Uncle Dale displayed more reserve, but he too seemed glad to see his nephew. Grandnephew, actually; David and Little Billy’s grandfather had been Dale’s youngest brother. “How’re you doin’, boy?” he muttered through a scraggly white beard that had scandalized David’s mother when he had started it the previous winter. He shook both their hands, then regarded Alec for a thoughtful moment before reaching out to tweak the taller boy’s earring. Alec blushed fiercely and set frantically to removing it.
The old man stuck out a wiry arm and stopped him. “Don’t bother
me
none, boy. It’s
your
ear; you’re the one that’s gotta put up with whatever folks sez about it. If it ’uz me, I believe I’d just stick with a plain old gold ring, though; them dangly kind is askin’ for trouble. Being a modern-day pirate’s one thing, but I’m not sure the Lord’d like his cross a hangin’ down like that.” He looked back at David and cocked a grizzled eyebrow. “Surprised you ain’t got one of them doodads, Davy.”
David scratched his nose. “Well, Alec kind of beat me to it, and…well, you know me—I never have liked to copy anybody.”
“Now,
that’s
the truth!” Uncle Dale agreed. “You always was an original. I always said they broke the mold when they made you—both before and after; durin’ too, maybe. Somebody put in a double dose of craziness—and then felt bad about it, so they added a good-sized pinch of smarts to balance it off—that, and two or three other good things I’d best not mention. Wouldn’t do for you to get the big head.”
Alec couldn’t resist a gibe: “Too bad they didn’t put in more fertilizer.”
David, who was sensitive about his lack of height, shot his friend a scathing glare. “I’ll remember that, McLean, next time you want to run or wrestle or swim or—”
“Or play basketball?” Alec inserted smoothly, drawing himself up to display a clear three-inch height advantage.
“Better quit while you’re ahead, Davy,” Uncle Dale cautioned. “Now let’s get a look at that car.”
*
Ten minutes later they were traveling again, the four of them crowded into the cab of the pickup, with Alec in the middle and Little Billy scrunched up in David’s lap. The Mustang dangled forlornly behind, its front end suspended by ropes and chains from the old truck’s wooden bumper. It was a solution more functional than elegant—not that the Mustang looked very elegant, just then. Little Billy was playing with a
289
emblem he had salvaged from the mangled fender.
“Guess what, Davy!” the little boy exclaimed suddenly.
“I give.”
“You ain’t even gonna
guess
?”
David shook his head. “Nah, you’re too smart for me, kid. Better just go ahead and tell me.”
Little Billy looked a trifle disappointed. “They’s guppies over in MacTyrie.”
David frowned his confusion. “Guppies?” He glanced at Uncle Dale. “Somebody opened a pet store, is that it? You wantin’ a goldfish or something?”
“No, Davy,” Little Billy said patiently. You know. Guppies. Them fortuneteller folks with the colored wagons and the horses.”
“Oh!
Gypsies
!”
“That’s what I said: Gippies.”
“Jip-sees,”
David enunciated clearly. “Short for
‘Ee-jip-shun,’
supposed to be, you know—like that Bangles song.”
“I don’t know about that,” Uncle Dale interjected. “But one of his buddies saw ’em and told him about ’em at Sunday school, and he’s been about to pee in his pants to see ’em. What with helpin’ your pa, I ain’t had time to take him. Bill ain’t too keen on him goin’, if you want to know the truth, so I figured maybe you could scope ’em out when you run Alec home, an’ if you thought it was a fit place for a young boy, you could take him later. Get his fortune told or somethin’.”
David ruffled the little boy’s fair hair; mischief sparkled on his face. “Sell him, maybe? Reckon I could get a good price for him? Wanta go halves on the profit?”
Uncle Dale chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Way he’s been cuttin’ up lately, might not be such a bad idea. Way he’s growin’, won’t be able to feed him much longer nohow.”
Little Billy’s blue eyes had grown larger by the moment. He stared at David suspiciously. “You puttin’ me on again?”
David feigned innocence.
“
Moi?”
