Me & Jack (11 page)

chapter 21

I
reined Jack in close and tripped through the crowd until I spotted Dad, leaning his crossed arms on a picnic table. Mark Zimmerman hunched over the other side. He was looking down while he talked, but I could tell it was an intense conversation.

Normally, I wouldn't interrupt Dad, and even now I reconsidered it, but all I could think of was shaking this place. I jerked Dad's arm hard.

“Hey!” He smiled up at me. “Mark, I want you to meet my boy. This is Joshua.”

“How're you doing?” Mark said. He looked younger up close.

I gave him a quick nod. “Dad, come on. Let's go.”

“In a few minutes. I'm talking right now.”

I groaned.

I could see him trying to figure me out, but I didn't feel like explaining right then. I just wanted him to get up.

“Let me have a few minutes with Mark.”

I threw my head down. “I'll be by the car.”

I had plenty of time to think while waiting for Dad. Like, why didn't I stick up better for Jack? Why didn't I tell them about the coyote? I hadn't heard it since that night, and my cassette player hadn't picked up anything, but I knew this like I knew Jack's bark—a coyote roamed somewhere on that mountain and he was coming down to hunt.

I whiffed on that. I should've told them. Instead, at the height of trouble, I froze—I hated that about myself. Now, of course, I could think of all kinds of great comebacks, but it was too late for that; the moment had already passed. How dare they blame Jack for those chickens.

And Prater. What a complete—

“You want to tell me where the fire is?” Dad came tromping through the field. “You were disrespectful not only to me but also to a soldier who just got home.”

“I didn't mean to be.”

“Well, you were. Next time hold your horses when I tell you to.”

“Yessir.”

We piled into the car.

“So you gonna tell me what's going on?” Dad asked as we drove home.

“I just—they're blaming Jack for everything,” I said. I told him what happened to Jimmy's chickens and how Prater had twisted everything.

“Well …,” Dad began. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“Like what? What do you mean?” I turned and faced him as we slowed to a stop for a red light.

Dad stared out the windshield. “Didn't you take Jack for a walk this morning?”

“Yes,” I said slowly, unsure of where this was going.

“Did Jack get loose?”

“No!”

“You can tell me if he did.”

“You don't believe me! You believe them!”

Dad raised his hand, waving it like a stop sign. “No, no, no—I'm just saying that …” He paused and sighed again. “I'm just saying that maybe we should keep a better eye on Jack.”

“Jack didn't hurt those chickens. There's a coyote on the mountain. I heard it with my own ears.”

“A coyote?” Dad lifted his eyebrows and shook his head. “This isn't the Wild West, Joshua. I know you love Jack and you want him to be innocent, but you can't make up stories to protect him.”

“I knew it!” I said. “I knew you wouldn't believe me. You think I'm lying!” I folded my arms and glared out the window.

“Stop,” Dad said with a sharp voice. “Maybe you think you heard something, and maybe you did. But last month you told me you saw a bear up there.” I didn't turn from the window. He softened his voice. “I think you're letting your imagination run away with you.”

I twisted around and looked at Jack in the backseat. His head stuck out of the window and his eyes squinted against the wind. His nose twitched like crazy. He looked even more golden with the sun lighting up his fur.

Turning back, I looked straight at Dad. “He didn't do anything,” I said. “He's a good dog.”

chapter 22

R
ay called about an hour after we got home. I picked up on the upstairs phone and dragged the handset into my room. He was saying I should've stayed at the picnic table. “In a couple of minutes, they would've all forgotten about it. But when you left, everyone was all like, ‘Yeah, it was his dog—that's why he's leaving.' I had to stick up for you all by myself.”

I hadn't thought about that. “Well, if it hadn't been for Prater—”

“He's a blowhard, man, everyone knows that.”

Even though he couldn't see me, I shook my head. “They believed him.” It had been like being encircled by the enemy, with Jack and me at the center.

“I don't think Jimmy did. Anyway, you missed my yo-yo routine.”

“Oh, man.” Some friend I was. Silence buzzed over the wire. “You know what? I'm an idiot. I should have told Prater to shut up.”

“Not that he would have listened.” Ray laughed. “Maybe I could have done a looping trick and popped him in the head with my yo-yo.”

First he called Prater a blowhard, now he was popping him in the head with a yo-yo. Something was up. “Remember you said he was mad at you? What was it for?”

