The Summer of Riley (10 page)

“She says it would be good for me to get away. To have fun. She says it’ll spoil it for you and for her if I don’t go.”

“It will,” Grace said. “Who’ll be my partner in the sack race? Not one of my nerdy little brothers, that’s for sure. And Mitch Webster and His Insane Five are playing again.”

“Stephen’s going,” I muttered.

“So? You mean he’ll be my partner in the sack race? Give me a break. He’ll be with your mom.”

I hadn’t told Grace what I’d seen from my hiding
place on the stairs: Mom and Stephen and the way they had their cheeks together as they danced. It was kind of personal and private. Had Mom and my dad ever danced like that?

“Let’s get your mom out here and see what she thinks,” Grace pleaded.

We could hear her inside, talking on the phone to my aunt Jo, who lives in Utah. They talk a lot. They exchange recipes because Aunt Jo is exactly the same kind of cook Mom is; they tell each other secret ways to make delicious vegetable soup by combining three cans and adding sour cream…. “This culinary artistry is part of our genes,” Mom says.

“She’s probably in the middle of an important recipe now,” I told Grace. “And besides, you’re just hoping for two against one. For the picnic …”

I stopped.

Peachie was coming up our driveway. She was wearing her long khaki shorts and a baggy blue- checked shirt that might have been Woodie’s once, and she was carrying a humongous bunch of pink roses. I felt this drench of panic. Why was she coming over here?

“Oh, man,” I whispered. “What now?”

Grace and I stood, waiting.

Peachie stopped at our pond, which was now just
a big dirty, dusty hole in the ground. I could hear this thump, thumping inside of me, like bongo drums. What if I dropped dead right now?

She was coming up the steps.

“Mom,” I called, loud enough and hysterical enough to probably make her cut off from Aunt Jo without even saying good-bye. She pushed through the screen door just as Peachie got to the top step.

“I was just looking at Matthew’s pond,” Peachie said in the saddest voice imaginable. “I miss him.”

Matthew is my grandpa … was.

“I know,” Mom said. “You two were such good friends.” She stepped forward to kiss Peachie’s cheek then said, “Won’t you sit? Here? Grace, can you fluff up the pillow?”

Grace did while I stood, stiff as a zombie.

Peachie held the roses out to Mom, who buried her face in them.

“Peachie. They’re lovely. Thank you.”

And then Peachie said, “Hello, William.”

“Hello.”

“Over here, Peachie.” Grace patted the fluffed-up cushion invitingly.

“Thank you.” She sat.

“May I get you some lemonade?” Mom asked, and Peachie shook her head.

“I’m only staying a minute. I came to tell you that I’m going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh?” Mom sat on the edge of the glider, still holding the roses. “Gone where, Peachie?”

“To my sister’s. She’s hurt her back and she needs me. So the Sultan and I will head on up there for as long as is necessary.” She looked at me. “William, I wanted you to know. And I want you to know that I will be back. This is my home and the Sultan’s, and no one is going to drive us out.”

“I don’t want to drive you out, honest, I don’t,” I said too loudly.

Something skittered across the porch roof. A night bird, maybe.

Mom sat straight. “What do you mean ‘drive you out,’ Peachie?”

“Well, I’m afraid there are some people who would like to see me leave Monk’s Hill,” Peachie said.

“Not me,” I said again. “I don’t think you should leave.”

I saw the glimmer of Peachie’s smile. “Not you, William. I never thought it would be you.”

“But what happened?” Grace was fanning herself with the folded-over checkerboard.

Peachie smoothed her hands over the legs of her shorts. “I’ve been getting e-mail. Several e-mails. None of them very nice. And phone calls. Two in the middle of the night. One man asked how I would like to have my horse put down. He said it didn’t seem to bother me to have someone else’s animal killed, just because I was angry at it.”

“But how did they get your e-mail?” Grace asked.

Peachie smacked at a mosquito that had landed on her shirt. “I haven’t been too careful about that, I’m afraid.”

“And who would say such awful things?” Mom asked. “Who?”

Grace groaned. “Some of those guys who signed our petitions were pretty extreme.”

“The other side, too,” I put in quickly.

Peachie turned to face me. “Both sides, I’m sure.”

