Old Enough | Chapter 12

Chapter 12
HUNTING AND MORE

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"Not this time, agent," said the marshal. And Neal wasn't being a peanut, not at all.

He was playing it straight and true. Had the marshal told him he wasn't welcome on the squirrel hunt? No. So what was wrong with showing up at Cabin C and acting like he'd been invited? Sometimes a straight and true move works miracles and the thing you want actually happens. Also, he was pretty into what he was doing. Pretending what you want is sort of like being your own boss and he'd gotten way optimistic so when his real boss said no, he complained. It just came out. First his best and second best friends, then the marshal. Who would be next to let him down? His mother? "But you're just going squirrel hunting," he said. "I won't make any noise. I promise. Please let me come. Delaney won't mind." You don't know what's happening if you aren't there. If you aren't with them and people get hurt or in trouble and need you, how can you know? Hey, Neal wanted to hear what his hero had to say and what the marshal had to say to his hero.

Okay, so he made a fuss. The marshal said, "Molly isn't coming with us."

"Molly's a dog!" He wasn't worried about her! Especially after her fit with the sucker.

Manno! The thing is now you're an agent, now you aren't! He ran and gave the counter by the cash register a good kick. Then he squinted with his brown eye and thumped his dumb Playstation II. The marshal had taken it back to Wal-Mart and gotten it fixed but the games were old and boringus. He was sorry he'd said that about Molly and sorry he'd kicked the counter and thumped the Playstation II but not really sorry. He wasn't really sorry but he wasn't really glad. You can guess what he really was; he was really mad.

"Someone needs to get over it or else," said his mother. You don't believe your mother will take the other side so you joke about it and guess what? She does. You never know. "You need your independence, honey," she told the marshal; "pay no attention and go."

Neal never pushes his mother past or else and the marshal stood up to leave. He waved but Neal looked busy with the red and yellow knobs. Looking busy is easy. If you can pretend you're interested in what you're doing no matter what it is, you can look busy.

Outside or else, he peeled splinters off the picnic table. The marshal and Delaney began at the south fork of Little Walnut Creek. Without talking, they walked the creek bed to the north end of Fairwell property. In the lead, Delaney looked way tall. His long legs covered twice the ground but the marshal kept up. So did Neal. Slithering along slopes in woody shadows, he smelled the River and wasn't surprised to see a favorite bushytail spot, an old basswood tree. Sure enough, they stopped there and he stopped too. Phew!

Quietly he squatted down in a grassy place behind wild raspberry bushes and parted the brush. Just as quietly, the marshal and Delaney settled in for the long haul. You have to be patient when you hunt squirrels. They are lazy but smart. They take their time and think about stuff. If they look out in the morning and don't like what they see, they are liable to stay in their nests until next week or next month. Actually, if you are a squirrel, why not? Hey, people are coming after you to make a stew out of you in a cooking pot!

On the log at their backs, the marshal put the lunch Aunt Ida had packed for them. Remembering the crunchy Jonagold in his bib pocket, Neal made a face. How dumb can you get? If he does secret observation work again he's for sure rethinking his choice of snack. Manno! But there hadn't been enough time. He'd barely had a chance to grab the apple. Still he could have snagged some rat cheese or bread or graham crackers or raisins. Oh, well. Live and learn. If you don't, you might not be ready for your turn.

His head was spinning. The marshal gently wiped off Pa Lightfoot's 22 that Mr. Watch had saved from the auctioneer's block and placed the rifle across his knees. He sat on his heels. Delaney doubled and crossed his legs and propped the rifle that once must have been his grandfather's against his right shoulder. Old guns have had many hands on them. Someday Neal would have his hands on Pa Lightfoot's 22 and okay, he felt awful about what he was doing this day but he sat on his own heels with his ears open. Don't start what you can't finish. For a while they just stared at the old tree. It was a good day for hunting on foot, not too hot and the no seeums and shrat flies weren't as mean as usual. Neal got sleepier and sleepier. This doesn't happen often. Still, it happens.

