I hated Father’s Day — all the TV commercials talked about it for weeks, and it made me sad. It’s not that I missed my daddy — I didn’t remember him, so I couldn’t miss him — but I felt left out. Like it was a club I wasn’t allowed to be part of. This whole special day everybody but me got to enjoy.

  Maybe Mama could tell I was upset because then she said, “Hey, I have an idea. Later on today, why don’t we go out to eat? We can head into town, get dinner somewhere nice, and eat ice cream after? What do you think?”

  I was about to answer when somebody knocked on the front door. Mama leaned the mop against the counter, wiped her hands on her jeans, and walked into the living room.

  I kept coloring until I heard her say, “Oh. Hi, Canaan.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Sutton. Is Nola here?”

  “Yes she is.”

  I hopped out of my chair and ran to stand next to Mama at the front door. “Hey, Canaan.”

  He grinned at me. He was missing two of his front teeth — one on the bottom, one on the top. “Wanna come over? We’re having hot dogs and there’s a cake and stuff.”

  I looked up at Mama. “Can I?”

  “Well … Are your parents all right with it, Canaan?”

  He nodded.

  “Well then, I guess it’s fine. Be back by dark, ok
ay?”

  “I will! Bye, Mama.” I was already out the door, running down the front steps and across the patch of grass between our driveways with Canaan at my side. “I wanted to come over earlier,” I told him before we reached his front steps. “But Mama said it was Father’s Day and y’all would be doing something.”

  “That’s why we have a cake,” he told me. “But I told Mama it wasn’t fair that you didn’t get cake just because you don’t got a dad. I asked if we could pretend my dad was your dad for today, and she said that we could.”

  I smiled. It wasn’t about the cake or about Mr. Swift being my pretend daddy for a day — I was just glad not to be left out and even gladder that Canaan had included me without me having to ask. We were only six, but he already knew me better than anyone ever could. He knew how I thought and felt and he wouldn’t let me be alone. I couldn’t have asked for a better best friend. Or a better Father’s Day.

  I was officially not speaking to Canaan Swift. I planned to tell him so the next day, but he wasn’t outside when I left to get the delivery list from Mr. Briggs or when I came back that evening. And I certainly wasn’t gonna knock on his door after the way he’d talked to me yesterday.

  “At least that means you don’t gotta do as much work,” Felicia said a couple days later. I had to walk Mrs. Santos’s pit bull, Lulu, and I’d asked Felicia if she wanted to take JW for a walk at the same time.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. I was a little out of breath. Lulu was strong, and I almost had to jog to keep her from dragging me along behind her.

  “Well, if you’re not talking to Canaan, that means y’all aren’t going to the circus, right?” she asked. “So you don’t gotta save all that money.”

  “We’re still gonna go,” I said.

  “You are?”

  I nodded. “We’ve been planning this for a long time — not just me and Canaan, but all three of the boys. We have to go, and I’ve gotta save up the money.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair,” Felicia said. “You saving up all the money by yourself for their circus tickets. I wouldn’t do it. Especially if he said something that ugly to me.”