The Journey Back (11 page)

When I got to the farm, I filled a bucket with water for Buddy and told him to lie down in a shady corner to wait for me. “No barking,” I said, and darned if that dog didn't just lay there quiet for hours waiting for me. Well, except for the first day when he took off after the goats. And then that one time he saw the gray barn cat.

Every day, I checked out a corner of the farm by opening grain bins, pulling out drawers, and poking around in barrels and boxes. Like I said, I didn't know what I was looking for, but something would spark an idea, I was sure of it. Always, I tried to stay out of sight. One afternoon, when some state inspector guy came to check the barn, I scooted into a field and pretended to be scrubbing the water troughs.

I worried a little that Miguel and Hector might be watching me. Neither ever spoke to me but they hid behind their Spanish and seemed amused whenever I got close. I was tempted to straighten them both out with my fist, but I didn't want to lose the job. Ha! Mr. R. would've been proud of me for using the ole if/then thinking.
If I punched them out, then I'd probably get fired.
So, for the most part, I ignored those guys, except for the day I caught Miguel smoking.

What happened is I was taking a bucket of manure out back to the pile. If I'd had the wheelbarrow Miguel would've heard me coming. I just had that bucket though and I caught him red-handed, lighting up a cigarette behind the barn. There was no smoking allowed at the farm and everyone knew it 'cause Mrs. Crawford had about a million signs up. She was paying us so I figured we ought to respect that. When Miguel saw me he took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped his hand to his side quick, trying to hide it.

I threw manure on the pile and stood there, holding the bucket and staring at him. “Mrs. Crawford said no smoking,” I told him, pointing to his hand.
“No fumar,”
I added, surprising the hell out of him that I knew any Spanish at all.

He tossed the cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with his shoe. Then he flashed his dark eyes at me. He looked a lot like Tio then. I couldn't help myself; I smiled at him.

—

On Friday of that week I got paid—get this—$130.50 for eighteen hours of work. I got it in two fifties, one twenty, one ten, and two quarters. It was more cash than I ever held in my hands at one time. Mrs. Crawford had told me it was cash “under the table,” which meant she wasn't taking any taxes out of it. I told her “thanks,” but she seemed embarrassed and asked me not to talk about it. She didn't tell me it was illegal. I found that out from Nora.

“My mom is paid under the table, too,” she said. “Then she goes into town and collects unemployment.”

“That's good!” I said.

But Nora shook her head. “No, it's not. She's scamming the government. I mean I'm glad she gets money so we can eat. But it's wrong.”

“Why?”

Nora dropped open her mouth like, duh, you stupid bonehead. “Because if like no one paid taxes there wouldn't be money for libraries, hospitals, schools, ambulances, police—”

“Fine with me if no police!” I stopped her.

She waved me off. “Just because you're in trouble right now you think that. But if we didn't have police and courts and stuff, this world would be chaos!”

I didn't debate her anymore after that. I decided Nora thought too much about things, and I didn't know if that was good or bad. But she did make me wonder about all the deception. Mrs. Crawford did a great thing saving horses, but here she was cheating the government. And wasn't I deceiving everybody with my fake name? And Woody with his? And Hector and Miguel 'cause they snuck into this country? Not to mention my deadbeat father who sobered up and apologized and got out of trouble nearly every time my mother called for help . . . My heart skipped a beat 'cause who did she call when my father got out of control?
The police.

I frowned. Maybe, I thought, all this deception was how the world operated. I wasn't sure. But that pile of money in my hand was real and I figured that's what counted. It was hard-earned and it would help me get home. I felt squirmy coming to this conclusion, but I was glad the government wasn't getting a chunk of it.

“D
igger!” Nora called my name as she sprinted down the main road into camp, her long hair flying out behind her.

What? Was she eager to see me? I was just returning from work at the farm, that's all. But maybe we had something going, her and me. I felt the corners of my mouth start to lift.

“Digger, they're looking for you!” Nora exclaimed as she practically plowed into me. I caught one of her arms while she put the other on her chest and tried to catch her breath. “They're asking if anyone has seen this teenager—this teenager, Michael Griswald—who goes by the nickname Digger!”

“Whoa.”

“You need to hide!”

“Where?”

“This way!” she said, pulling me into the woods.

We took off together, jumping over logs, dodging branches, and pushing aside the prickly underbrush. When we got to the towpath, we paused to look both ways quickly—we were breathing hard—then darted across the path and followed a narrow, winding trail to the river. Buddy was close behind us the whole way.

Nora stopped me. “See those rocks?” she asked, pointing out over the water.

“Yeah, sure.” A whole series of big, white boulders dotted the river at this point. Dark water churned around and between them as it rushed downstream.

“They'll take you clear across the river. Most of the rocks are pretty flat so you can practically walk all the way across. Hide on the other side and when the coast is clear I'll go get you.”

