True (. . . Sort Of) (17 page)

A
t the station, Officer Tibbetts sat Delly at her desk. “Write down everybody she knows and all the places she might go,” she told her.

Me, Delly wrote first. RB, Brud Kinney, the cat, the birds, the old Hennepin place, the hideawaysis.

That was it. She was putting down the pen.

And Clayton Fitch stormed in the door, squawking, “Verena, Norma saw that bad Pattison running to the river this morning.”

That's when the idea hit Delly, like a smack to the brain. “Jiminy fipes,” she gasped, “I know—”

Then she stopped. She glanced at Officer Tibbetts, with her big voice and her gun, and she knew what Ferris Boyd would feel.

So while Clayton Fitch squealed, “You going to put her behind bars this time? Huh?” Delly snuck out of the station.

“I'm coming, Ferris Boyd,” she rasped as she ran to the river.

She was so focused she didn't hear the
crunch, crunch
of police boots behind her. Suddenly, something had her by the armpits. Next thing she knew, she was nose to nose with Verena again.

“Where are you going?” the policewoman asked.

“Where do you think I'm going?” Delly asked back.

“Do you know where she is?”

“How would I know where she is?”

“Delly!” Officer Tibbetts bellowed. “You need to tell me so I can protect her!”

Delly gazed into Verena's eyes, like Ferris Boyd would, to see if she was true. And she saw it: the policewoman wanted to help.

So she told her sadly, “You can't come. You'll scare her. I got to go alone.”

Officer Tibbetts softened. “Delly,” she said, “what if she's sick or hurt and you can't help her? What if he finds her first?”

Delly hadn't considered that.

“Let's figure out a way we can go together, without scaring her,” the policewoman suggested.

Delly thought about it. “You can't touch her,” she warned. “She'll go wild.”

Verena nodded. “I'll only touch her if she's unsafe and I can't help her otherwise.”

“You got to keep her safe from him,” Delly demanded.

“If we find her,” Verena said, “I will keep her safe.”

“And you won't send her away. She'll be too scared.”

“Delly, I can't . . . ” Officer Tibbetts wavered.

“That's the deal,” she insisted.

“Okay,” the policewoman agreed.

Delly nodded. “She went down the river, to Delaferbia.”

Officer Tibbetts set the girl on the ground. “Let's go.”

“Will you call my ma?” Delly asked. “RB'll worry.”

So she did. “She's not in trouble,” Verena told Clarice. “She's helping me.”

The police kept a boat by the river. Delly'd never borrowed that one because it had a motor, although she'd thought about it. They sat in the back, beside each other.

“A lot of birds on the river,” Officer Tibbetts observed.

Delly just sniffed.

Because when Delly Pattison finally cried, it didn't come bawling out of her. The tears poured silently, down her cheeks and onto her shirt. Two streams of snot followed. She stared ahead, wiping the snot with her sleeve and sniffing.

It was the sniffling that made Officer Tibbetts look. She passed Delly a handkerchief, and that got her sobbing.

“It's my fault,” she cried. “She talked so I wouldn't get in trouble.”

“Delly,” the policewoman said softly, “do you know why a person stops speaking?”

She shook her head.

“It's because she's been hurt so badly she doesn't have words for it. Or somebody's told her he'll hurt her if she talks. She thinks her voice can't help her.

“Ferris Boyd talking is a good thing. It means, for a moment, she thought her words could help.”

“But now we don't know if she's run away or if she's . . . ” Delly couldn't say it.

“Ferris Boyd's survived a lot,” the policewoman told her. “She's stronger than you think.”

That helped a little. Delly honked into the handkerchief.

“You need to know something.” Officer Tibbetts stared hard at her. “The only person who's at fault is the person who hurt her.”

“But I saw the marks, and I didn't tell.” Delly wept.

The policewoman nodded. “You were scared.”

That was only part of it, though. “I didn't want it to be true.” She sobbed.

“Me neither.” Verena sighed. “Nobody does. But it is.”

And it was awful, knowing there was such badness in the world. It was good, though, hearing somebody tell the truth. Because the badness had been there all along. Now they could stop it.

Verena watched the river as she spoke. “Out of all the people who know Ferris Boyd, you're the only one who figured out what was going on. You're the only one who's here, trying to help her.

