Boys of Blur (14 page)

“Honey, those Gren’ve got no speech left of their own, so they hate noise like nothing else. That hate draws them.”

Charlie inflated his cheeks and sat up. What on earth was he thinking?

I’d rather die than not try
.

Seriously? Was that true? He had meant it when he said it. But only because Cotton had been lying right there looking dead. Because Cotton had saved him. If Charlie could be somewhere else and not know about any of this, if he’d never met Cotton …

But he did know. He had met Cotton, and Cotton had met him. When Mack had come, Charlie Reynolds had suddenly become more of a son than he had ever been before. When Molly had come, she had turned Charlie into a brother, adding deep loves and loyalties to who he was without asking his permission first.

Cotton had made Charlie a cousin. That could never be undone. And by tomorrow, Cotton would be alive or dead. And Charlie would have risked his own life for his cousin, or he wouldn’t have. Which was just … nuts. It shouldn’t be that way. He was only a kid.

“These creatures are made of envy, raw and ruthless,” Mother Wisdom had told him. “Still, their greatest strength lies in
our
envy—their poison can grow that envy until it swallows you whole from the inside. But you’re going as a giver, willing to give your life for another, and, honey, that brings its own protection. Picture Cotton with
the gift you want to give him—a happy life—and even in the thickest stench, your mind might stay clear.”

The rain had slowed and almost stopped. Accumulated drizzle dribbled down Charlie’s neck and he shivered. Sugar was staring at him, but he looked quickly away from Charlie’s eyes.

“How did you find that place?” Charlie asked.

Sugar swiveled the motor and slid the boat between a cluster of young trees.

“I got lost once,” Sugar said. “I was only eleven. Jumped a cane train and couldn’t find my way back. When it got dark, I went a little crazy. Saw things. Nightmare stuff. I don’t remember much. I woke up a week and a half later in a hospital two towns away.” He turned the boat slowly, winding through trees, and then grimaced when the rail thumped against a ragged stump. “From then on, I had all these tree house dreams. Mother Wisdom was in all of them, taking care of me and singing.”

“And kissing your head,” Charlie said.

Sugar laughed. “Yeah, well, two years later, I asked her about it. I told her what I’d dreamed.”

“And she told you?” Charlie asked. “Just like that?”

“Mother Wisdom doesn’t lie,” Sugar said. “Not when she’s asked straight up. I had a pretty good idea of where it was after that.”

The trees around them were finally thinning. Charlie turned and got his first glimpse of Lake Okeechobee—water,
water, and more water. The lake had no edges but the sky itself, bending its back with the planet’s curve, hiding its banks behind horizons.

Sugar turned the boat and throttled the engine all the way down. He let the little aluminum shell drift as they took in the view.

Charlie glanced back at him. “I know it’s insane,” he said, “but we should hurry. I haven’t even gotten started until I get all the way to the swamp past the church.”

Sugar burst out laughing. “Did you really think I was going to send you off on your secret swamp mission? No way. Everyone loves Mother Wisdom, but Mack is
Coach
. He would seriously kill me if I found you and then let you take off again.”

Charlie’s mouth fell open. For a moment, relief flooded through him, but it was just as suddenly gone. Charlie closed his mouth as Sugar throttled the engine back up and the boat surged forward through the drizzling rain and the fading daylight.

Bouncing in the bow, clutching his bag, Charlie was cold all the way from his wet skin to his shivering bones. Every time he blinked, he saw Cotton—made of clay, bloodless and still. He pictured another stone box sliding beneath dark water, one with coz carved on the top.

Eventually, the trees were gone, replaced with acres and acres of needle-tipped grass. The grass finally thinned
and the boat slowed, turning into a narrow channel of water with green on both sides.

And Charlie was starting to feel sick. His head was lighter and his stomach was gurgling, threatening to knot. Pressure was building behind his eyebrows. His eyes felt hot, but the rest of him was cold.

Mrs. Wisdom had been right. Or maybe he was just boatsick. He hoped.