A squirrel complained. Maybe Neal was asleep for a second but he woke up right away. The marshal nodded towards the patch of paw paws just south of the tree and then at Delaney. Slowly raising the rifle to his cheek, Delaney sighted along it and released the safety. In one motion he stood and pulled the trigger. "Clean shot through the head and fired with a rifle like it ought to be!" said the marshal. "Excellent!" Not for the squirrel. Oh, well. Neal listened to the whistling leaves and snapping branches as the squirrel fell.

He was glad he could hear the marshal. After all, these were the first words said since they'd stopped and you never know. If all you can do is see you might miss parts. You can't tell what's important. It's dangerous to think you can. Okay, you might read lips but never mind about that. Delaney tied the feet that looked like tiny hands onto Tom Jasper's old leather game sling that dangled from his belt loop. Neal didn't look away but he wanted to. He thought of Iris and her chicken business but this was different, or was it? You couldn't just think about each thing; you had to think about how everything fit.

"Aunt Ida says to bring her a mess, cleaned and skinned, and she'll fry our dinner."

"Sounds like a winner." Delaney smiled. "Great-grandmother says the idea of eating game makes her ill. Grandpa said if it tastes good and doesn't kill you, eat what you kill."

"Tom would be proud of you, Delaney."

Game isn't chickens and game isn't fish, not really. You need to be clear about what you like to eat and what you don't like to eat. Fish are Neal's biggest problem. While he likes to catch them and always returns the little guys to get bigger and have their lives too, he knows that often the little bluegill are too hurt from swallowing the hooks to live. And he positively does not like to kill and eat the bigger fish that he keeps except for when Aunt Ida fries catfish and makes hush puppies and then only so long as he doesn't have to help her skin the cat. He hates other fish period, fresh or in a can. Maybe he'll be different when he grows up. His mother says so. She says he'll even like Brussels sprouts. Pete hates eggs. Eggs aren't totally great but okay in the morning. Jaime likes everything.

"Now it's your turn," Delaney told the marshal. His hair had grown and was tied back with a silver ribbon that blended with his green and gray shirt and slacks. Neal wondered how much a camouflage outfit cost. When his mother makes him give her his racing shorts and vest for the wash, he could use some clothes that aren't stupid to wear. Also, you might as well check on things like this when they come up to see if they belong on your list of what you want and if they do, you might as well take time to put them there.

"Squirrel word's out," said the marshal. "You wanted to talk. Shall we eat and talk before we move deeper into the woods? Whatever Aunt Ida fixed for us sure smells good."

"Sounds like the best plan," Delaney said.

The marshal divvied up red plums and meatloaf sandwiches on potato bread. He opened a thermos of cider. Angry yellow jackets, the kind that like meat, showed up and the marshal and Delaney had to swat and yell while they ate and drank but they didn't look like they minded much. Why should they? The cider and lunch looked totally yummy. At least Neal couldn't smell the great food and drink. That would have been worse. To get his mind right, he pulled out his notepad and pencil. He should have had a proper hand-held device for notes. For a second, he dreamed about big pockets in camouflage coats.

Two bites and Delaney finished the sandwich. "I want to tell you a story," he said. "Two weeks before Grandpa Tom died, he took me to the county seat. We had lunch at Jelly's on the square. He was nervous, now I think back on it. At the time, I thought it was the pain. I asked if he needed to see Doc Ravenhill. He told me to eat up and hurry, that we had business to attend to. You remember how impatient he could be. We got to First Farmers Bank about one. The clerk took us back to the vault. He and Grandpa Tom each had a key. They opened the Fairwell box and the clerk left. Inside the box was Mr. Clark's original offer of $4.5 million on all our land holdings. Of course, he offered $5.5 million at the Open House and $3.5 million after Grandpa Tom's death but you know that. Also in the box was an envelope addressed to me in Grandpa Tom's handwriting. He said the contents were for my eyes only after he was gone. He said he'd have a key made for me. He made me promise to tell no one. That was it; he told the clerk we were done."

