Swear to Howdy (10 page)

I thought back on my first year with Joey Banks. And I wished with all my might that things could be that way again. But the scary part was, things weren't returning to the way they'd been.

They seemed to be getting worse.

Then one night there was a tap on my window. The secret tap. And when I pulled back the curtain, there was Joey, giving me a loopy grin from right outside.

I pulled on my jeans and climbed out, whispering, “What you got there?” 'cause he had a clear plastic sack with something dark and sloshy-looking inside.

“Come with me,” he said, still grinning.

So I followed him down to the river, wondering what in the world he was up to, and why he was walking so funny, kinda staggering around. “What is it, Joey? Where we goin'?”

“You gotta try this,” he said, raising the plastic bag a little. “It makes ya feel a
whole
lot better.”

“What
is
it, Joey?”

He tossed me a loopy grin over his shoulder. “Blackberries.”

“Blackberries?”

“Uh-huh.”

We got down to the swimming hole, and I followed Joey up to our favorite rock. The moon was shining overhead, and the water looked sparkly Cool and clear and pure. It had been ages since we'd been there together, and I stared into the water for a full minute, feeling like there was a noose strangling my heart.

Finally, I shook it off and sat beside Joey, saying, “Whadda ya mean, blackberries? Looks like mush to me.”

He took two paper cups out of his pocket and handed them over. One was already stained purple. “Here, hold these. I'll fill 'em.”

“I ain't sure I want to eat blackberry mush.”

“We ain't eatin', Rusty-boy,” he said as he untied the bag. “We's
drinkin
.”

It was so nice to hear him call me Rusty-boy again that it didn't occur to me right off what he was saying. I just
held a cup out and let him pour. “Blackberry juice?” I asked him. “From your thicket?”

“Uh-huh.” He filled up the other cup. “But it ain't exactly
juice
, either.”

I sloshed it around in my cup. “Looks like
mud
, if you ask me.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Only mud around here's in your head.” He took a big gulp, and smiled at me. “Go on, drink!”

So I did. And the minute it hit my lips, I spit it out. “Awwww! That's
awful
.”

“But it sure makes you feel good.” He gulped back some more. “And ya quit tastin' it after a while.”

His teeth were glowing purple in the moonlight, and all of a sudden he looked kinda wild to me.

Kinda crazy.

“Try it again, Rusty-boy You'll see.”

I sniffed the cup. “It's… wine?”

“Uh-huh.” He poured himself a refill.

I just held on to my cup and watched him down some more. “I'm not sure this is such a hot idea, Joey.”

“Nothin' we do's a hot idea. Ever notice that? Everything we touch dies. Crappies, goldfish, ground squirrels, cats,
sisters
.…” He took another gulp. “We's killin' machines, Rusty-boy!”

“That ain't true,” I said quietly. “How about Tank? He's out there gettin' fatter'n a hog, squishin' green tomatoes all over the place!”

He snickered. “Yeah. We's dumber'n frogs. Can you believe that? If we'd've been
smarter'n
frogs, he'd be dead, too. Guaranteed.”

We sat there quiet for the longest time. Him gulping down mud, me looking into the water. Finally I asked, “Your mama makin' you see a counselor?”

He snorted. “Na.”

“Mine is.”

He looked at me, and suddenly there was worry in his eyes.

“No, Joey, I ain't told, and I ain't
gonna
tell.”

He went back to drinkin' fermented mud. The bag was nearly empty.

“The counselor says if I don't talk about things it'll rot me from the inside out.”

He didn't say a word. Didn't look at me. Just threw back some more mud.

“I think that might be what's happenin' to us, Joey,” I told him, barely above a whisper.

He slammed down his cup. “Well, what else we suppose' to do? Dad would murder us! You should hear him sobbin' at night. Mama, too! She looks horrible and forgets where she is half the time! And if Dad
don't
kill us, the cops'll throw us in jail, and someone in jail'll do us in. Jails is horrible places, Rusty. I've heard all about 'em and I ain't goin' to no
jail
.” His words were fallin' all over each other, getting tangled and tripped up. Then, all of a sudden, Joey started crying.

“Hey,” I said, 'cause I didn't know what else to say. “Hey, hey”

But he kept on crying and finally said, “She used to do horsey for me! Jus' like you do with Rhonda? When we was little she used to do horsey”

“Amanda Jane did?” I just couldn't picture it.