“We’re south of Taper,” Sugar said. “We’ll double back up the canal by the dike.”

As they entered the deep canal that lined the lake, Charlie scanned the dike. It was too tall for him to see anything behind it. Above it, he could see the distant aura of bright lights. Above the light, a helicopter was circling with a spotlight sweeping down from its belly.

“What’s with all the light?” Charlie asked.

“Friday,” Sugar said. “Football. First home game without Coach Wiz since I don’t know when.”

“Really?” Charlie asked. “Still?” He couldn’t imagine people playing a game right now.

“Football and church,” Sugar said, “don’t cancel for nobody.”

“The chopper?” Charlie asked. “Is it looking for us?”

“Nah,” Sugar said. “Just for trouble. Town needs a game right now. Last couple days, people been hating in Taper like I’ve never seen. Craziness. Houses been broke into,
diner got burned, every nice car in town been smashed up, muggings, two shootings. And the whole place keeps stinkin’ up like skunk and sewer line.”

“Envy,” said Charlie. He wiped rain from his forehead and tried not to shiver.

“Rivalry game,” Sugar said. “According to the cops.”

“Mack’s there?” Charlie asked. “At the lights?”

“Nah,” said Sugar. “But someone there will know how to reach him. He hasn’t stopped looking for you, not even to breathe.” Sugar turned the boat and killed the motor. They were drifting sideways toward a dock in the shadow of the dike. Sugar stood up and stepped to the rail, leaning out over the water, stretching a long arm toward the dock. His throwing arm.

“Hold on,” Charlie said suddenly. “What time does the game start? Why aren’t you there?”

Sugar was silent. He pulled the boat up against the dock and held it while Charlie climbed out. Charlie watched him loop a rope around a dock cleat and then cinch it tight. The older boy dragged his arm across his forehead and sat back down. He picked up a stained and frayed ball cap from the bottom of the boat, pushed back his dark hair, and pulled it on. He didn’t look at Charlie once through the whole process.

“What is it?” Charlie asked. “What’s wrong?”

Sugar pulled his hat back off and stuck it on his knee.
He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. When he spoke, it was to the bottom of the boat.

“I’ve hated you for a long time, Charlie. Probably as long as you’ve been alive.”

Charlie blinked and took one step back.

Sugar finally looked up. “But now … well, now I don’t.”

“Why would you hate me?” Charlie asked. “We’ve never met before. I’ve never even been to this place.”

Sugar exhaled long and slow. “Charlie … I’m your brother.”

Charlie shook his head. “I don’t—”

“Your dad,
our
dad, put a ring on my mom’s finger when they were both in high school, before he left for college. They set a date. But then he hit the big time and was gone for good. She even bought a dress. When I was little, she would hang his football pictures in my room. When I was four, she took me to bars to watch his games on TV, bought me team gear from those fools who drafted him into the pros. Told me that my daddy was rich and famous and amazing.” Sugar’s voice dripped anger. He clenched his knees and rocked slowly where he sat.

Charlie was numb. He wiped drizzle from his eyes. Whispered through the distance, he could hear cheering. Drums. Chanting.

Sugar stared hard at Charlie.

“He never answered her letters. Never took her calls.
So my mom saved up money and then put me in a car, and we went looking for Bobby Reynolds. She still wore that stupid ring. We waited outside stadiums after games. I finally met him standing beside a team bus. He was surprised to see my mom. He looked terrified to see me. He told her never to come around again, that he’d gotten married. That he had his own son.” Sugar laughed. “Looked right at me and said it. ‘I have my own son.’ I was five.”