Well, Neal had given up writing after Jelly's on the square. His mother says some day she'll teach him shorthand. Oh, well. Sometimes it doesn't do any good to think about some day. Anyhow, you could tell Delaney had been waiting a long, long time to talk to someone he trusted. Hey, when you're a kid and he was, you don't talk much about your feelings except to your mother, or dad, unless you're really upset. This was a fact Neal didn't need to write down to remember because facts about feelings are hard to forget.

"After his death, I took the key he'd given me to the bank. As requested by great-grandmother, Horace had closed the box and removed the contents. The bank teller showed me her written instructions. When I tried to talk to her about it, she denied there'd been an envelope addressed to me, then said she must have lost it. She showed me the original Clark offer but, of course, I'd seen that. Certainly, I should have insisted on an explanation for what she'd done but I was such a mess myself I didn't keep at her."

"Good you put alcohol and drugs behind you, Delaney. Terrible trouble for both you and Mrs. Fairwell. Terrible you can't take time to play ball," and the marshal laughed a little, "but good you're done with booze and dope. Did you ask Horace about the envelope?"

"I bet you don't miss escorting me to the County Juvenile Offices and court, marshal. All I can do is apologize. I really was out of it then and too dumb to ask Horace. Besides, we were on rotten terms until I straightened out. He believed I was stealing Ham's drugs although he knows now I wasn't. I did ask him at the beginning of summer right after I returned. He said he was surprised to hear she hadn't given it to me. He said he'd see what he could do and he means well but when it comes to her, Horace lacks authority."

Delaney helped himself to another sandwich. If you think hard about food, you can taste it and Neal was thinking hard about meatloaf, cheese and homemade tomato catsup while trying to pay attention to his hero who might be leaving clues. If you're hungry at an important time, you need something to take your mind off food but what would it be? With his free hand, Delaney laid his rifle against his cheek and sighted up to the place on the limb where the squirrel used to sit. Okay, remembering sudden death might be it.

Delaney chewed and chugged cider. "Let me explain about great-grandmother," he said. Forget hunger. If you want a real problem, try thirst! Try not crying while your mouth dries up like sand. Thirst beats hunger any day. If you don't believe this, have a contest. Okay, thirst might not win forever but Neal didn't want to be in at the finish line. He couldn't drink, he couldn't eat and he didn't want to think about death so he listened to his hero. Hey, wasn't this why he'd come on the squirrel hunt without an invitation? Wasn't this why he was here? Sometimes you have to remind yourself why you're where you are because you get so weirded out with what's going on there that it isn't clear.

"I can't explain why I went to hell and back after Grandpa Tom died," said Delaney. "I understand you drank a little in the Navy but how much do you know about killer speed? I was a meth freak -- used to shoot up, then black out on white lightning. For a time, the dope was easy to get and, I don't care where you are, marshal, as you probably know, booze is always easy. I'd wake up not knowing my own name. With great-grandmother's help --" and he laid his arm across his eyes. "I couldn't have done it without her," he said. He lowered his arm and straightened his shoulders and shook his long-haired head.

"With her help, I think I've beaten the monkey. After the first six months away from home, I was truly grateful. I always will be. Like I said, I'm going to do what she wants, finish high school in a crash course if I can, get the law degree, pass the bar and then get on with my own life. My grandfather planted these woods and the deer in my heart. I thought you'd appreciate my feelings; seems I have no one to talk to about that part."

"Sykeston doesn't understand? Can't lend his support?" Manno! The marshal sure had Mr. Sykeston on the brain. He must have had a reason but what could weird Mr. Sykeston do about what the matriarch wanted, expected and demanded from Delaney?

Delaney stood and stretched. He rubbed the shaft of his rifle while he leaned against a white oak. Pete should have come with Neal to paint Delaney's picture. Neal shut his brown eye and a wavy blue outline appeared like when you watch the redwings bending the tule tops down to the pond. Everything was green and gray and white and blonde.

