Call Me Amy (5 page)

After I finally drifted off, soft music woke me with a start. I dove over and turned off “Crocodile Rock” before the sound could reach my sleeping family. Grabbing a flashlight and my sneakers, I listened to Nancy's snoring for a moment at her door. Then I tiptoed down the stairs, stretching over the creaky third step.

Once outside, I slipped into my sneakers. Racing down the hill under the dark pines gave me the creeps, but once I broke through to the road, I saw it was almost a full moon and quite bright. My heart jumped into my throat when a rabbit darted across the road.

For courage, I began talking out loud. “Well, at least it's small. Better than a humongous moose at this hour.” Then I told myself sternly, “Yikes, don't think about that.” This was the one time I'd rather
not
bump into a moose, no matter how much I loved them. I hurried past Miss Cogshell's shadowy house, then the store, post office, and other dark houses until I reached Craig's.

His garage door was just inching up with him on the inside, his beat-up sneakers showed below. This would take a while. He was obviously trying to be as quiet as possible. I looked around, spotted a little red wagon, and carried it silently to the top of the driveway by the garage. By then I could see Craig up to his shoulders.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Wha . . . ?” The garage door slipped a few inches, then Craig's face peered out from beneath it. “Here,
hold this,” he whispered back, acting like I didn't just scare the living daylights out of him. I reached up and held the door in place while Craig moved in to get Pup, now a blanket-covered lump. He plopped him into the wagon. I inched the heavy door down.

At the last minute, Craig wiggled back under to grab the pool, tugging at it, then lifting to let the water splash down the driveway.

“You can pull the wagon, I'll lug this.” He swung the small plastic pool up over one shoulder.

I didn't say anything, just started pulling that wagon, feeling Craig was lucky I'd come along. He hadn't even thought to bring a flashlight. Pup squirmed under the blanket for a while, and then settled down. The squeaking of the wagon wheels was the only sound as we moved along the gritty road.

In fact, the wagon made so much noise, we didn't hear the one-eyed pick-up truck barreling along until it was almost on top of us. Its lone headlight lit up our miniature convoy.

“Stop, Craig!” I bent over to block Pup. The truck slowed down and the pale face of Sally Johnson's husband peered out through the dirty window. He looked right at Pup who had somehow wiggled more than his nose out from beneath the blanket. Uh oh. My chest pounded and my breath came in quick huffs. The engine rumbled while Ed Johnson studied the scene. I
lowered my head and let my hair hide my face. Would he report us?

However, to my surprise, the old Ford sped up again, and left a trail of dust in its wake. Whew. I guess he thought it was normal for two kids to be out at midnight, pulling a baby seal in a little red wagon.

“Good thing he doesn't have his wife's nose for gossip,” I mumbled, as I gave Pup an extra pat before I tucked him back under the blanket.

“Are you kiddin'?” Craig laughed. “Ed's the one should be worried. Where's he coming from at this hour, driving so wild?”

We started moving towards the pier again, faster than before. In the far distance, the lighthouse periodically shot a faint flicker of light over the dark water. Now that I wasn't alone, I realized how incredibly beautiful late night could be.

After a left turn before Miss Cogshell's house, we groped our way through the trees to the woodshed. I used my flashlight to watch for rocks and sticks that might upset our precious load.

Shoving shrubs aside, I aimed my light high on the old padlock, so Craig could yank it off and open the heavy woodshed door, its rusty hinges too loud for this quiet night. We both grimaced, and for a second we held onto the door, waiting for the house lights to flash on, but the noise must not have been as loud as we imagined. All remained dark.

We squeezed the pool into the woodshed. Then, we lifted Pup out of the wagon, through the door and placed him into the dry pool. There was gray darkness inside, and the moonlight from outside cast strange black shadows on the strewn wood shavings that covered the floor. Craig peered at the rusty tools that lined the workbench, but I had no interest, fearing there would be a zillion spiders. Pup slid about on his plump belly, probably wondering what in the world he was doing there.

“What about water?” I said.

“If there was a jug in here I could fill it at the pier,” said Craig. He looked around and shrugged. “Hey, I can't think of everything.”

