21

Overhead, a woodpecker hammered into a tree. Looking up, I squinted against the sun, trying to see the bird. No luck. Countless leaf-laden branches spread from a multitude of ancient trees. Trees that I imagined had taken seed a hundred years before anyone who looked like me had put foot on Michigan soil.

Breathing in the musty smell of damp earth and the floral aroma of trees, I shut my eyes and listened. Birds chirped back and forth to each other, filling the woods with their song. Standing in the middle of the trail, I allowed a memory to grab hold of me.

Frank on one of his better days so long ago, walking with me along the tree line, not too far from our old house. He stopped, lowered to one knee, and put a finger to his lips to let me know I should be quiet.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered. “The trees are singing.”

“But I don’t hear them,” I’d said.

“Ah. Listen closer.”

I’d watched his face, trying to tune my ear to the song of the trees. With every bird twitter or chatter, each call or screech, he put up his pointer finger as if to say, “There and there and there.”

“Those aren’t trees,” I’d said, giggling. “They’re birds.”

“You don’t say.” He’d scrunched his face up tight. “I could have sworn.”

“Daddy. You’re silly.”

“You know what I read in my Bible the other day?” he asked. “Something about the trees singing when God is nearby.”

“Does that count for birds too?”

“Why not.”

“I hear birds all the time,” I’d said.

Frank had narrowed his eyes and made a humming sound. When he stood up, he’d taken my hand.

I continued on the trail that I knew would eventually lead to Frank’s campsite, ambling along with no hurry to my steps. As I did, I rehearsed in my head what I’d say to him and worked up the nerve to ask him to stay.

He’d been to dinner every night since Friday and I thought that, surely, he’d come that night again. And in the last two evenings Mom hadn’t whipped anything at his head. In fact, the night before she’d even smiled at a joke Frank had told.

I didn’t hold out hope for him to rejoin our family. But I also didn’t want him to go away.

It surprised me to happen upon a family coming the other way down the trail. A mother and father led four kids of various heights. Each child looked all around them as if they didn’t want to miss anything. Sky-tall trees and flittering, twittering birds. Undergrowth so thick they couldn’t see the ground beneath. Wildflowers of purple, blue, and yellow.

I couldn’t help but smile at their wonder. Warmth filled me as the smallest among them repeated “Lookathat” as they passed by me.

I could still hear them when I stepped off the trail and into the camping area. Frank’s truck was gone, which wasn’t much of a surprise. What caught me off guard was that the camper was gone too. The fire pit had no smolder left to heat up a pot of too-strong coffee, and the ground had nothing but a trace of tire track. The old hound didn’t bellow a greeting.

Nothing remained of Frank.

Turning around twice, I thought maybe I’d come to the wrong site. That I’d exited the trail in error. But I saw the peeling birch with the number 44 nailed to its trunk. It was the right spot.

I kicked the old barrel trash can that stood to one side of the site; it clanged hollow. Even that had been emptied of any trace of Frank.

It wasn’t far from the campground to our house on Lewis Street. At most it was two miles. Still, the dejection sitting heavily in my heart made it feel like no matter how many steps I took, I got no closer to home.

When I heard the rumble of an engine, I stepped to the side of the dirt road to let the car pass, hoping it wouldn’t kick up gravel at me. But as soon as the old yellow Buick passed me, the driver stepped on the brakes.

Walking to the passenger’s side window I saw that David sat inside, his radio playing the Beach Boys. I sighed. I could have sworn he’d have better taste than that.

“Hi there,” he called out the rolled-down window before reaching for the volume knob on the radio and turning it down. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Actually, maybe. If it isn’t any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” He leaned across the bucket seat and pulled the door latch. “Come on in.”

Just before stepping down into the car, I thought how Mom would never approve of me taking a ride from a man I hardly knew. Especially a man who looked like David.

But I needed a ride, and David hadn’t given me any reason not to trust him. Besides, Bernie seemed to like him, which was quite an accomplishment.