“Delly,” she said, “you're a good kid.”

Delly gazed at Officer Tibbetts. Any other day she would have rather been buried in cow patties than sitting next to her. Now there was nobody she'd rather be beside. “Verena?” she rasped.

The policewoman glanced over.

Delly's red, leaky eyes told her, Thanks.

Verena nodded, and turned back to the river.

W
hen they got close to Delaferbia, Delly raised her hand, and Officer Tibbetts killed the motor. They drifted into the bank.

I go, Delly mouthed, and the policewoman nodded.

There were boot prints, Galveston-sized ones, all over the beach. Some of the wood was stacked for a fire.

Delly'd never been so happy. You're alive! she wanted to whoop. But she'd never been so sad, either, knowing her friend was all alone, thinking nobody could help her.

So instead, she said, “Ferris Boyd, I'm here.”

There was no reply.

“Ferris Boyd,” Delly asked, “will you please come to me?”

She didn't.

Delly searched the place. She looked behind the stone table, up in the trees, down into the pool. She couldn't find her.

She sat on the beach. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

There was one more thing Delly could try: tell the truth. She grimaced, but it was for her friend.

“Okay, Ferris Boyd,” she rasped, “here's the truth. I know he hurts you. I didn't do anything because I was scared, but I was wrong.”

Nothing made a sound except the birds, chirping over her words. She'd have to tell more truths.

“Okay, here's the real truth. I know you ran away. I know you think you got to do this on your own. But you're my best friend; I want to help.”

Still, there were only birds.

“Shush, birds,” she said.

Then she took a minute, because the last one was the hardest to tell.

“Okay Ferris Boyd, here's the real, real truth. You know all those creatures you take care of? Well, I'm the wildest one of all. I wouldn't be okay without you.” The rasp cracked. “Please don't leave me.”

All those years of not crying, and Delly was doing it twice in one day.

The birds were cawing now, like they were calling her “crybaby.”

Delly looked over at them to yell, “Quit it, you bawlgram birds!” And she saw it.

There was a hole in the hill, like a cave. It had brush in front of it, so she hadn't spotted it before. Those birds were all around it.

“Holy shikes,” she exclaimed, and ran to it. She pushed the brush aside.

Ferris Boyd was curled up inside, wrapped in the blanket and wearing Galveston's boots. Happy Hallelujah! Delly wanted to holler.

Till she saw her friend's eyes. They weren't happy; they were terrified.

So Delly sat just outside the cave. She didn't stir or say a word.

After a while she turned so her friend could see her eyes. “Ferris Boyd, do you know I wouldn't hurt you?” she asked softly.

The girl nodded.

“I want to keep you safe, but I can't do it on my own. So I brought somebody to help us.”

Ferris Boyd's body stiffened.

“It's Officer Tibbetts,” Delly told her. “She promised she'll protect you. She promised she won't send you away.”

Just like that, Ferris Boyd's arms flipped up in front of her. Her legs kicked off the blanket. She was going to bolt.

And Delly was crying again. “Ferris Boyd, if you want to run, I'll keep them busy. I'll do whatever you want. But what if you get sick? What if he finds you?

“I don't want you to be all alone.” She sobbed. “I don't want you to get hurt anymore. But we need help.” Then Delly moved aside and waited for her friend to fly past her.

She waited some more.

Ferris Boyd stayed in the cave, though. After a long time her arms settled at her sides. After a long, long time her eyes stopped screaming and came back to Delly.

They were full of questions. There were so many they tumbled over each other: Where will I stay? What will she do to me? How can she stop him?

Delly told the truth. “I don't know. But she promised, and I believe her.”

Ferris Boyd got her pad and pen. She wrote something and passed it to Delly. Dad, it read, in small, shaky letters. After everything, she was worried for him, too.

Delly thought about how, for all her trouble, Boomer had never hurt her. She thought about what somebody would have to do to make a girl not talk, not want to be touched.

She took the paper. She ripped it into tiny pieces. “That's no dad,” she said.

Ferris Boyd stared into the trees for a long time. Then she crawled out of the cave and stood. She wasn't leaving; she was waiting.

Delly stood beside her. “All right then,” she rasped. She led her down the beach to the boat.