Maybe not. Pete's gotten into graffiti. It's the message, he tells everybody.

"Tutoring is all I can count on from Horace. He has his hands full with Ham. While I was away Ham started playing again. Not the organ like he played with Nurse Comfort. Now he plays the big piano and you should hear him or maybe I should say you should have heard him before he and the dogs found those remains. I don't know why he took it so hard but he stumbles through the house moaning and crying like he's in terrible pain."

Since they had plenty of it, Delaney poured himself a bunch more cider and took a long drink. Manno! Oh, well, you don't die of thirst in one morning or even in one day. Maybe in the desert you do but not in the woods or on a river. Of course, you can't drink the water in the Missouri River or you'll be plenty sorry. Never mind! Forget thoughts that get you to a place where you don't want to be! Ostriches aren't all that dumb actually.

"He sits at the grand," Delaney went on about Ham, "and makes wonderful chords and sounds. You think you're at a waterfall. Then he smashes the keys with his fists and you want to run for cover. Horace thinks he'll get better. Horace is very patient with both of us. I'm not the best student in the world, you know, still coming to terms with myself. Anyhow, the point is Horace doesn't have the time or nerve to tell great-grandmother what to do. Just so we're absolutely clear, marshal, I'm gay. Trinity told me to face truth and approach Bud. Bud was very kind when he said he wasn't so inclined but I'd loved him since we were babies. It seemed the end of my world. Straight males must feel the same when they give all and get rejected. It was all I needed to send me off on a crazy death wish course until great-grandmother intervened and got me resurrected."

Look out! Look out because you really never do know! When Iris is away from home Gay Billy wears a blue ribbon so Mr. Kelly will know who he is but that's because Gay Billy can't say his own name. Also, the ribbon doesn't tell strangers anything about him. Delaney doesn't wear a sign. He's the same Delaney. How can you know gay people unless they tell you so? Then, if you're like Bud, you decide what to say back and you aren't mean when you do. All this seemed right but made Neal nervous. Okay, can you have a gay hero if you aren't gay? For sure Alicia is a member of the opposite sex. Totally glad nobody knew where he was, he looked at the marshal whose fox face was serious. Was the marshal surprised at the gay news? He was quiet for the marshal. The woods were quiet too -- very. And when the woods are very quiet all at once, it's totally scary!

"One more thing," said Delaney, enjoying a plum, "and I promised I'd mention it. Trinity Clark is fine and wants to be on her own. Please ask Sheriff Jackson to leave her alone."

The marshal said he'd pass this along and then he smoked and fieldstripped his butt and drank his cider. Neal wondered how Delaney knew what Trinity Clark wanted. Was it his special gift? He'd told the marshal a bunch of other stuff -- weird news about gayness and good news about Ham. Well, sort of good news. Okay, sometimes you have to take a stand so Neal took one. He decided right now and maybe for the rest of his life he would not think about dead human bones. He chewed sour grass. You can do this without making noise if you're careful. Well, you make noise inside your mouth and only you can hear it. When you move your teeth, zing-zing whooshes by. The marshal handed Delaney a hunk of spice cake and got one himself. Manno! Neal choked on another dry swallow!

In three bites, Delaney ate his cake. "You're quiet, marshal. Maybe I told you more than you wanted to hear. They say to keep the treatment flowing or you'll be back where you started and I needed to talk. I think I'm solid now. Of course, there's the possibility of conscription renewal and the draft. Grandpa Tom was forever saying I wouldn't have to go. Seems to me serving in the military is part of living in this country when we're at war and when we're at peace too. I was glad to see Lillian Culpepper turned up, weren't you?"

"Very glad." The marshal's voice was creaky. Then he got going. "On military service, this country stays at war and the internal civil war was the only justifiable war fought. I'll pass on World War I and World War II for selfish reasons. Anyone exterminating whole races of people has got to be stopped because sooner or later they'll come for you. As for the others, those wars don't get my vote. And this is an old sailor, boy, long off the boat."