I was still holding the cigar box. Peachie smiled. “Still beating everybody at checkers, William?”

I nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Remember when you and I used to play? I wiped you out a couple of times, didn’t I?”

I nodded again.

“You should know something before I go,” Peachie said. “I wrote a letter to the commissioners. I told
them that since I now know your dog won’t be coming back here, I’d like to withdraw my complaint.”

“You did?” My heart leaped. “You did?”

Grace jumped up. “Peachie, you are an angel!”

“It didn’t make any difference, William. Their thinking is that a dog like that will do it again, wherever he’s placed. He’d be put up for adoption. They’d have to warn …” She stopped. “He’d be hard to place. They said they’d take it under consideration.”

“Oh, Peachie, Peachie, thank you,” I said. “It’s— it gives me hope!”

“I was very angry when Riley came after my horse.” Peachie’s voice was low and tight. “But time passes. And anger cools. The Sultan is all right. But it’s been a hard time. He and I can both use a break. And I’ll be useful to my sis at the same time.”

She stood. “I hope whatever happens, your dog is allowed to live,” she said to me.

Then to Mom, she said, “Maybe you’ll call me at Ellen’s and let me know.”

“I will. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow, early. I’m already packed up. And one more thing. Will you keep an eye on my house? I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it … you know … if some crazy knew I was gone …”

“At least come over before you go and let us fix you breakfast,” Mom said.

“Thanks.” Peachie smiled. “Thanks. But we’ll just stop and get it on the way.”

She hugged Mom and Grace and held out her hand to me. But then she and I were hugging, too. “I’m sorry you got all those mean e-mails,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry about a lot of things. But sometimes you can’t go back, no matter how much you want to.”

Then she was gone, striding through the moon shadows that lay on our driveway, through the night scent of honeysuckle.

I felt this awful mixture of sorrow and guilt. “Well, she started it,” I said halfheartedly.

Mom shook her head. “Not really”

Grace, looking exactly like a Halloween witch, hissed, “Why don’t you clam up, William? What if she never comes home? What are you going to say then?”

Peachie had reached the gate now, and we watched as she disappeared into the dark beneath the trees.

I
went to the picnic after all, wedged between Mom and Stephen in his truck. I’d decided I couldn’t stay home, staring at all those dead, Xed-out days on my calendar, thinking of Riley, thinking of Peachie. Our kitchen was filled with the smell of her roses.

How could anybody scare her like that? Her all alone and really old and with only the Sultan to protect her? And she
was
scared. She’d just about admitted she was glad of an excuse to leave. What if she did leave forever? Then I could have Riley back. I felt guilty the minute the thought came to me.

I studied her house as we passed. Already it had that not-lived-in look, with the shades drawn and the barn door closed. A soft drizzle was falling, and the sky was gray and mournful.

“I was going to get up early to say good-bye,”
Mom told me. “I set the alarm. I thought about waking you, too, William, and both of us going out to wave to her. But then, well, I didn’t want to make it be like a final parting. You know, make too big a thing of it. She’ll be back.”

I nodded, staring straight ahead at the wipers going back and forth, fanning little wedges of clean glass on Stephen’s dirty windshield. They squeaked out a little rhyme:

I glanced up at Stephen. He was wearing an Oregon Ducks cap and his hair curled out around it.

“Are we going to have fun today, William?” he asked.

I shrugged. My eyes were blurred up, worse than the windows.

Carlisle Park looked sad. Wet dripped off the trees and beaded the tops of the picnic tables. The cars, double-parked all the way around the edges of the grassy field, were slick with rain. We could see
the dark shapes of people inside them, waiting for the drizzle to stop.

Mom opened her door an inch, then closed it again. “It’ll be over soon,” she said. She leaned forward and pointed out the front window at a patch of blue. “Big as a pig’s waistcoat, right, William?”

“Right.” That was one of Dad’s sayings that means if there is even that much blue, the rain will soon drift away.

It did. The blue widened, then widened more. And there was the sun. People streamed out of their cars and trucks like they were bears bursting out of their winter caves.

I’d spotted Grace’s family station wagon earlier, on the other side of the park. Her two little brothers were first out, then Grace. I squeezed past Mom and flailed my arms. “Over here, Grace.”

