Gary was at the fair, and Aikin was out of town, which, of his close friends, left only Liz—but he certainly wasn’t going to call
her
,
even assuming she was home; even though he knew she’d probably lend a sympathetic ear. He simply wasn’t ready for that yet, not to deal with the person who had sundered him from his brother.
No, you fool, don’t think like that; that’s selfish.
Yet he did think like that, couldn’t help it. Logic and emotion were at war in him—had been all summer—and right now emotion was winning. Which, for better or worse, left him back where he’d started: with good old Mad Davy Sullivan.
Reluctantly Alec dialed the number, heard the phone ring twice before it was picked up.
“’Lo?” a heavy voice grunted.
Damn.
It was Big Billy.
“Uh…uh,
yeah,” he stammered. “Uh, this is Alec.
Is…
is David there?”
“Nope,” Big Billy rumbled. “Gone runnin’ or somethin’.”
“Know when he’ll be back?”
“When he
gets
back, I reckon.”
“When’d he leave?”
“While ago.”
“Okay…uh, well…
thanks.”
Alec thumped the receiver into the cradle.
“Crap,”
he groaned and slumped down on the bottom stairstep. What to do, what to do? The one thing he was certain of was that he had to get out of there.
Abruptly he stood, pushed through the front door.
“Where’re you going?” his mother called from the kitchen.
“Out,” he said, and slammed the screen over her surprised protests that his dad would be home in a minute and they’d have supper. A moment later, he was hurtling the new 760 over the back route to David’s, driving faster than he’d ever dared.
Chapter VI: Secrets
By the time Alec eased the co-opted Volvo between David’s battered Mustang and Big Billy’s pickup truck, he was his old self again—almost. He had sublimated most of his anger, mastered most of his hurt; had finally stopped along the roadside to wipe the embarrassing tears from his eyes and cheeks, and to comb his hair: in short, to present the image of calm rationality that was his normal persona. When he sprinted up the back steps, he had even managed to coax a casual smile to his face.
The smile persisted as he knocked on the screen door and waited, though he could see David’s mom fumbling around at the stove. An idle sideways glance showed him laundry flapping on the line: jeans and T-shirts and a sleeping bag he didn’t recall.
He had just started to puzzle over that when JoAnne Sullivan opened the door.
“Hey, Alec,” she said without enthusiasm. “Come on in.”
Alec nodded, used to her occasional coolness, and slumped into a kitchen that was empty except for the two of them, which only added to his apprehension. He wondered where everybody was. Big Billy, he supposed, was off fooling around with the cows or some such; it was that time of day. And David probably was too, if he was back. The daily milking was officially one of his chores, though one he loathed and frequently evaded. Even Little Billy was absent, though he could hear the closing theme from
“The Real Ghostbusters”
thumping along in the adjoining den. Uncle Dale, he imagined, was home sparking.
“David around?” Alec ventured, wrinkling his nose appreciatively at the scent of pork chops frying.
“Somewhere,” JoAnne replied absently, handing him a cookie he had not requested.
“Mind if I check his room?” Without waiting for permission, he stood, but just as he did a door opened in the darkened hallway opposite his chair. An instant later David emerged and sauntered toward him, head obscured by the mass of towel he was applying to his hair with considerable vigor with one hand while he shook out a plain white T-shirt with the other.
Alec was already stepping forward when the figure came into the light: jet-black hair, bare reddish skin above jeans that were far too tight, some kind of small leather bag flopping against the
chest…
“You’re not David!” he blurted before he could stop himself.
“No, I’m Calvin,” the stranger replied, extending a still-damp hand. “Calvin McIntosh.”
Alec was dumbfounded. Who in the hell was
this?
Not one of the family, that was for sure, because this fellow was obviously a Native American, and he was certain that David had no such kin. No way he’d not have bragged about it.
“Calvin’s stayin’ here tonight,” JoAnne volunteered, as Alec took the proffered hand without really feeling it. “David found him up on the mountain and invited him home for supper ’n washin’.”
“Yeah.” Calvin grinned. “He loaned me these britches while mine’re drying. Little snug through the fanny, though.”
Alec glanced down. Sure enough, those were David’s jeans, his brand-new 501s.
That
was a sign of more than casual favor. “Looks like it,” he mumbled.
“You must be Alec,” Calvin said, still grinning ingratiatingly.
Alec started at that. He hadn’t introduced himself, and that was rude—not that he much cared just then. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered.
“Thought you must be, since you’re pretty obviously not the famous Liz. David’s told me a lot about you.”
“Yeah, I bet. Where is the big D, anyway?”
“Milkin’, I reckon,” JoAnne offered over the sudden crackle of flour being added to grease to make gravy.
Calvin stuffed the towel in the washing machine and slipped into the T-shirt, which was also too snug. “I was just goin’ out there, wanta join me? You don’t need anything, do you, Mama Sullivan?”
Alec stiffened. Who did this guy think he was, wearing David’s clothes like they belonged to him, acting like he lived there, assuming an easy familiarity with David’s mother that Alec never achieved in the years of his and David’s friendship. And now asking
him
if he wanted to join them like he was some kind of tagalong? No thanks. No bloody thanks!
“Uh, I don’t think so,” he muttered, slumping against the wall. “I just thought I’d drop by—but if you folks’re
busy…”
“Nope,” Calvin assured him. “Not me anyway, though I ’spect Dave’s dad’s got a big day planned for me tomorrow. But hey, isn’t your last name McLean, or something?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, so maybe we’re related.”
“But
you’re…”
“An Indian?” Calvin supplied with practiced smoothness. “Sure, but we’ve got last names too, and lots of ’em around here married Scots.”
“Oh yeah, like old William McIntosh, and all. Wasn’t he the one who sold his people down the river?”
