The sun beat down as we walked along, watching our feet. Cass hadn’t said a word since we left my house and we were almost to the edge of the neighborhood.
“Justin made it sound like Ben wanted to talk to me,” Cass said finally. Like I figured, she’d been thinking about Ben the whole time.
“Yeah.” He might’ve just said it to make her feel better—Big is like that. A trickle of sweat ran down my spine. “Sure is hot.”
Cass didn’t answer, just lifted her hair off her neck, probably making up what she was going to say to Ben when we got to Nowhere.
Under my breath, I hummed the tune Big had been playing.
Cass stopped. “You think this is a good idea?”
“Talking to Ben? Sure.” I gave her a shove. “You’ll be miserable till you do.” She went back to walking, eyes on the ground. Bet she was doing the he’ll-say-and-then-I’ll-say thing in her head.
I squinted, peering across the sunlit street toward the opening of the path we’d beaten down, so I was the one who saw them first. With the glare of the sun, it was hard to figure out what had just crashed out of the trees. I shaded my eyes. “Big?” I breathed. “Big!” I yelled. Then I ran across that road—forget looking both ways.
Big’s bare chest was heaving as he rolled Ben off his shoulders and into the weeds at the side of the road. “Oh no!” Blood streaked his white skin. “What happened, Big?”
“Chainsaw accident…at the hideout,” he gasped.
Cass dropped to her knees next to Ben, who lay real still. She knelt over him and started to cry.
Big’s hand was suddenly in my face. “Jemmie, give me your phone!”
I snatched the cell out of my pocket. “Want me to—”
He grabbed it and punched in 911. I watched him, ready to take over—I’m a nurse’s daughter. “What is your emergency?” I coached.
He turned away, listening to the operator.
“My friend Ben Floyd had an accident with a chainsaw.” Big turned back to me and pointed down. I needed to pay attention to Ben, not him.
Cass had Ben’s head in her lap and she was dripping tears on his face—a lot of help that was.
I checked on Ben—I’d never seen so much blood. Neither guy had a shirt on—looked like both shirts were bandaging the wound. I thought I’d have to redo it, but when I knelt down I could see Big had tied it good and tight. It was soaked through. All I could do was put my hands on it and press down. The blood felt sticky and warm as it seeped through my fingers. I stared at Ben’s chest, trying to see if it was moving, but I couldn’t tell for sure.
Never letting up the pressure on Ben’s leg, I talked to God the way Nana Grace does sometimes. Please, God. Get that ambulance here quick. Sometimes trains block the road into the neighborhood. No trains, God. Not now.
“We’re at the corner of Rankin and Rockwell,” Justin said to the 911 dispatcher. “We need help right now. He’s lost a lot of blood.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Ben Floyd. He’s thirteen.”
Cass, Big, and me pounded up the steps yelling for Nana Grace. She took one look and pressed her hand to her heart. “Sweet Jesus! What on earth?”
Big was too out of breath and Cass was crying, so I told Nana about Ben and how Big had carried him out of the woods.
“The ambulance took Ben.” Cass swiped her eyes with her wrist. “They wouldn’t let us ride along.”
“Y’all would’ve been in the way. They know what they’re doing.” She put a hand on Cass’s back. “Come on inside and wash up, all of you.” She took a hard look at “all of us,” like she was counting heads. “Where’s Cody?”
“Don’t know,” Big puffed.
Nana shook her head. “I have to get hold of the Floyds, but one thing at a time.” She put ice in glasses—she said we all needed to cool down.
Cass and I washed up first, sharing the kitchen sink. The water off my hands ran pink down the drain.
“Ben’ll be okay,” Nana said. Then she rested a hand on Big’s shoulder, sweat and all. “You sure are brave. Strong too. You saved that boy’s life.”
Cass wailed. None of us, except Nana Grace, was sure Ben was still alive, but if he was, my grandmother was right. Big had saved him.
While Nana went into the living room and called the Floyds, Big took his turn at the sink. His back to us, he told us what had happened before he and Ben made it to the road. Cass listened with her head down on the kitchen table. I wondered how Big had carried Ben all that way.
The water ran and ran. His arms were shiny-clean but he stayed where he was, facing the sink.
“Jemmie?” Nana said, coming back in the kitchen. “You think you can find that boy a shirt?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I had plenty of T-shirts, but none of them were big enough. Instead I went to Mom’s room. She still had Dad’s T-shirts from his band, “The Mighty.” I’d tell her we didn’t have anything else to give him, nothing big enough and not girly, but the truth was, I wanted him to wear it. At least today, he was mighty.