Sugar stood up in the rocking boat, smiled at Charlie, and shrugged. “So I hated you. For the next few years, I was birthday-wishing you dead so he would come back. My mom throws her ring in the swamp, burns her dress, moves us up the muck to Taper—where everyone already hated Bobby Reynolds—and then marries her fat old boss. Pretty soon after, Bobby Reynolds blows up hard and awful, goes to jail, and the next thing I know, I’m eleven years old and the word goes round that Bobby Reynolds is coming back to the muck. And even though he never calls and never comes by, I was just glad that you didn’t have him anymore. You and me, we were finally even. Until I see a picture of you from the paper. People cut it out and stuck it up in just about every window in Taper. It’s still under the glass by the cash register in the hardware store. Mack has his arm around your mom, and he’s in his pads and he’s covered with sweat and champagne and confetti, and he has you sitting up on his shoulder. And the caption says something simple like, ‘Prester Mack celebrates with
wife, Natalie, and son, Charlie.’ I don’t know how old you were.…”

“Eight,” Charlie said, and he swallowed hard. He was feeling dizzy. And he was sweating, even in the cool, wet air. He could taste the salt on his lips. “Sugar, I—”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you all this right now. It’s just I’ve been sitting on it so long, and when you came to town, I was hoping for a chance.” Sugar hopped up onto the dock. “It’s not your fault. Coach Wiz got my head mostly straight when I hit high school, but when I saw you with Mack at the funeral, I was scared I might start hating you again. But I didn’t. You were just … my little brother. I hadn’t even thought about that part. I have a brother. That’s why I’m not at the game. That’s why I’ve been out looking for you.”

“Sugar—” Charlie said. His ankle throbbed. His knee wobbled.

“Half brother.” Sugar smiled. “I know. But out here …”

“…  brothers is brothers,” Charlie finished. “I’m going to be sick.”

For a split second, Sugar looked insulted. And then Charlie slipped onto his knees, flopped onto his belly, and threw up in the canal.

Charlie stared at the spatter on the water. He felt better empty and lying down. It kept the blood in his head.

But the water reeked. Even worse than his own chuck. Like sewage or something nastier. He snorted and spat and watched the dark ripples carry it away.

Sugar. His brother. He wondered if Mack knew. Why would he? It was strange and awkward and …

The smell was getting worse.

Why should Sugar hate him? Charlie was the one who’d gotten kicked around. Sugar was the lucky one. Of course Mack knew Sugar was his brother. He knew when he had Sugar throw that ball to Charlie. Mack had wanted to embarrass him, to show his older brother that Charlie was just an uncoordinated little tick.

Charlie blinked. That wasn’t like Mack at all. He scrambled up to his knees. Sugar was standing above him with his hands on his hips. His lip was curling.

“You know, you reek.” Sugar sneered. “Forget everything I just said. I should throw you into the canal right now.
Bro
.”

“No!” Charlie shook his head. He pointed past his brother. Sugar turned. A man stood twenty feet away on the narrow ramp between the dock and the bank. He was wearing a ragged cape of rotting raccoon skins, a pair of ripped-up pleated dress slacks, one shoe, and nothing else. A mass of mud ran up his torso and into his clumped and tangled beard.

Sugar took a step back. “Who are you?”

“Stank,” Charlie said. He climbed to his feet. “He’s one of the Stanks. Whatever bad things you’re thinking right now, ignore them. It’s the smell.”

Sugar gagged. His eyes were hot with hate and his fists were balled.

Charlie was panting through his mouth, trying to ignore thoughts as quickly as they spattered across his mind.

The Gren pulled a massive hooked club over his shoulder and pointed it at the boys. But he didn’t step onto the dock.

Why wasn’t the Gren attacking?

“The water,” Charlie said. “Mrs. Wiz said to get them into deep water.”

Mack eased out of his new car and stood in the open door with one arm on the roof. The headlights shone on a slumping, flat-roofed shack. A crumbling chimney decorated one end of the little building, and a cockeyed door was almost centered between two small windows. A light was on inside.

Mack’s wipers squeaked across his windshield and went back to sleep. For just a moment, he shut his eyes and felt the rain. His stomach held nothing but coffee, and he needed sleep. His throat was raw from yelling in the cane and in the glades and at the sheriff. He’d almost gotten himself arrested.

He glanced into the backseat of the car. Natalie hadn’t wanted to be in front. She hadn’t wanted to be seen. She was leaning forward, peering through the windshield. Molly was asleep in the car seat beside her.