“I showed him the arrowhead!” His voice raised, full of disbelief. “I told him we could probably find one for him, but he got all mad about it. He thinks I can only have one best friend.”

Best friend.
Words of gold to a new kid. I had to be careful here, didn't want to say the wrong thing. I just kept my mouth shut.

Ray sighed into the phone.

I pictured him yo-yoing. “How'd your routine go?”

“Great! My new trick—that one where I jump over the string—it was so cool. They blasted the music so loud, it was like a concert!” He paused for a second. “Are you still going to the fireworks at Harveys Lake? We're all going to Hanson's Park afterward. You
have
to go on the roller coaster.”

I'd already told Dad I didn't want to go. “Who's all going?” I asked.

“Everyone! Come on, you can't stay home.”

Yeah, I could.
Everyone
included those kids who'd looked at Jack as if he were a monster.
Everyone
included the ice cream ladies.
Everyone
included Prater.

“My dad's kind of busy.”

“We can pick you up.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I—I … I think Jack's a little sick from all that barbecue sauce. I'm just going to stay home.” Maybe sit on the porch and listen for that coyote.

Then I said, “Hey … um … have you heard anything weird at night, like up in the woods or anything?” I tried to make it sound like it wasn't any big deal. I wasn't even sure if the sound could carry to the houses off the mountain. Ours was pretty high up.

“What do you mean? Like … ghosts?” He laughed.

“No, not like that.” I gazed out my window. “The other night I heard—Jack and I both heard—oh, you won't believe me, never mind.”

“Tell me,” Ray insisted. “I
will
believe you.”

I bunched up the cord in my hand and let it spring out. “We heard a coyote.”

“No way!” Ray said. “A coyote?”

I knew it. I shouldn't have said anything.

“Yeah.” My voice trailed down. I heard how stupid it sounded. I cringed as I imagined Ray's face filled with disbelief. He'd hang up and call Prater and they'd both laugh at me.

“What does your dad say?” Ray asked.

“He doesn't believe me.”

Silence. Then Ray said, “I've never seen one around here.”

“Well, I heard it. I heard it howling. It doesn't matter anyway; no one believes me,” I said. “Everyone wants to blame Jack.”

“You really heard a coyote?”

“Yes,” I said firmly.

There was a moment of silence. I knew Ray was trying to decide if he believed me or not. It didn't matter; I was prepared to face the rest of summer alone with Jack.

“Do you think that's what attacked Schwartz's chickens?”

He believed me. Before I could answer, he went on. “Oh, man, you should've heard what Jimmy said after you left—that coyote really tore into those chickens. I sure wouldn't want to run into one.”

Hearing him talk about it made it even more real. Relief and determination rushed through me. I told him everything about the night Jack and I heard the coyote, how it made my hair stand on end. “No one else believes me, but I'm going to prove it.”

“How?”

I glanced at the tape recorder sitting on my nightstand.

chapter 23

A
n unfamiliar car sat in our driveway one night when Jack and I came back from our run.

It was Mark Zimmerman's. He and Dad sat at the kitchen table, their heads bent in deep conversation.

“Hey,” I said, hanging up Jack's leash.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said. “You remember Mark?”

“Yep.” Jack zipped by me to the living room. I wanted to follow him, but I didn't want to be rude again. I leaned against a chair. “How's it going?”

“Pretty good.”

They both stared at me like they were waiting.

Oh. “Well, nice seeing you.”

In the living room, I checked out the newspaper comics, but bits and pieces from the other room kept my ears pricking.

“… and my dad thinks I should be pounding the pavement … don't want a job in a factory … people giving me dirty looks …”

I knew how that felt. People crossed the street when they saw me and Jack coming.

Mark described his dreams, horrible nightmares that woke him up in cold sweats. “Can't talk to my old man about it—he delivers bread, for crying out loud.”

“What about your friends?”

I couldn't hear his response.

If you didn't have friends, you sank. That was the biggest pitfall to always moving. You were constantly starting over, making the same moves again and again … watching … waiting.

I leaned over and gave Jack such a good roughing up that he bounced off the couch and sprang to the floor, head lowered, front legs splayed.

“You want to play?”

He huffed.

I whipped his rope toy across the room and watched him bound after it. Dropping it at my feet, he settled back and waited for me to throw it again. One thing about Jack, you always knew what he wanted. I tossed it a couple more times, but he got wise fast and was already running before I threw it, so I faked him out and threw it into the kitchen and heard a crash.