“Which way were you headed?” David asked. Then he saw my face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I wiped under my eyes, bumping my glasses and making them go crooked. “I was going home. Do you know where Lewis Street is?”

“I think so,” he said. “You might have to help me.”

“Okay.”

He put the car into drive. “Did you read Marmaduke today?”

He drove at a nice speed—not too fast or slow—down the country roads toward town. The song on the radio had changed from “Good Vibrations” to “I Was Made to Love Her.” David tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping time with Stevie Wonder’s smooth-as-silk voice.

Every few minutes he’d breathe in deeply of the air coming in through the windows.

“Summer smells good, doesn’t it?” I asked, instantly wondering if it had made me sound like an oddball.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding his head at me and smiling. “You noticed too, huh?”

I grinned at him and thought how nice it was to be understood.

“So, what were you doing out this way?” I asked, folding my hands in my lap.

“Just getting the lay of the land.” He licked his lips. “Did you know that Al Capone had a hideout around here?”

“Who told you that?”

“Bernie Jager.” He glanced at me. “Shouldn’t I trust him?”

“Not about mobsters,” I said. “This town has all kinds of legends and closet-dwelling skeletons. More of them are imagined than not.”

“I guess he was making up that bit about Bonnie and Clyde too, then?”

“Probably.”

He slowed for a squirrel crossing the road.

“How do you like living out here?”

“It’s nice. Lots of wild spaces,” he answered. “Growing up in the city, I didn’t get too many chances to spend time outside. I mean, I’d play in my backyard or walk to the park, but that’s not the same as being in the woods. My father would drive me over to a nature center in town. It was another world there, and he’d have to drag me, kicking and spitting, back to the car when it was time to go home.”

We reached the place in the road where the pavement met the dirt and where the sounds of Fort Colson started. It wasn’t quite as loud as the city, but not nearly as peaceful as the park. We were less than a block away from my street. Part of me wished we had longer to go.

“My mother was relieved when I got the job here,” he said. “She was afraid I’d end up living in a cave somewhere.”

“Although living in a cave doesn’t sound half bad sometimes.”

“So true.” He chuckled. “How about you?”

“Hm?”

“What did you want to be when you were a little kid?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I rubbed a spot behind my ear. “For a while I wanted to be a nurse. Then a dancer. More than anything, though, I wanted to be a librarian.”

“A librarian?”

“Is that bad?” I asked.

“No. I think it’s great.” He pointed at the street sign. “I turn left here?”

I nodded.

“Now, how does one become a librarian?” He steered the car down the road. “College?”

“Maybe,” I answered. “But I don’t know if that’s going to happen for me.”

“That’s all right,” he said. “You’re smart enough already. I see you reading those thick books at the diner. If there’s anyone in this town who could work her way around a library, it’s you.”

He pulled onto my street and when I told him which was my house, he parked in front of it. We both got out. He stood by his door, and I walked toward the lawn.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled.

“You didn’t ask what I was doing out there by myself.”

“It didn’t seem like my business.”

“I guess I’m just used to everyone around here making everything their business.”

“Must be the way in a small town like this, huh?”

“Yup.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of my neighbors watching us, not bothering to be a subtle spy in the least. “I should go.”

He looked around me, seeing the neighbor lady stand with hands on her hips. Just then, out from behind her skirts peeked her son, Roger. He couldn’t have been more than four years old. When she marched to where her lawn met the street, Roger came right along behind her, holding tightly to the fabric of her dress.

“Annie?” she called, squinting at me from across the street.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Chapman,” I said, lacing my words with syrupy sweetness.

Roger stood, staring at David with big, round eyes.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Chapman asked, glancing at David.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said. “David was giving me a ride home.”

“Why?”

“Just to be nice.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She spoke through a fake smile, looking again at David. Then she said quietly, “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“No, he’s not. He’s my friend.”

“Mama,” Roger said, pointing. “Look at his skin.”

“It’s brown, isn’t it?” David said to Roger. “Say, do you like going to the park?”

