When I woke up the next morning, my heart jolted with one thought: coyote. He was real, and I’d seen him. I peeled the covers off and looked at the picture I’d shot last night. As hard as I stared, I could not make out the coyote’s form in the darkness beyond the window. But he was there. I knew it. Now I had to prove it.
Flashes of Dad’s anger filled my mind. How he’d yelled at me, how he didn’t believe me, how he’d slammed the door. If only he’d woken up sooner, he’d have seen that coyote for himself. I shook my head. It didn’t matter. The coyote would be back. And I’d be waiting for him.
I was still staring at the picture when my door opened and Dad stepped in.
“It’s late,” he said.
I nodded, looking at him.
“Get dressed. Eat breakfast.”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“You’re grounded.”
“What?” I couldn’t be grounded—I had too much to do. I had to get more bait. I wanted to look for tracks. I needed Ray to come by and go over the whole thing bit by bit with me to make a better plan for tonight. “I can’t be grounded. Not today.”
Dad shook his head. “Joshua, you do not have a choice in this. You snuck out of the house last night.”
“I didn’t sneak out. I called and called you, but you—”
Dad held up his hand and closed his eyes. “Enough. I don’t want to hear it again.” He looked at me and his jaws tightened. “You’re grounded for the weekend. No going out of the house and no one coming over. That’s it.” He turned and slipped out of the room. “Get dressed,” he called from the stairs, “and eat your breakfast.”
I tried to keep out of Dad’s way after breakfast. I didn’t want him any angrier than he already was. Jack and I looked at my shoe box stuff for a while, and I read some comic books. Voices floated upstairs, Dad’s and Mark’s and someone else’s. I figured having company might have helped Dad cool down, so I took a chance and went downstairs.
“Hey!” Mark greeted me. He seemed looser than usual, lighter. “What’s going on?”
If we’d been alone, I could’ve told him all that happened last night. I bet he’d believe me, and he might even help me. But Dad was here and this other man. “Nothing,” I said.
“So you’re Joshua,” the other man said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “I’m Mark’s dad.” He stuck out his hand. For a second, I thought he was doing that thing adults sometimes do—shaking kids’ hands because they think it’s cute—but he didn’t have that jokey look on his face. I was a real person to him.
I shook his hand.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Your father’s a fine man. I hope you haven’t minded sharing him with Mark.” Then he turned to Dad. “Thanks again for all you’ve done. If there’s ever anything we can do for you, let us know.”
Before Mark followed him out the door, he stopped and shook Dad’s hand, too. “Thanks, man. You’ve been great.” To me, he said, “See you around, little man.”
Dad smiled. “Keep in touch.”
Mark’s hair had been growing out since the funeral. I watched him walk behind his dad in his jeans and T-shirt. It struck me all of a sudden how young he looked.
“Mark!” I called before he made it to the car. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen!” He gave me a big smile, then waved and piled into the car.
“Are they going somewhere?” I asked after they left. Those were pretty big good-byes.
Dad allowed himself a grin. “They stopped by to tell me Mark’s registered for college. Not Penn State—too late for that—but he’ll be starting at the community college this fall.”
So that’s why he was smiling. “That means you’ll still see him.”
“It means”—Dad paused—“he’s going to do something with his life. He’s going to have all kinds of opportunities.” Dad’s face was open, his voice upbeat. “I feel like—I feel like it’s me going to college!”
I high-fived him. “Way to go, Dad!”
He was no good at holding it in—he broke into a big, wide smile. Afterward, he futzed around the house, fixing things, cleaning, even humming as he worked. He was the happiest I’d seen him since we moved here.