Neal was amazed. The marshal had laughed at 14 anti-war ladies marching in Columbia. What was he saying? Didn't he think we should be fighting for our freedom in Iraq?

"If I'm called, I'll go," said Delaney; "Justified or not, I see no choice but I'll be back."

"That's exactly what I did at your age. Now that we've established we're both stupid, let's move on. Tell me if I have all this straight. Not to be funny, but you aren't. Also, you're missing an envelope from your grandfather; you owe your great-grandmother a debt you can never repay; you're clean and willing to serve country, right or wrong; Preacham's more upset than usual but stroking the keyboard better; and Lewis N. Clark's daughter is her own happy person. Now, son, you know I have to ask where you got the methamphetamines and booze around here. Got to ask even if it did happen last year."

The marshal, who had listened to Delaney, was taking care of business in his own way. Looking foxy while he waited for an answer, he packed up the picnic and lit a coffin nail.

"I can't tell you anything about drug sources that would matter one way or another or make any difference to you now. I wanted you to understand how much I owe my great-grandmother and to know that Trinity Clark is okay." When Delaney moved, his shadow made him look four times taller than the marshal. Of course the marshal isn't very tall.

"Think I'm a better judge of what matters but leave it for now." The marshal smoked. "Tell me why you're confident about Trinity. Is it your second sight, your famous ESP?"

Delaney finished another piece of spice cake, wiped his hands on a maple tree's bark and shouldered his rifle before he replied. "The so-called second sight facet of my personality is ancient history now; drugs, booze and the necessary cure did away with that side."

"Sorry to hear that, son."

"Not me, marshal; I won."

Like the marshal, Neal was sorry about the dead second sight. Swell! Now he was thirsty, hungry and sorry about something he couldn't help. Trudging along with his head down, he and the marshal still followed Delaney. They went some distance into the woods, stopped three times and bagged two more squirrels. The marshal shot one. Delaney shot the other. Neal remained undercover. They all moved on and while waiting for the next kill, Neal took a nap. Sometimes when you're awake, your head is so full that you need to give it a rest or it will fall off and this was one of those times; falling asleep was a snap.

When he opened his eyes he was alone. Well, he was as alone as you can be in the woods. Anyhow, no big. He knew where he was and headed home. Like a doofus, he'd forgotten his digital compass so he had to guess Southwest. Still he was sure he was right because after a while the River smell disappeared. Okay, just when you think you're right, you might find out you're wrong and forgetting his compass might have been dumber than bringing an apple for lunch. Forgetting his compass might have been the dumbest thing he's ever done in his entire life. Neal lifted his shoulders. When you do really dumb things all you can do is buck up and hope you aren't going to do something even dumber.

Staying to the path, he avoided poison vines when he saw them. He saw no snakes and this was fine by him. There's a time for snakes but now wasn't it. When he scrambled around mulberry bushes and smeared purple on his arms and legs, he thought about Iris dying doll clothes with mulberries. Why worry about Iris making money? Manno! There was plenty else to worry about. Like the true fact that hours had gone by and he was back where he'd started. If you're going to worry you might as well worry about what you can change. He knew he'd been where he was long ago but he had no watch so he didn't know how long ago. Truth is hard to hang onto without time -- this he did know.

His heart began to jump up and down and he freaked. He told himself not to be a stupid baby. What was he afraid of? What lives and dies in the woods isn't the enemy. Sure, there are poisonous snakes, bobcats and bears but generally they leave you alone if you leave them alone. Also, the murderer would be in a cave not the woods because the murderer's no fool. That sounded totally unreliable to Neal and besides he was plain tuckered from talking to himself so he slept again in the same place he'd slept before where the moss against his cheek felt velvety and cool.