“Vous,”
said Uncle Dale unexpectedly, his smug yellow-toothed grin countering David’s suddenly shocked expression. “I’ve got me a little bit of book learnin’, too.”
“I’ll remember that.”
The old man aimed a hard look at David. “Course you might not ought to go either, Davy. I’ve heard a tale or two about them Gypsy women. Love potions, an’ all. Supposed to be ’specially fond of fresh young blond boys like you. You ain’t careful, you’re liable to come out different from how you went in. Come to think of it, you go messin’ with the women, you almost
bound
to come out different—p’ticularly if the men catch you at it.”
Alec giggled. “I’ve been trying to get him to take care of
that
problem all summer, but he won’t listen.”
David jabbed an elbow into his friend’s side.
Uncle Dale’s eyebrows lifted expressively. “You better watch your step, too, little Alec. However fresh Davy is, I don’t allow you’re any riper.”
“What’re you all talkin’ about?” Little Billy inquired.
David tickled his ribs. “Don’t play innocent, kid.”
“Moi?”
Little Billy replied, exactly aping David’s previous intonation.
They were nearing Sullivan Cove now, putt-putting down the last bit of mountain before they came to the long straight that bisected Big Billy’s riverbottom. David found himself tensing. Somewhere in here was another Straight Track—the very one, in fact, on which he had first encountered the Sidhe. The curve was in sight: the place where it crossed the highway. He held his breath, tried to focus the Sight. But there was no need, for his eyes took on the familiar tingle even as the ring warmed slightly upon his chest.
It was before him, then: a straight strip of golden light maybe ten feet wide that seemed at once to lie upon the land and to float in the air above it. Shapes slithered along its surface like the shifting arabesques oil will form on water. As nonchalantly as he could David clapped his hand across his shirtfront, fearful the ring might betray itself with a display of sudden radiance. Much to his relief, however, the prickle of heat brought no accompanying flicker.
The Track was closer—closer, then beneath, and then they were past. David saw Uncle Dale blink a time or two, Alec flinched involuntarily, and then it was over. He exhaled carefully as the truck came onto the straightaway.
Only then did he realize that he’d been holding his breath, though for what reason he had no notion. He didn’t know all the workings of the Tracks—nobody did, not even the Sidhe. But he was reasonably certain this one presented no real danger. Yet the Crazy Deer had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. He’d grown complacent about the things of Faerie, he realized, and that was very dangerous.
Uncle Dale ground into a higher gear, and the truck lurched forward a little more energetically. Something banged behind them, and David risked a furtive glance through the backlight.
“What kinda mood’s Pa in?” he asked finally.
The old man shrugged and continued sawing at the steering wheel. “Bill’s himself, I reckon. He’ll be glad to see you and not want you to know that he is.”
David braced himself as the truck slowed to turn left onto the dirty, red-brown gravel of the Sullivan Cove road. “You tell him anything about the wreck?”
The old man nodded. “Had to. Couldn’t hide it. Had a word or two to say ’bout your drivin’s all.”
“What do
you
think about my driving?”
“I think a boy’s gonna go fast till he learns to slow down. Given that, I’d rather you went fast in a car made to go fast than in somethin’ that ain’t. If you’d been drivin’ your mama’s car you’d’ve been off the mountainside, ’stead of in the ditch.”
“I’d have been driving Mama’s car, I’d still be down around Macon.”
“Well, wherever you might have been, Davy,” Alec observed pointedly, as they jolted up the rutted slope of abandoned logging road that was the Sullivans’ driveway, “you’re home now.”
From where it sat high on a steep grassy hill, the faded white farmhouse seemed almost sentient, a spot of light standing guard against the dark forested heights behind it.
JoAnne Sullivan, David’s mother, was waiting in the yard when they pulled up. She looked the same as ever: short blonde hair above dark tanned skin; crinkle lines showing on a face that had once held remarkable beauty and still attracted admiring glances; slender body, work-hardened and dressed in faded jeans, a sleeveless pullover blouse, and worn Sears sneakers. She gave him a hearty hug, rather to David’s surprise—usually she was reserved about displays of emotion. Then, truly to David’s amazement, she embraced Alec. David risked a glance at Alec’s ear and was relieved to discover that the dangling ornament was nowhere to be seen.