“Joshua!”

Jack ran out of there with his tail between his legs. I felt the same way as I slunk into the kitchen, where I spotted Millie's cookbooks all over the floor.

Dad tipped his head at me. “Could you be more careful?”

Heat flashed through my face. Getting yelled at in front of Mark made me feel like a little kid. I bent down to pick up the books.

“What kind of dog is he?” Mark asked.

I shuffled Millie's books back onto the counter. “He's a Pharaoh hound.”

Mark pursed his lips in thought. “I've never heard of that.”

“It's a rare breed,” Dad said. I caught a note of pride in his voice. He looked at me hesitantly. “Joshua, maybe you should—”

“No, no.” Mark pushed his chair back. “I've taken up enough of your time.” He stood, nodded, and shook Dad's hand. “Thanks for talking to me, man. It's been hard getting my head together.”

“Anytime.” Dad clapped Mark's shoulder and opened the door for him. “You come by anytime, okay?”

After he left, I asked, “Is everything all right?”

Dad rested heavily against the cupboard. “Yeah.”

Whatever it was, it was between them. Dad wasn't about to spill.

chapter 24

“I
didn't hear anything,” Ray said.

We sat in my room listening to the recording from the previous night. Jack lay dozing in a warm spot by the window. The sunlight bounced off him, creating a golden halo around his body.

“Me either.” It was the third night in a row that I'd left the cassette player recording on the porch before I'd gone to bed. Howling was what I hoped to hear, but static was the only thing that played from the cassette.

The tape ended and we sat back.

“Maybe we need longer tapes. Like a couple of hours' long,” Ray said.

I nodded. A couple of hours into the night would definitely be better than the half-hour tapes I had now.

“Tysko's has them,” Ray said. “We could get some today.”

I rewound the tape. “I don't have enough money, and I can't ask my dad.” If he didn't believe there was a coyote, he definitely wouldn't give me money to try to record it.

“I've got some,” Ray said. “We could pool our cash together.”

“I thought you were saving up for that new yo-yo.”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “but I don't want Jack to be blamed either.”

I knew then that Ray was a solid friend.

I opened the drawer where I kept my money and jammed the bills and coins into my pocket. “Let's go,” I said. At that, Jack rose. Anywhere I went, he went, too.

“Millie, we're going to Tysko's,” I shouted through the open basement doorway as we passed to the back door. I could hear the washer and dryer humming.

“Okay,” she called up.

After Ray grabbed his money, we left our bikes at his house and walked with Jack across the street to Tysko's. The doors stood open, and a dust devil blew across the wide plank floors. We walked past the breads to get to the shelf of batteries and cassettes, but old Mrs. Tysko came around the corner and blocked the aisle.

She put her hands on her hips. “What do you boys need?” she asked. She looked mad.

“Cassettes,” Ray said.

She looked at Jack and me and then pointed to Ray. “
You
may shop.” Then she looked at me and arched an eyebrow. “That dog is not welcome here.”

“Jack's okay,” Ray said and touched Jack's head.

She kept her eyes on me. I felt like a criminal. “I know all about that dog.” She pointed to the doorway. “You can come here alone, but that dog is not welcome in the store or in the ice cream area outside.”

Ray began to protest, but I said, “It's okay. We'll wait outside.” I didn't want to stay in there with her anyway.

“This
time you can wait outside,” Mrs. Tysko said. “But don't ever bring that dog to my property again.”

“C'mon, Jack,” I said. We walked out, sat on the wooden steps, and I rested my chin in my hands. It was so unfair. After a few minutes, Ray came outside with the cassettes. He looked apologetic. “Wasn't your fault,” I said, getting up.

He sighed. “Yeah, I know, but still …”

Jack hunted that rabbit and now people wanted to charge him with everything. I stood and stretched. Then I remembered what my dad said about the war and people being unhappy about things. I said, “They just need someone to blame. That's why we need to get that coyote on tape.”

We rode home slowly and zigzagged up the hill. As we got closer to the house, Jack started barking, but even Ray and I could hear the thrashing in the woods. I threw my bike down without letting go of Jack's leash and tore into the woods. Ray ran behind us.

“Hey!” I yelled through the trees.

Branches snapped close by but the sound grew farther and I slowed down by the blueberry bushes.

Then I saw it.