This time when he woke, the sun was setting. The sky was orange, his least favorite color and not just on account of Halloween which is okay if you're with friends. Also, the other Halloween color is black and black is his most favorite color. Can you have least and most favorites? Who cares? If you're lost, does it help to talk to yourself about where you are? He knew that before the sky turned purple, crickets and frogs would begin their night noises in the trees and on the water. Aunt Ida attended school with Treefrog and Hogjaw East from the holler. Nobody knew them except by those names and they quit after sixth grade to farm. They joined the USN and went to the Pacific. Their submarine got blown up. They got sent home in two tin boxes. The town buried them together with their names etched by Timmy the Digger on one tombstone. Neal gave up and started to cry. In his heart he couldn't think of a single, solitary happy thing. He knew happy things existed in the world but to him, everything seemed sad, even a tree frog's chirping.

Shadows rolled over him. Black might be his favorite color but he did not want to spend the night in the dark. He wanted his mother. He was thirsty and hungry. Also, he was sorry, sad and tired. He was sorry because he'd spied on the marshal and Delaney and sad because he'd learned more than he wanted to know and tired because he'd learned too much all at once. Crying made his head hurt. Your head can be so totally stuffed it doesn't matter if you sleep a year, you are still tired. Mariah would say he was wired.

Neal pressed his back to the pin oak, pulled in his feet, ducked his head and wound his arms tight around his wired self. The crashing in the brush pounded like soldiers marching. The noise got louder and louder until past the tree pounded the Old Man, feet and legs flying. The whites of his eyes showed. He tossed his head and blew out his nose. He stopped and turned and stared at Neal. Now he didn't look so scary. On either side of him rose the black walls of a cave. Neal crouched at the cave's mouth guarded by Homer and Mick and looked in and down a long tunnel. He read the white writing on the walls and knew what the pictures meant. At the end of the tunnel stood the Old Woman. She didn't snort or move a muscle. Around her trotted fawns of all ages, yearlings and other does. The Old Man was the only stag. Was he lonely? Maybe not because Gay Billy pranced into the cave acting like his best friend so can a deer have a goat for a buddy?

When they came out, neither made a noise. Gay Billy winked and the Old Man twitched his white tail flag and pawed the ground. They disappeared in the woods. Into the open raced Molly with her tongue hanging down and Rufus behind her. The marshal and Mr. Watch wouldn't have stood for their howling and yapping. They were being bad dogs and knew it. A bunch of young bucks, the kind the Old Man doesn't tolerate, followed and began making passes at one another with polished horns of all sizes. Didn't they see or hear the dogs? Ho! The Newfies saw and heard them. Big, black and tough, they waited until the deer were through and the gates shut. Then they herded Molly into the light. They stood in front of her and Neal couldn't see the tunnel or the cave. Homer and Mick growled and circled Molly. She looked like a crazy puppy when she charged them. Usually Rufus does everything she does but today the Newfies let him run off and he boogied into the brush, leaving her in the lurch. Molly shouldn't have been chasing deer or fighting Newfies and she was about to learn her lesson. Neal couldn't rescue a dog. He couldn't manage his own life without getting lost in the darkening woods and dream fog.

Here's a true fact avand avabavout tavime! He still isn't sure any of this happened but he decided while he thought it was happening that he'd better keep it to himself until he could sort out everything. Of course, if you're lost, that's easy; the hard thing is sharing.

The dog fox and Gay Billy danced between Molly and the Newfies to give her protection. Okay, this had to be a dream, right? Why would these two pair up and help a hound? Squirrels chattered and skittered back and forth in the tree ceiling overhead. The dogs and dancers didn't seem to care. It was like they didn't know the squirrels were there.

The geese showed up. Manno! They would! Saved by the bell! That's how Neal felt when Bud reached him before the gander, put an arm around him and helped him to his feet. It was dark but the moonlight showed that Bud wasn't alone. If you see people and you're with them, they can see you and Neal hated like anything for Iris to see him being a fraidy-cat and crying. He snuffled and shuffled and hid his face. Why couldn't Bud have found him without her? Why Iris of all people? Why her? Wur and double wur!