“And got killed for it. Yeah, but he’s no kin.”
“Oh…”
“He was a Creek, for one thing; I’m Cherokee.”
“So? You could still be
related…”
“Creeks and Cherokee were enemies,” Calvin replied flatly.
Alec didn’t know what to say. He’d come here looking for comfort and an end to confusion, and had found more trouble instead—and had just made an utter fool of himself in the bargain.
“I could tell you the whole story, if you want,” Calvin volunteered. Evidently Alec’s
faux pas
hadn’t bothered him—or else he was playing games too.
“Can’t right now,” Alec grunted. “I kinda need to talk to David.”
As if in reply, footsteps sounded on the back porch, and David shouldered awkwardly into the room, a pail of fresh milk swinging from either hand. He staggered over to the kitchen counter and set them beside his mother, then turned, rubbing his fingers to return the circulation. “Hey, Alec, my man, what’s hap’nin’? I see you’ve met our resident redskin!”
Alec’s gaze darted toward Calvin. He frowned minutely. “Yeah, we’ve met.”
David’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I
was…
occupied.” He put a particular stress on the final word and lifted an eyebrow slightly.
Sidhe?
Alec mouthed where no one could see him.
David nodded. “Tell you later,” then paused and studied Alec’s face for a moment. “’Scuse us a minute,” he sighed to Calvin, then grabbed his friend by the arm and pushed through the screen door again. Once on the porch he bent close and whispered in Alec’s ear, “I was
summoned,
Alec, to meet with Nuada. That’s why I was in such a hurry when I saw you at the fair. Fionchadd and Oisin were there. Claimed they wanted to teach me sword fighting—which they did, or tried. But I think something else is up. They looked
real
worried. Like I said, I’ll tell you more when I can. This isn’t exactly the best of times, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Alec wrinkled his nose sourly. That was all he needed: one more bit of exotica competing for David’s attention. Maybe if he dyed his skin blue or took up skydiving or something…
David clapped a comradely arm across his shoulders. “So have a seat; stay for supper. Calvin is.”
“No thanks,” Alec said abruptly. “I—I really did need to talk to you, but I guess you’re right about this not being a good time. Maybe I’d just better leave.”
David eyed him levelly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, David—fine as I
can
be. Everything’s just hunky-dory.”
“The hell it is! You wanta tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“Oh, just that goddamn
Darrell…that…
that. Oh, just
everything!”
He pushed past David and paused at the edge of the porch, barely missing the yellow tomcat that had come out looking for the ear-scratching Alec usually gave it, and found itself almost flattened instead.
“Alec!”
“Oh, just
forget
it! I’m not fit to be around right now, anyway.”
David caught him by the arm.
“What in God’s name’s
up
with you, McLean? You on the rag, or something?”
“That’s
it
!”
Alec shouted, and bolted down the steps. For once he was able to outrun his friend and was already in the Volvo and accelerating away before David could catch up with him. The buzzing of the seatbelt reminder was an irritant he contemptuously ignored.
*
“Sorry ’bout that,” David said to Calvin, when he had slumped back into the kitchen. “He’s not usually like that, but—well, I guess things haven’t been goin’ too good for him lately.” He sprawled into a chair and sat staring at the cup of coffee Calvin had poured himself.
“It’s ’cause David’s got a
girlfriend
,”
Little Billy proclaimed loudly, appearing from nowhere to scoot past and steal another cookie. “He’s jealous. Jealous Alec! Jealous Alec!” he continued, as he fled the room with his booty. The TV skipped across three channels before settling on what sounded like “Win, Lose, or Draw.”
“Smart kid,” Calvin observed, stirring in a second sugar.
“No joke!” David nodded, grateful his mother had stepped out for the moment, or she might be adding her own none-too-kind opinions. “Unfortunately, I’m beginning to think it’s true.” He started to get up to strain the milk, but Calvin held him back with a firm grip on his forearm. “It’s not ’cause of me, is it? I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your buddies.”
David removed the hand gently. “No problem. He gets like that sometimes. Me and him’ve been best friends forever, and—well, maybe Little Billy’s right. I’ve got a lady now, and I guess my priorities
have
kinda changed. It’s not that I don’t still like him, or anything—shoot, I love him like a brother. But I guess maybe it’s time he started making his own way and didn’t rely so much on me.”
Calvin finished his coffee and stood. “Maybe I’d better move on.”
“Bullhockey, man,” David cried, pushing him back down. “Sit still! You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Your clothes’re still wet—and besides, if you don’t do tomorrow’s chores I’ll have to.”
“I don’t
know…”
David folded his arms and regarded him frankly. “Okay, tell you what: You stay through Uncle Dale’s party, then you can get on your way. That’s only one day. He’s somebody you need to meet anyway; knows a whole lot about the Indians up here and all.”
Calvin stuck out his hand. “Treaty time, man.”
“Huh?”
“Time for compromise. I’ll stay. But not here, I’ll camp up on the mountain.”
“You will not!”
“I will too. Besides, I heard your mom say she’d need all the beds she had for the weekend.”
“Okay, then; but at least stay up on Lookout. Me and Alec’ve got a lean-to built up there.”
“Yeah, I saw that. You got a blanket I can borrow? My bag’s not dry yet.”
“Do you one better, I’ll lend you mine.”
“I’d ’preciate it.”
David levered himself up and led the way to his room. Calvin had not been there before, having gone immediately to claim the promised hot shower after quick introductions and a snack in the kitchen. David bent over and began sorting through the detritus in his closet, while the Indian wandered about the small room, ex
amining
David’s odds and ends curiously. He paused by the bookshelf and scanned the tides. “Shoot, you weren’t foolin’, were you?
Dune
and
Stranger in a Strange Land
and—Jesus, you’ve even got the old Ace edition of Tolkien!”