“What about Luke?” I asked.

“I'll get him at the bus and tell him not to say anything. Go on! Go
now
!”

“Come on, Buddy!” I said, slapping my leg so he'd follow. Turning, I stepped on a rock close to shore, then the next one, and the next, picking my way across the river in just a few minutes. I only needed to jump once, but I made sure to land on my good ankle.

When I got to the other side, I hid behind some bushes. Buddy sniffed around for a while, then settled down and curled up for a nap. Meanwhile, I waited for what seemed like forever. I counted last week's pay, which I'd kept in my pocket, about ten times, ate two granola bars I took from the volunteers' room, and listened to two different trains go by on the opposite side of the river. But mostly, I just sat there, peeking through the bushes, cleaning my fingernails with my jackknife, and watching for Nora. I worried about what would happen, but it felt nice that Nora wanted to protect me.

Just before it started to get dark, I spotted her. She looked like a ballet dancer the way she held her arms out and hopped, real delicate like, from one rock to the next. I went to meet her and reached out to help her onto shore. She took my hand and it was kind of nice that she didn't let go right away.

“What's happening?” I asked.

“Police are still there,” she said, reaching down to pet Buddy, who was pretty excited to see her, too. “But they parked on down the road. Maybe they're waiting for you to show up. I'm sure some people at the campground figured it was you, but I don't think anyone's said anything.”

“Is Luke okay?”

“He's fine. He's doing his homework. Woody should be home soon, but I'm sure
he
won't say anything. He needs you here for Luke.”

I almost laughed. “Yeah.”

Nora and I sat on the ground behind the bushes. I let out a long sigh. “Looks like I get to sleep in the woods again.”

“You don't have to,” Nora said.

“What do you mean?”

“You can go back to the horse farm and sleep in the volunteers' room.”

“Really?” I was surprised. “You think it would be okay?”

“I don't think so. I
know
so.” She paused a second. “My mom and I lived in that room for six months.”

“
Six months?
Are you kidding?”

“I wish I
was
kidding,” she said. “We had to stay there. Mom didn't have any money. I mean, we have the tent now, but we didn't have it then. Even if we did, we wouldn't have had the money to pay the campground fee. Mrs. Crawford was incredible. She didn't care if we slept there, just so long as we picked up before the volunteers arrived. Mom slept on the couch, I slept on the floor. We kept our stuff in the car.”

I looked at her, kind of dumbfounded. It was hard for me to believe she actually lived in the volunteers' room for half a year. I mean, I could see myself doing that, but not her. She didn't look like a homeless person.

“Wow,” is all I said.

“Yeah.
Wow
is right. My mom sometimes makes bad choices when it comes to boyfriends. I mean I know she's lonely, but still. This boyfriend she has now? He's married!”

“He is?”

Nora nodded. “He's stupid, too.” She picked up a stick next to her and broke it into two pieces. “He actually makes fun of me when I try to do my homework. Which is why I'm always hanging out with you and Luke.”

My heart dropped a little. “Hey, I thought you come over to be with me!”

“I do! Oh, I mean I like being with you guys, too.”

I waited for her to say more. Waited while she used the sharp end of one of the sticks to draw a circle in the sand. It was a warm night and Nora wore a sleeveless top. In the soft light of dusk I watched the rose tattoo on her shoulder move with the motion of her arm.

“I'll tell you this,” she said. “I am not living the way my mother lives. I want to get a scholarship and go to college. If I can't afford medical school, then maybe I'll be a teacher, or a physical therapist. For sure, I'm going to make enough money to live in my own place.”

We sat quiet for another minute—sometimes I just did not know what to say—while she made loops around the circle in the sand, turning it into a daisy. I felt anxious 'cause I really liked Nora. I even wondered if she could be like a girlfriend. I'd never had a girlfriend before. What girl would want a boyfriend who lived in a junky house without a toilet and who sometimes wore the same shirt to school for a week 'cause his mother didn't have change for the Laundromat?

“What about you?” she asked. “How come you're running away from that juvenile prison place?”

Did I want to tell her more than she already knew? I hesitated and watched her draw a stem and leaves on the dirt flower.

“You never told me, but what did you do to land yourself in prison?”

When I didn't answer, Nora stopped drawing. She tilted her head as she peered over at me and arched her eyebrows. “You didn't kill anybody, did you?”

Could she see the blood drain out of my face?

I couldn't help it. Tears sprang into my eyes. It had been such a long time since I felt myself cry that I touched my face to see if it was really happening. Embarrassed, I turned away from Nora, hoping she couldn't see.

She dropped the stick and put a hand on my shoulder. “Digger?”

I sniffed.