"Pete and Jaime told me what you were up to," she said. "They were worried. I figured Bud should take charge of any hide and seek session in the woods. He'd finished mowing so it was a snap to get him." Red yarn looped through two holes in a piece of blank cardboard and tied at the back of her neck. The cardboard hung down her front like a sign with no writing. She held tight to it with one hand. With the other, she swept her jaggedy bangs out of her two brown eyes. She looked Neal up and down. Naturally, she had to reach over and brush leaves and dirt off his shirt. He wanted to kick her so it hurt.

"Will you see him home?" she asked Bud. She held up two ticks and Neal wanted to haul off and hit her. Because she'd told Bud where to find him didn't make her his babysitter.

"Sure," said Bud; Delaney was for sure right about Bud being kind.

"Fine. Duty calls. I'm returning to my unregulated experiment in muted living." Iris flipped the cardboard. Bright orange letters read: I have taken a vow of silence. Please honor my vow. Do not ask me to speak. Thanks for your attention. Well, Neal had no problem with this! He could definitely handle neither listening to nor hearing Iris.

"Don't tell the marshal or my mother." Sometimes you beg. No matter who the people are, you go down on your knees and beg. It's no act. You have no choice and this is a fact.

"We won't," Bud said. Kind people aren't the ones to worry about. It's the others. Iris raised her arms, clapped her hands and pointed to her dumb sign. She started to sing in a loud voice. "Camptown races coming to town. Doodah, doodah. Camptown races coming to town." Finally, clapping and waving, she turned and ran off in the dark.

"I thought she wasn't talking," Neal said to Bud as they entered the good old park.

"I guess singing is okay."

"All the doodah day!" Look out! Here she came back and ran between them and around each of them to make a sideways figure eight. She sang, "All the doodah day!" again and took off again, zigzagging and tagging like an ice hockey player on borrowed skates.

"What's with her?" Neal had never before seen Iris smile; this was the first time ever.

"She's just being Iris, Neal. Why can't you let her be?" Also this was the first time ever he'd made Bud angry. Hey, he didn't need Bud mad at him on top of everything else. He got smart and got busy on planning for when he got home. What was he going to tell his mother? What was he going to tell the marshal? Bud said he could tell them anything he wanted. Then Bud said he wouldn't lie. Well, you know stuff but you still have to try.

"How's Delaney?" asked Bud asked while his brain was working on excuses.

"Fine," he answered which sounded kind of weak and useless. Still, a short answer had to be best. Otherwise, they might get into stuff that neither wanted to talk about, stuff that would make both of them feel stinky. Neal was totally sure of this. Sometimes you can feel the way it might be if you keep on and you have to train yourself to stop and miss.

"I'm glad to hear that, Neal." You can count on feelings; feelings are real.

When he told his mother he'd been helping Bud with the cemetery, she believed him. Well, he had such a hard time believing she believed him he was barely able to go on. He told her they'd hit a stump and Bud had to repair the mower. Bud didn't say anything. He high fived Neal and started to leave but Neal's mother wouldn't have it. She said nonsense and convinced him to have late supper with them. Bud went into the Men's Room to clean up. "He sure is a nice boy," she told the marshal and she went to get their food and drinks. Neal followed her. He was about to repair (1) thirst and (2) hunger.

"Fine boy who'll be a fine man," said the marshal. Would he tell about Delaney being gay? Neal figured the only person the marshal might tell would be his mother. He might keep it under wraps and confidential. He sure wouldn't tell Neal. Of course, Neal already knew. Okay, would he tell? He shouldn't. It was nobody's business but Delaney's and maybe Bud's and maybe the marshal's; Neal made up his mind not to tell and wouldn't.

"Turned out real fine," said Aunt Ida. "Elizabeth's daughter is plain silly! She'll be sorry."