Roger nodded.

“What’s your favorite thing to do there?”

“Splash in the puddles,” Roger answered.

“Hey, me too.” David grinned. “Did you know that my job is to work at the park? I get paid to splash in puddles now.”

Roger’s eyes grew even larger.

“Do you think that sounds like a fun job?” David asked.

“Yes, sir,” Roger answered, stepping out all the way from behind his mother. “I like catching worms.”

“All right.” Mrs. Chapman put her hand on Roger’s shoulder as if she feared he might dash across the street. “If you’re sure you’re okay, Annie.”

“He’s a good person,” I said.

Mrs. Chapman took Roger’s hand, turning from us and going to her porch. I had no doubt she was going to let my mother know all about this. I’d done nothing wrong, but I already felt defensive.

“Nice to meet you,” David called after them. “You too, buddy.”

“Bye,” Roger said, looking over his shoulder and waving.

“Have a good day, champ.”

The Chapmans’ door slammed behind them. If I’d had to bet, it would have been that she locked her door for the very first time since moving into that house.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “Happens all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“I know.”

“You were nice about it.”

“I’ve had to learn how to react,” he said. “If I get mad, they might call the police. If I ignore them, they yell louder. Some days it’s easier than others. But my father made sure to teach me the importance of turning the other cheek.”

“You’re a better person than I am.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He smiled at me. “Thing is, I might not be able to change the minds of people like Mrs. Chapman. But that little boy? I might have a chance.”

“I think I’d just get mad.”

“I do. Believe me, I do.”

He watched me walk to the porch and climb the steps. I waved at him before opening the screen door. From inside, I heard the tinging of Joel’s unplugged guitar.

With a twinge of regret, I knew I’d have to tell him that Frank was gone.

I looked over my shoulder one last time to see David still watching me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Anytime.”

Joel went for a walk by himself after I told him the news about Frank. Probably to the campsite to make sure I was telling him the truth. By the time Mom came home from work, a bag of groceries in her arms, he still wasn’t back.

“Well,” she said when I told her. “We knew Frank wouldn’t stay around long, didn’t we?”

I followed her to the kitchen to help her put away the things she’d picked up from the market. Among the usual items of onion, flour, and orange juice was a paper-wrapped package from the butcher and a bottle of beer.

Never in my life had I known Mom to buy alcohol.

“It was for Frank,” she said, taking it from me and reaching for the bottle opener. She popped the top and turned it over into the sink. The skunky smell of it filled the kitchen as it fizzed its way down the drain. “Why don’t you run over and ask if Oma wants to have supper with us.”

I told her I would.

“Annie? Have you ever cooked steak before?”

“No,” I answered.

She sighed.

Dear Frank,

You should have let us know that you were leaving. Even a note would have been nice. It’s just good manners, you know? Saying “good-bye.”

Joel’s heart is broken. I thought you should know that. If you want to do the right thing, at least write to him and tell him that you’ll see him again sometime.

Unless you plan on staying away. In that case, it’s probably best if you just leave him alone.

We liked having you here, you know. You might not believe me, but I was glad you came.

I’d missed you.

Annie

Fort Knox, Kentucky

All,

I don’t have much time to write today. Sorry. I have to pack all my gear and tie up loose ends here before I head out for the great state of Texas.

Sorry about Frank leaving. Or is it congratulations for Frank leaving? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a little of both, huh? Either way, I’m sure you’re all feeling a little worn down by his visit.

Mom, I hope the meat loaf didn’t stain the wall too badly. If it did, I’ll see if I can fix it when I get home in October.

Gosh, doesn’t that seem forever away? October. Hopefully it will zip by like nothing. All the fun I have in medic training should make the time fly, don’t you think?

No?

Me either.

Anyway, it would be too long, even if it was only a day. I miss you all. Joel, I expect you to learn a few good licks on that new guitar of yours by the time I get back. I have no doubt you will, you smarty-pants, you.

Love,
Mike