“Are you crying because I asked about what you did? Look, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. It's just me, dumb ole Nora asking stupid questions.” She put her entire arm around my shoulders.

“It's complicated,” I mumbled.

And that was the truth. A lot of stuff about me was complicated and some of it for reasons I didn't even understand. But this I knew: there was a ton of heavy guilt for what I done to end the life of three-year-old Benjamin DiAngelo. Even if I didn't mean to hurt that little boy, I did. I took his life away from him and it left me with a heaviness that I carried around with me, day and night, like a solid iron brick. I tried not to think about it, but it was always there, every day, everywhere I went. When I got up in the morning, when I sat down to eat, when I lay down to sleep, when I squatted in the woods—and especially, when I looked up at the night sky.

Like I said before, I didn't have religion like J.T. and Abdul. That was something for normal kids in regular families that eat dinner together and take vacations and go to the mall for school clothes. But there were times looking up at those stars at night that I wished deep in my heart that there really was something spiritual, some everlasting life somewhere so that little Ben lived on.

“Maybe it would help if you talked about it,” Nora urged gently.

I nodded and my throat got tight. She was probably right. It would probably help me to talk about it. But I wasn't the type to talk about stuff. Miss Laurie had to work for days to drag a couple things out of me. It didn't mean I wasn't suffering though. I suffered plenty whenever I thought about Ben and what I done. And not only that, but I thought about what I lost because of it. When I sabotaged the red kayak and Ben died, I also lost my two best friends. And the cold, hard truth is that I didn't think I could ever get them back. Not even in ten years.

“Digger?”

I felt tears run down my cheeks.

“Hey, come on, Dig, are you okay?”

I had a hand over my eyes, but I used it to wipe the tears off.

“Really, you don't have to say anything,” Nora insisted.

But I guess I
did
want to say something because the words finally rose up and came out of my mouth. “I've made some unbelievably bad choices in my life, too,” I said.

Then, bit by bit, I ended up telling Nora the whole story of what I done. I described how I had drilled holes in a red kayak to make it sink so I could get back at my snooty neighbor. How I forced my friend J.T. to help me by standing guard, which is why he got sent away to prison, too. And sadly, how I had no idea my neighbor's wife and their little boy would be the ones to take that boat out for a ride one morning in early April, not knowing it would spring a leak and sink.

“The Chesapeake Bay is still really cold in April,” I had to explain to Nora. “After the kayak took on water . . . a little kid . . . water in his lungs . . . they tried to save him but it was too late . . .”

Then I told her how my other best friend Brady found out what I done. And how I begged him not to tell, but how he went to the police anyway, which was really the right thing to do. I also told Nora how I stood up in court and insisted to everyone it wasn't J.T.'s fault and how nobody should hold anything against Brady either, even if he did plant the idea in my head a long time ago.

“Nine months at the juvenile jail place was the punishment. So that's it. That's what I done. That's why I'm supposed to be at Cliffside.”

There was a long pause after I finished talking. Nora was stone quiet. I snuck a glance at her. She had taken her arm away, but wasn't drawing in the dirt anymore. She was just sitting there, hugging her knees.

“I don't get it,” she finally said. “I mean, it's so awful what happened, and you're so sorry. Why aren't you out there serving time for what you did?”

A good question. An excellent question! Nora was right. She was right, too, about the world needing police and courts and all that. I knew I should be serving my time. Absolutely. Let justice be done!

I shifted position and turned slightly away from her because I didn't want to have to tell her about my mother and my brother and sister. How I needed to protect them from my father. Those things were important, too, but it seemed like that was offering up a layer way too deep, and way too personal.

“I got my reasons,” I told her.

“I hope they're good ones, Digger,” Nora replied. “Because, like what gives you the right to take the law into your own hands?”

“What do you mean?” I heard my voice get loud and felt my right hand automatically form a fist.

Nora didn't seem to notice the anger. “When you ran away from that juvenile detention center, you broke the law. Maybe you had a reason, but still, you broke the law. You did it again when you stole that big truck—”

I wheeled all the way around to face her. “You thought that was pretty cool, me stealing that truck!”

She nodded, but she looked pained. “Yeah, I did, I know. But that doesn't make it right.”

Nora was pissing me off with her questions. She didn't understand why I busted out and ran away. I
had
to run. I had to run to survive! I needed to get home and fix things!

But which was it? Survive? Fix things? Fix things
how?

The questions made my head hurt. I didn't have the answers. What's done was done, I decided. I wasn't sorry I broke out of prison. I wasn't sorry I stole that truck—
or
that bike—
or
that canoe! To hell with those people! All of them had far more stuff than I would ever have! As for my father . . . he would get what he deserved someday. Every time I thought about him it made my blood boil.

I got up, confused—and angry.

“Digger?”

“I got my reasons!” I yelled at her. Then I stormed away.