Why was Alicia's mother silly? Why would she be sorry? And what did she have to do with the way Bud turned out? Sometimes you stop caring about new information when your day has been way busy. Mostly, Neal didn't worry about Alicia's mother and Bud; he concentrated on iced lemonade and how glad he was that the supper was hot beef chili.

"Missed you today, agent," said the marshal. "I'm telling it plain. Are we buddies again?"

"We always are." Wur, Neal felt like such a liar!

After they ate, Mariah showed Meet Me in St. Louis, an old movie with singing and dancing. Bud stayed to watch. The marshal said he'd drive him home when it was over. Neal took out his digital assistant and with the clock he counted in minutes how long the warning about federal penalties stayed on the screen. Some warnings last longer. Some are old and have different words but they mean the same: you're in trouble if you copy! Once the mayor complained that Mariah was breaking the law but Mariah said she doesn't charge admission and the business doesn't make money out of the movies. She told the mayor to take her to court so she could make a monkey out of the mayor. She didn't say this to the mayor's face. Neal's sister goes pretty far but not that far. She had the marshal warn the mayor to back off and the mayor did. The mayor's not that stupid.

You can go back and forth on people. This makes it easier because you never know; you really don't. Neal returned the digital assistant to his pocket. He planned to carry it all the time now. Not for anything would he be taking it out again and then forgetting to put it back. If necessary, he'd wear bibs or bike shorts for the rest of his life to make sure he had a pocket for important tools. You have to learn from mistakes. He checked to make sure the assistant was safe. It's good to get your tools secure because you don't know when you'll fall asleep. He doesn't anyway, especially after this kind of a day. One thing though -- when trolleys are clanging, it's hard to fall asleep. They stopped and he heard Bud say he and his grandfather were seeing Mr. Sykeston about the Fairwell crops in the morning; then Neal started to nod off and would have if Mariah hadn't pinched his knee.

Pinching him, she walked right in front of him to hand Bud a book. Actually, it doesn't matter if people walk in front of you if you're not watching the screen but she didn't have to pinch. "Good," she told Bud. "You'll see Horace. You can be my messenger and deliver T. S. Eliot's The Sacred Wood, an early collection of criticism. Tell him it's a first edition and loaner that I expect returned in its present pristine condition with his usual astute comments." She grinned in an evil way. "Just tell him it's from me; it'll make his day."

She didn't say please or thank you but Bud took the book. This was the last Neal remembered until morning. The marshal must have carried him up to his bed before taking Bud home. You would have expected him to dream about being lost and about the Old Man and Molly and the other animals behaving in ways they would never behave and about a hero who's gay when you're straight and what this means. You would have expected weird nightmares to scare him awake and allow the shadows to gain control. But no, he slept all night long and way late into morning. As he brushed his teeth and made his bed and measured his height, he felt like yesterday had turned into somebody else's story instead of his. This was not a bad feeling. You have to step over things that don't do any good and get on with your life and not look back. Tomorrow isn't worth worrying about unless you can get over yesterday and through today; this is a true fact.

For the first time he brushed his teeth and did his kicking exercises while completing his P.O.D. You can shift and combine jobs so long as you account for everything on your list. He liked the freedom. The daily schedule was as good as any he'd done. Soon only his route remained. Good. He needed the rest of today to think about yesterday if he could.

Freedom is sort of up for grabs when you have it so look out because pretty soon you don't. Neal did rock, paper and scissors with the marshal to see who would clean the dog pen and lost three out of three. Did he complain and behave like a baby? No way! And you'd better believe this is not his favorite chore in the world. He decided to tackle the pen and then run his route. One thing at a time and work is good for the soul. Aunt Ida might say, "no rest for the wicked" if she knew about yesterday but so far only Bud and Iris knew and they didn't know it all. Neal couldn't decide what to tell Pete and Jaime, another good reason for thinking. Also, he had to consider what it would mean to trust Iris. Hey, you have plenty of time to think when you're cleaning a dog pen; he got at this.