Finally, we gave up and knew we'd have to go find a bucket.

As we were leaving, I turned to look back at Pup in the dull moonlight of the open door. His head was lifted high and cocked to one side; two bright eyes watched us. He didn't know we were about to leave him in a dry pool in the pitch dark. I swallowed hard, and then stepped outside.

Craig pulled the big, wood door shut behind him, and hooked it with the broken padlock. I had just turned my flashlight off and was about to tell Craig I would stay and wait with Pup after all, when the light over Miss Cogshell's back entry came on. Inch by inch, her door creaked open.

“Hello-o,” Miss Cogshell called out into the darkness.

I glanced at Craig—silent and staring. I hadn't noticed how cold the night had become. I started to move towards her as she came outside and down the steps, until I felt Craig's hand tighten on my arm.

Moonlight fell on Miss Cogshell's long, loose white hair, and she appeared to be ten feet tall. She gripped her walking stick, and moved a step closer. I held my breath as her giant shadow crept towards us. The cane made a scary silhouette, like she was armed with a dangerous weapon, but then I remembered the handle was only the shape of a turtle named Clyde. My heart still raced and I wondered if Miss Cogshell was frightened, too.

I jerked my arm free of Craig. “It's me, Amy,” I called across the yard.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said.

Craig started to bolt.

“Is someone else with you?” she asked.

“Um.” I watched Craig disappear into the dark trees, and then turned back to Miss Cogshell. “May I talk with you?”

“Of course, come in. I am very curious to find out why you are crashing around my backyard in the dark.” Miss Cogshell went into her house and began turning lights on.

“Come on,” I said, looking to where I figured Craig must be standing.

He suddenly whispered, right in my ear. “Are you gonna tell her?”

I sucked in air and turned. “Don't sneak up on me like that.”

Craig threw up his hands. “I might as well take Pup home before she reports him.”

“Well, we've got to do something.”

I finally convinced him to move towards the house, but as we got nearer, Craig hung back a few steps.

“This stinks. Old Coot's gonna ruin the whole thing,” he said.

“Trust me. Everything will be okay.” I rapped on the glass of the outside door. A moment later Miss Cogshell filled the doorway.

“Amy, what . . . ” she stopped. “Why, you
have
brought a friend.” I turned and saw Craig gawking up at Miss Cogshell as though he had never seen her before. The tallest kid in school suddenly looked short.

“This is Craig. He's got . . . well, we've got a problem.”

“I guess you do,” she said. “Come in—even at midnight, there is nothing that can't be solved with cookies.” I blinked my eyes in the sudden brightness, then scowled at Craig so he'd follow. You'd think we were Hansel and Gretel at the witch's gingerbread house by the length of time it took him to get into the kitchen.

“There's a baby seal, and he's hurt,” I began, as I helped myself to a chocolate chip cookie. I glanced over at Craig, silent for once, who stood with his hands in the pockets of his army jacket. His head was bent as though he read the stack of newspapers beside him. “We thought maybe . . . well, we don't know where to keep him. Craig can't keep him in his garage anymore.”

“In his garage! Well, I should say not,” said Miss Cogshell. “A garage is no place for a seal.” She pushed long, silvery strands back over her shoulder. I had never seen such hair and wondered if all old lady buns held this glory.

Craig looked defiantly at her; his blue eyes blazed. Then he glanced at me with a
told you she wouldn't help us
look.

“There's a legal problem, too,” I added, looking straight at Craig, so he'd explain.

“Yeah, there's some law about it,” he mumbled, shoving his bangs back. “I just want to keep him 'til his flipper heals.”

“A law, you say?” Miss Cogshell scooped up bobby pins from the counter. She twisted a quick ponytail and began to insert the pins into her hair. “Bring him right over,” she said at last.

“Really?” I shrieked. “Oh, I knew you'd help us.” I, who so recently didn't like hugs, felt like throwing my arms around her, but was too aware of Craig standing an inch away in the tiny kitchen.