“Uh-huh. An' she used to tell me stories in bed about Bunny Boy.”

“Bunny Boy?”

“Uh-huh. He was this little rabbit that was friends with all the forest animals and had a magic box.”

“What sort of magic box?”

“Bunny Boy would put in snakes and turn 'em into butterflies. He'd put in fish and they'd come out with wings. Flyin' fish, all over the forest!” He was sobbing now. Hiccuping and sputtering so that I could barely understand him when he said, “I loved Bunny Boy!”

I started crying, too, 'cause I knew what he was really saying was that he loved Amanda Jane.

Then suddenly Joey quit sobbing, and his eyes got all big as he teetered back and forth, back and forth.

Then he got up on his knees, leaned over the rock, and puked his purple guts out.

When I snuck back through my window, I had a big surprise waiting.

My dad.

About gave me a heart attack when I saw him sitting on my bed, arms crossed, face scrunched together like an angry cloud. And I thought for sure heated words were 8 gonna rain all over me, but all he did was sit there watching me fumble around.

“I… I'm sorry, Dad,” I said.

His mouth twitched. His foot twitched. His angrycloud face looked likely to roll with thunder. But all he said was, “For…?”

“For sneaking out. Sir.”

He nodded, still twitchin' and rollin' inside with thunder. “And…?”

“And… and being deceptive. Sir!”

Mama walked in, wrapped tight in her robe. Dad shooed her out without a word. I just stood at attention, shaking in my shoes.

“Explain yourself, Russell Cooper. And it better be good.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir!” I said. “Joey and me was down at the river—”

“You plan this out?”

“No! No, sir! He tapped on my window and—”

“You ever snuck out like this before?”

I looked down, remembering the night of the Lost Ghost. The night Amanda Jane died. “Yes, sir.” Then I added, “But mostly he taps when he wants
in
. You know—when it's too late to knock on the door 'cause it'll wake everyone up.”

More thunder was gathering, I could see it. But he drew in a deep breath and said, “What did the two of you do tonight? Down at the river.”

“We talked, mostly. Joey's all messed up over Amanda Jane. He ain't been talkin' to me at
all
. So tonight when he tapped, I went with him.” I shrugged. “He's my friend, y'know?”

“Friends can sometimes lead friends down the wrong path, son.”

My knees were locked tight, keeping me up, but the minute he said “son,” they started wobbling. Just shaking away like crazy. His voice was softer, and the angry cloud was dissipatin'. Not gone entirely, but moving slowly across the horizon. And at that instant I about broke down and told him everything. Everything about Amanda Jane.

Only I thought of Joey and the pact we'd made and how it wouldn't do a lick of good to tell Dad about it.

It would only make things worse.

So instead, I nodded and looked down.

“You two been smokin'?”

“No, sir!”

“Drinkin'?”

“No, sir!” Then I added, “At least not me, sir.” And I didn't feel bad about saying it. Joey and me hadn't made a pact about that one.

Dad's eyebrows shot up. “Joey was?”

“Yes, sir. And I did try a little, but I spit it right out. Tasted terrible.”

“What was he drinking?”

“Blackberry mud, if you ask me.”

“What's that?”

“Fermented blackberries, sir.”

“Blackberries from his thicket?”

“Yes, sir.”

He frowned, but it wasn't a terrifying one. “He's got a never-endin' supply of those back there, don't he?”

“Yes, sir.”

He sat there, checking me over, twitching at the face. “Walk, Russell. From there, to over there,” he said, pointing across the room.

My knees were weak and wobbly, but they got me across okay.

“Close your eyes and do like this,” he said, bringing his first fingers together.

So I did, only my fingers missed each other completely.

“Try it again,” he said.

This time they touched.

“Spin in a circle three times.”

“I only had a sip!”

“Spin!”

I spun, boy. Like a top.

“Let me smell your breath.”

I huffed in his face. Then I backed up and said, “Dad, I swear, I had a teaspoon and spit it out.”

He nodded, but was still not happy. He said, “But if it had tasted
fine
, you'd've drunk it up, am I right?”

I shrugged and looked down. “I told him I didn't think it was a hot idea…”

“But you went along with it anyway.”