Officer Tibbetts was waiting.

Ferris Boyd took one look at the policewoman and the boat, and her body started shaking.

Delly saw it. “You got a rope in there?” she asked.

Verena rummaged around and threw it to her.

Delly handed one end to her friend, and they tied themselves to each other.

“You want to go first?” Delly let her decide.

Ferris Boyd shook her head.

“We're walking,” she told the policewoman.

And that's how they got back to River Bluffs: the two friends trudging along the river, and the boat with Officer Tibbetts following behind.

A
s the three of them hiked up the bank from the boat dock, they spotted it. The green Impala was parked in front of the police station.

And the next thing she knew, Delly was on her rear end, bouncing down the bank.

Ferris Boyd was walking fast, but backward. She was dragging Delly with her.

“Hey, Verena,” Delly hollered.

Officer Tibbetts strode toward the girl. “Ferris Boyd!” she shouted, in that hard voice Delly'd heard a lot.

That didn't do it; the girl kept going.

Then, in a voice filled with kindness, Verena called to her, “Ferris Boyd, look at me.”

That did it. The girl stopped and gazed into the policewoman's eyes.

“I will take care of you,” she said surely.

They stared at each other for a long time, telling each other things without talking.

Finally, Officer Tibbetts nodded. She started toward the station, with Ferris Boyd beside her.

“We'll use the back door,” she told them.

Inside, she pointed to a cell. “Go there.”

She locked them in and went to the front of the station. They sat on the bed.

“Hey, Ferris Boyd,” Delly whispered, “they finally got me behind bars.”

But her friend didn't hear her. Her right ear was up, listening to the other room.

“I found your daughter,” Verena was saying.

There was mumbling.

“She can't go with you,” the policewoman announced. “She's under arrest. She's staying with me for now.”

There was muttering.

“You do what you have to do. I'll let you know if anything changes.”

The front door thudded.

Then Officer Tibbetts was back. She had a big pad of paper and a pen. She set them beside Ferris Boyd. She kneeled in front of her, so their eyes were with each other. In that kind, sure voice, she said, “It's time to tell.”

T
hat morning, when Brud Kinney'd gone to meet the bus, he found an old basketball sitting on his stoop. A small piece of paper was taped to it. Brud, it read.

“H-H-Hey.” He grinned. He looked around for her, like she might be there to play; but it was only the ball.

Maybe she got a new one, he thought. Or maybe she thinks I'm good enough to have hers. He smiled so his teeth sparkled. With this ball, his head said, I'll play like nothing nobody's ever seen, only better.

In his hands, though, the ball didn't feel like a present. It felt like a good-bye.

When the bus stopped at Kinneys', there was no Brud waiting, so it went on without him.

Brud Kinney was skipping school. He'd snuck out to the old Hennepin place and was hiding in the bushes.

He'd never seen the green Impala before. So instead of going to the door, he walked to the drive and bounced the ball,
thump, thump, thump,
like a call.

Ferris Boyd didn't answer, but a man did. He stood at the door. “What do you want?” he hollered.

Brud dashed down the drive and out the River Road a ways. Then he circled back. He hid in the brush beside the drive.

He saw the police cruiser pull up. He spotted those copper curls in the passenger seat but he didn't make a sound: he knew Verena was the truant Officer, too.

Brud stayed till the cruiser took off. Then he snuck into River Bluffs.

From behind bushes, he watched Delly and Officer Tibbetts go to the river. A lot later he saw them come back. With Ferris Boyd.

When his watch said the school day was over, Brud walked into the station.

Officer Tibbetts was at her desk, doing paperwork. “What's up, Brud?” she asked.

“Is Ferris B-B-Boyd here?”

“She's in the back,” Verena answered.

“Can I s-s-s-see her?

“Sorry Brud. No visitors.”

Brud stood there for a minute. Then he told her, “I stole this b-ball.”

Verena glanced at it. “Brud,” she told him, “nobody would steal that ball.”

So Brud confessed. “I skipped school.”

The policewoman studied him. “Brud,” she wondered, “do you want me to arrest you?”

He nodded.

So she took him to the back.

As soon as she opened the door, there was a shout: “Hey, it's Brud Kinney!”

Then the station sounded more like a party than a prison.