I’d never been at the Floyds’ at night, and I’d never heard the house so quiet. I could’ve turned on the TV, but it didn’t seem right, so I sat at the kitchen table listening to the refrigerator hum. I could hear Cass talking to Cody upstairs. He was too old for tucking in, but after what had happened, he needed it.
As soon as they got the call, the Floyds had rushed to the hospital. Now everyone was there—Ben’s parents and grandparents, even my mom. They said Ben would be okay, but he’d lost a lot of blood and would have to spend the night in the hospital.
Cass and me were watching Cody until Mr. Floyd got home. Ben’s mom would spend the night in the hospital with Ben.
I stood up and wandered through the house. Ben’s basketball was on the coffee table. He wouldn’t be needing that for a while. I snuffed and wiped my nose with my wrist. To Kill a Mockingbird hung on the arm of the sofa.
It was on my list too. Guess I could hold his place with something and start reading, but I just hung it over the sofa again and kept walking through the rooms.
As I passed the front door for the third time, I jumped. A man stood on the porch, peering in. My heart pounding, I stared right at him. He had a scraggly beard and a skinny face. Nana Grace would probably want to feed him, but to me it looked like a face that should hang on the post-office wall with the word “Wanted” under it. What was he doing looking in the Floyds’ window?
He gave me a confused smile and shrugged, then pointed like he was asking if he could come in.
I glanced at the door—it wasn’t locked. All he had to do was turn the knob.
I smiled as I walked over. He smiled wider, showing off a broken tooth. When I got to the door I snapped the lock. “Get away from this door!” I yelled. “I’m calling the police!”
“Jemmie, what’s going on?” Cass called from upstairs. “Stay here, Cody,” she ordered, but I heard two pairs of feet run down the stairs.
The guy on the porch held up both hands and began backing away. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought the Floyds lived here. Don’t call the cops, please.” As he swung around I saw a beat-up pack slung over his shoulders.
Cody, still in his socks, slid across the floor. “Who’s out there?”
Cass stared out the window over my shoulder. “Did that guy try to break in?”
“He was looking through the window. But he mentioned the Floyds like he knew them.”
“Wait!” Cass pressed a palm to the glass. “That looks like Uncle Paul.”
Cody grabbed the knob and tried to jerk the door open. By the time I got it unlocked, the guy had disappeared into the dark.
Cody fell out onto the porch in his pj’s.
“Uncle Paul!” he bawled. “Come back, Uncle Paul!”
Even after Cody had yelled him back onto the porch, Uncle Paul still seemed like he was ready to take off.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I didn’t call the police.”
He heaved a sigh and came inside. In the living room, he plopped down on the sofa and rubbed his eyes. “God, am I tired.”
I saw Cody bite his lips—he knew no one should take the Lord’s name in vain.
Uncle Paul glanced around. “Where are the big people? And where’s Shotgun?”
We told him about Ben and the accident in the woods.
“Wait.” He sat up straight. “Where did this happen?”
Cody sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “We better tell him the whole story, starting with the hat.”
“You tell it,” Cass said. “You’re the hat-finder.”
Cody went all the way back to the basketball game Ben wouldn’t let him play. Uncle Paul grinned and said big brothers could be a real pain, but when Cody got to the part about finding the boarded-up building in the woods, he slumped over and put his head in his hands.
Cody tugged the leg of his dirty jeans. “What’s wrong, Uncle Paul?”
“Nothing.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Go on.”
He listened to the rest of the story without looking up.
When we’d told him everything, he flopped back against the sofa, his legs out straight. “The nightmare never ends.”
Cody nodded once, like he knew what his uncle was talking about. I sure didn’t, but I wasn’t about to ask. Like Nana Grace would say, Uncle Paul didn’t seem quite right.
But maybe he was just tired and hungry—he was skinny as a stray cat. I fixed him some scrambled eggs, Cass made toast. Cody sat with him, talking.
While we cooked, Cass and me whispered about whether or not we should go home now that there was an adult in the house—but we weren’t sure if Uncle Paul counted as an adult, so we decided to stay.
When we came out of the kitchen with the food, Uncle Paul was staring at the ceiling.
“Think he’s asleep with his eyes open,” Cody whispered. “He’s been doing that for a while.”
“Not asleep,” said Uncle Paul. “Thinking.” We put the plates down on the coffee table in front of him and he said thanks. Then he patted his shirt pocket and slid out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, then glanced around. “Still no ashtrays.” He knocked the ash off into his own hand.
No one told him no smoking in the house, not even Mr. Floyd when he came home from the hospital.
At first Mr. Floyd just stood there staring.
But after a few seconds, he opened his arms and bellowed, “Welcome home, Paulie!” Then he suffocated his brother in a big bear hug, knocking ashes onto the rug.