Miss Cogshell made a shooing motion with her hands and before she could say scat, we rushed through the door, out to the woodshed. We grabbed Pup, stuffed him back in the wagon and bounced him across the yard, Craig ducking beneath the clothesline.

Miss Cogshell watched for us and flung the door open wide, when we arrived. Her hair was caught up now in the usual bun.

Craig lifted him out of the wagon and the three of us went inside. What would Pup think of his new home? I wondered.

“What a cunnin' little thing you are.” Miss Cogshell looked down at Pup's bewhiskered face. “I'll put some nice salt in the tubbie to help your boo-boo.” She kept talking baby talk in this high, squeaky voice. I didn't dare look at Craig because I knew he'd be making a face and I'd burst out laughing.

We got Pup settled in the tub, hung around to watch him check out his new pad for a few minutes, and then flew for home.

T
HE NEXT DAY
, I stopped by to visit Pup and found Craig hanging around near Miss Cogshell's walkway.

“Aren't you going in?” I asked.

“Of course.” Craig shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I came to see Pup.”

After we were inside with Pup and Miss Cogshell, Craig warmed up a bit. Pup was bellying about the linoleum floor, enjoying all the attention. Craig liked to tease him by tickling his nose. Pup gave it right back and once he nipped Craig's finger hard enough to make him wince in pain. Pup licked the wound, and Craig's face softened.

When the cuckoo clock started cuckooing, Craig had to run to the parlor and see what that was all about.

“Hey cool, the bird pops out. Where'd ya get this thing? Looks foreign, like we should be sitting here
chewing on slabs of bread covered in goat cheese, or somethin'.”

Once Craig got talking, I didn't think he'd ever shut up. Miss Cogshell stood there grinning at him, holding her big sides, so I guess she enjoyed him. She sometimes talked a lot herself; however, when someone else was speaking, she gathered up every word in her deep listening way.

D
URING THE WEEKEND
, I stopped by to see Miss Cogshell and Pup several times. Craig was there every time, trying to get Pup to eat. I wished there was something I could do to help. Already, Pup looked thinner.

Once in a while when Craig was in the other room with Pup, I'd sit at the kitchen table and help Miss Cogshell with baking or whatever she was up to.

The stories Miss Cogshell told me about the different china animals and how they came into her collection were so interesting that I often didn't notice the growing dusk outside. One of my favorite tales was about her friend from England. Margie had been stranded on an iceberg while on a scientific expedition in Antarctica. After her safe return, she had sent the tiny penguin to Miss Cogshell.

Miss Cogshell chuckled. “Just a little souvenir. But that wee fellow started up quite an assembly now, didn't he?”

O
N
S
UNDAY NIGHT
, Craig and I left Miss Cogshell's at the same time. We had stayed later than usual. Darkness spilled misty shadows over the port. The harbormaster's truck passed by as we stepped onto the road.

“We'd better be more careful,” I said. “It will look suspicious if we're always coming and going at odd hours.”

Craig laughed. “Suspicious?”

“If he gets wind of Pup, he'll be looking out for strange behavior.”

“I guess.” Craig shoved his hair back. “I'm starving.” He dug through his pockets. “Crud, just an empty Charleston Chew.”

As he pulled out the candy wrapper, something else landed on the ground by my feet. A cigarette. I scrunched up my nose. “What's with that?”

Craig looked at it a moment as though it were some alien being. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I took that from Ma's stash about an hour before I found Pup.”

“You were going to smoke it?” I asked, making another face.

“Well, guess you could say I considered it, but things are different now.” Craig picked up the cigarette and pointed it at me. “Grab the end and make a wish.”

I did and then we pulled, so hard I almost fell backwards. It ripped into three pieces. Craig ended up tossing the whole thing into a nearby barrel. “Don't know what I was thinking. Last thing I wanna be is like my old lady.”

“Well, I guess we both got our wish then,” I said. “The last thing I want is to hang around with someone who smells like an old ashtray.” And then I remembered. “Uh oh, I didn't do my math homework.”

A wide grin spread across Craig's face as he whispered “slack-er” low and slow, close to my ear.

“I'm not! I always do my work.”

“Slaaack-er,” he repeated.