“He was
talkin
, Dad. For the first time in ages, Joey was talkin'.”

His cheeks puffed up like one of those pictures you see of the North Wind, blowin' clouds across the sky. Then he let his breath out, long and steady, and said, “Your mama and I have tried everything in this world to get
you
to talk, son. And you may as well know that we're mighty frustrated, throwing away money on a counselor that can't get more'n a peep out of you. Your mama's convinced you need to talk, your counselor says you're keeping something dark inside, and I don't know what to do about any of this. Part of me thinks you deserve a good whuppin' for what you did tonight, but part of me's relieved that you had the sense not to come
home staggering drunk.” He eyed me. “Is that the state Joey's in?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. He's sicker'n a dog.”

Dad shook his head and muttered, “Wonder what his daddy'll do when he finds out.”

I shuddered, and all of a sudden my knees felt like jelly again. “Dad?”

“Yes, son.”

“Thanks for not whuppin' me.”

He nodded.

“I promise I won't sneak out no more.”

He nodded again, then let loose a heavy sigh. “That's what I want to hear, son.” He gave me half a smile. “And I've never known you to break a promise.”

I looked at him, then looked down. “Yes, sir.”

He got up and put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I know this business with Amanda Jane has been tough on you. It's been tough on all of us.” He looked at me. “Is the counselor helping
any
?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But probably not. Didn't know you were
payin
' her, Dad.”

He snorted. “Same as any other doctor.”

“Well.” I shrugged again. “I wouldn't pay her no more if I was you.”

He sighed and said, “I want you to know that your mama and I are here. No matter when, no matter what. If you want to talk, we'll do our best to listen.”

My chin quivered. “Yes, sir.”

He started for the door, but turned and said, “You got something you want to say to me now?”

My chin was still quiverin', and it felt like a giant lump of grits was stuck in my throat. I shook my head. “No, sir.”

I couldn't stop thinking about Joey. About how he'd nearly puked his guts into the river, emptyin' out the blackberry wine. About how he'd sat on the rock and bawled like a little baby, rocking back and forth, back and forth. About how I'd had to practically pour him through his window to get him back into the house, and how he'd just curled up in a ball on the floor starin' off into nowhere while I eased the window closed behind him.

And after staring at my own ceiling for nearly an hour, I still couldn't shake the picture of him, so miserable and pained by what had happened.

I thought about sneaking out the window. All I wanted was to check on him quick, then get back to bed. But I'd made a promise, so I went and woke Dad up instead.

“Huh?” he asked, lookin' up all groggy. “Russell, what is it?”

“Just wanted to let you know I'm goin' over to check on Joey,” I whispered, quiet as I could.

“Check on Joey?” Mama sat up straight as a church pew. “Now?”

“Sorry, Mama. Didn't mean to wake you.”

“Why you checkin' on Joey now?” Dad asked, looking at the clock. “He's gotta be out cold.”

“I can't shake the picture of him cryin' on his floor. I just want to go peek in his window.”

They gave each other a shrug, then Dad said, “Go on, then. But hurry right home.”

I nodded. “I'll be right back.”

The moon was like a powerful flashlight, lighting the path from our house to Joey's. I raced over quick as a rabbit, and was expecting to just peek in and dash home, only when I looked in Joey's window, my heart froze cold.

Joey was sitting up in bed, cross-legged, with the muzzle of his .22 stuck straight in his mouth.

I almost pounded on the window, but I was scared the noise would make him set off the gun. His thumb was stuck through the lever, smack-dab against the trigger. “Joey!” I called through the glass. “Joey, no!”

His eyes roamed over to the window.

“Joey, don't!” I said, shaking my head like crazy.

I know he saw me, but his eyes drifted away, then stared straight ahead.

So I lifted the window and pulled myself inside, saying, “Don't do it!
Don't
!”

He took his mouth off the muzzle long enough to say, “Don't be a wuss, Russ. There ain't no other way out.”

“I
ain't
a wuss, Joey,” I cried, diving for the gun. “I'm your friend!”

The instant I landed, the gun went off, blasting a hole right through the wall. And before we could finish shouting at each other, Joey's dad came crashing through the
door like a wild bear. “What the
hell's
goin' on in here?” he roared.