“Looks like the flatlands agreed with you,” JoAnne said decisively. “Both of you browner’n a nice plate of biscuits. Looks like you both put on a little weight, too. I figured you’d come back looking like toothpicks with fuzz on top.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “And speakin’ of fuzz, what’s that on your lip, Alec McLean?”
Alec jumped self-consciously and fingered the soft growth above his mouth. He colored slightly. “Oh, nothing… Caterpillar crawled up there and went to sleep, I guess. Just couldn’t bring myself to bother it.”
“Looks to me like it died and fell away to dust.” JoAnne snorted. “Now get on inside, boys—it’s too early for supper, but I thought you might like a brownie or two.”
David hung back, staring at his car.
His mother followed his line of sight. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed him hard. “Too bad about your car, hon, but that kind of thing happens. It’ll get fixed sooner or later. Till then you can drive mine: I’ve started doin’ take-home piecework from that Clifton Precision plant up in North Carolina, so I don’t need it but two days a week now.” She released him and headed up the back porch steps.
“I’ll have to be gone more often,” David whispered to Alec as he retrieved his suitcase and followed her. “She ain’t been this nice in ages.”
A tall shape filled the doorway ahead as Big Billy pushed aside the screen and sauntered onto the porch. As was usual in the summer, he wore no shirt. David looked up at him. How could his father be so tall and himself so short, he wondered. Maybe the mailman was involved, or something. But he knew that wasn’t true, for such speculation denied the reality of Big Billy’s dark blue eyes and level black brows, and denied as well that under forty pounds of muscle and thirty more of flab, the cut of Big Billy’s jaw and the clean angles of his nose and cheekbones were exactly the same as his son’s. Only the hair was different: JoAnne’s blonde had overridden Big Billy’s fiery red.
An uneven grin jagged across Big Billy’s face. “’Bout time you got here, boy; I been saving chores for you all summer. Ain’t mucked out the barn since you’uz gone.”
David’s face fell. He’d expected as much, but
this
soon?
The grin altered into a rather foolish smile as Big Billy grabbed David in a bear hug and lifted him far off the ground. “Just teasin’, boy. How’re you doin’?”
David grinned back somewhat breathlessly, though he knew that the reference to the barn was probably accurate, and that he’d have about one day of grace before the rural life closed in on him in painful earnest.
As he dropped David roughly to the ground, Big Billy’s gaze fell on Alec. “And Mr. McLean—you lookin’ right healthy, too.”
Alec paled a little and found something to look at on the ground. “Thank you, sir.”
Big Billy raised his eyes to survey the pickup truck and the lamed Mustang. He pursed his lips and frowned, then looked back at David. “Well, car don’t look
too
bad. I’m right glad to see you made it home in one piece. I s’pect you’ll appreciate the fixin’ money too—when you get done earnin’ it.” He poked a stubby finger in the middle of David’s chest.
“Monday mornin’,
boy. Bright and early. You and me in the sorghum patch. Dawn till we get finished, you understand?”
David sighed dramatically.
His father held up a warning hand. “None of that. You did it, it’s yours to set right. Now then. Get you something to snack on, and run your buddy home. And then you hightail it back here in time for supper.”
“Okay if I check out the Gypsies when I’m over in MacTyrie?” Big Billy’s face hardened. “You might as well, since I’m sure you will anyway, whatever I say. But you get on back here by suppertime, you hear that? We’ve still got a thing or two to discuss about your drivin’.” He slapped David hard on the fanny. “Might have to converse with your backside while I’m at it, too—memory tends to last a little longer that way.” He laughed, as if to prove he wasn’t serious, then paused, staring at his son’s downcast expression. “Well, hell, boy, don’t look like that. I’m glad to have you home sure enough, and I hate to come down on you so hard so soon, but it’s for your own good, and you know it. One day of grace, and then it’s me and you in the fields. Deal?”