“Your mom and I sure were troublemakers back when we were younger,” Chuck reminds me as we head back toward the giant brick sign, branded SERENDIPITY PLACE. “That’s what everyone called us, anyway.” He’s walking awfully slow—so slow, I can’t ride my bike. I have to steer it beside me, guide it along like a blind dog. So I know he’s gearing up for a pretty long tale. “Of course, we didn’t feel like we were trouble back then. Felt like we were out finding freedom.
“We were barely older than you are now,” he goes on, “hanging out one day, early on in the fall. That time of the year when it still feels good to be in a T-shirt, and all you want to do is be outside.”
I smile, because Chuck has a way of telling stories that makes me feel like I’m there.
“So we were hanging out behind the church—our very own Hopewell. You know how that church butts up against a big wooded lot?”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “And the old creek where they used to do the baptisms.”
“Well, we figured nobody’d come looking for us there, and it was so beautiful, full of fall colors. I remember, it was the kind of day you want to put in a bottle. Which was why we’d ditched school. We didn’t think we could be in school on such a perfect fall day. And out behind the church, we were soaking it all in—the autumn sun and the leaves. And we were hiding from the truant officer. And—now, don’t tell Gus, because he’d kill me for admitting this . . .” He leans down to whisper, “We were sneaking cigarettes.”
“Chuck,” I say.
“Shhh. Now, like I said, the sun felt really good to us that day. Must’ve felt good to that snake, too, because here he comes right out of the shade. Here he comes, heading straight for the light.
“Bad part was, he had to get past us so that he could stretch out on the church’s nice, sun-warmed back step.
“That snake, he saw us, but he refused to skitter away. He acted like he was used to everyone being afraid of his angry-looking orange-brown stripes. He must have learned to expect it. Everybody who lives in this part of the country knows a copperhead when they see one.”
“They’re unmistakable,” I jump in, because my heart is racing. “Everybody knows a copperhead is poisonous.”
“I saw those copper-colored stripes,” Chuck says, “and I was ready to run. But your mom? She reached out and grabbed that copperhead behind his head. Grabbed him, like there was no way that snake would ever hurt her.
“Auggie, your mom stared that snake down. Stared, even while I was yelling at her to leave him alone. But she never budged. Stood there, like she was telling that snake something just by looking. And you know, when she finally put him back down, he slithered off as fast as his scaly belly would take him. Ran away, like he was scared of your mom. Probably was, too,” he adds with a chuckle.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as safe as I did right then,” Chuck admits. “With your mom at my side, I knew whatever bad thing might come my way, it would take one look at her and run off, too.”