She came running across the field. “William!” she said breathlessly. “It’s great you changed your mind about coming. Want to go sign up for the Frisbee competition?”

We signed up for everything, the way we do every year. The grass was damp, but not squelchy, and it didn’t bother anybody. “Of course not,” Mom said. “We’re true Oregonians.”

Grace and I ran in the sack race while the Insane Five blasted out some hot salsa music. In about three steps we tripped each other and fell together in a lumpy heap. “You’re not supposed to take
strides,”
Grace scolded. “You’re supposed to hop, William. You’re supposed to coordinate with me.”

We wriggled out of the cold, wet sack. “How about you coordinating with me?” I scolded back.

“I swear, I would have done better with one of my dorky brothers,” Grace grumbled.

“So don’t be my partner next time,” I said. Grace and I go through this every year.

It seemed half of Monk’s Hill had come, never mind the rain. I saw Officer Zemach, who’d taken away Riley on that awful night.

She waved to me and called, “Good luck, William.” I think she meant about Riley and not about the three-legged race coming up next.

Mr. Bingham, the photo shop man, asked if I’d heard anything yet and squeezed my shoulder.

Pete, who owns Pete’s Hardware, said, “William? Are you still planning on finishing that pond? I’ll take back that butyl liner, you know, if you’ve no use for it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m not sure.”

Pete nodded. “Just give me a call.”

Ellis Porter and Duane Smith were sitting on one of the picnic tables. Each time someone fell, they cheered and whistled.

“Typical,” Grace said. “Typical dweeb attitude.”

The adults had their own sack race, and every kid watching turned into a dweeb, too. We catcalled and booed and blew raspberries as they fell. I watched Mom and Stephen. They toppled over quickly, laughing into each other’s faces as they rolled on the wet grass, squirming free of their sack.

In the truck, on the way here, they hadn’t given any hint of the way they’d been last night when they were dancing. There’d been no lovey-dovey looks or anything like that. They hadn’t held hands. Of course, that would have been pretty hard with me sitting between them.

I made myself look away.

Riley would have loved this park, all the space, the trees. But even if we still had him, he couldn’t have come today. Dogs are not invited to the Monk’s Hill Old-fashioned Summertime Picnic. Those that were here were locked into cars with the windows cranked down just enough to tempt them with the day outside.

There was a mockingbird perched on a picnic bench. I played a game with myself. If it flew up into the oak tree, the commissioners would vote for Riley on Monday. If it flew up onto the wire, they’d vote against him. I clenched my fists in my pocket. Fly into the tree, bird. Go to the tree. It hopped onto the grass, darted low into the shrubbery, and disappeared. I told myself it was a stupid game anyway.

I took second place in the Frisbee-throwing competition and Grace took fifth. “Just a fluke,” she told me. “I’m better than you any day.” Grace, to use her own words, has superior self-esteem.

Throwing the Frisbee reminded me of Riley, of course. Everything reminded me of him. But still, I figured being here was probably way better than being alone at home.

We did the Bunny Hop all the way around the field, everybody together, even Ellis Porter and Duane Smith. The Insane Five played and sang some corny song that went “Run, rabbit, run, run, run.”

Mom and Stephen were in front of us. The red ribbon that held her hair back had come loose, and Stephen pulled it all the way off. He lifted her hair from her neck and tied the ribbon back on. The way she turned to smile at him over her shoulder gave me
some kind of pang. I thought his fingers brushed her cheek, but I wasn’t sure. Did I want this? What about Dad? Of course, he had Phoebe now. What was it Mom had said? “Your dad and I parted for good reasons. And for those good reasons we won’t be getting back together.” What was it Peachie had said? “Sometimes you can’t go back.”

It was close to noon now.

Mom and Stephen and Grace’s parents went across to the picnic table where we’d left our stuff. They called us over. “We’re getting ready to eat,” Mom said. “William, we forgot to bring the extra blanket from Stephen’s truck. Will you run and get it?”

Grace’s dad was taking hot dog packages from the freezer chest. “Can you corral your brothers, Gracie? They’re over there in the Flying Dutchman circle.”