“Finally, good and dry. At least these hot days were good for something.”
Mom helps me carry my mattress upstairs. A week has gone by since I lost my job, and I’m still sleeping outside. Chief Beaumont mailed the rest of my pay, but I haven’t heard from any of my customers. I wasn’t expecting to, really. Like the chief said, word gets around. They know I had a part in Bruno’s death. I’ve been helping in the plant shed a lot because Mom checks on Grandma every day now. She had to be moved to a place that provides full-time care. I don’t mind. I’m glad to have something to do.
Mom stretches sheets over the mattress and hands me a clean pillowcase. “Change out your pillowcase and you’re all set.” She smiles. “Bet you’re anxious to get back to your own bed.”
“Well, see, I’m going to sleep in the tent awhile longer. But thanks for the clean pillowcase. The other one is smelling pretty doggy.”
Mom frowns. “Do we need to talk about something, Sammy? This isn’t like you. What is it?”
“No, it’s nothing. I, uh, I just like sleeping in the tent.” I get the Mom look. Mouth a straight line. Eyes frozen in a stare. “It’s—it’s just that Beth will be taking the tent with her to Colorado, so this is my last chance.”
“It’s the puppy, isn’t it? I know you had your heart set on buying it this summer.” She blinks. “I still don’t understand why it was so important to buy it now, but—”
She doesn’t budge. Time for a diversion.
“Gotta get to the kitchen. My turn to help with supper. I’m, uh, I’m making a special dessert I learned from one of my customers at CountryWood.”
“Dessert? But it’s too hot to use the oven.”
“Don’t need to.”
She smiles again. “I can hardly wait.”
I hurry downstairs, hoping what I need is in the pantry and freezer.
Thank you, Mrs. Callahan!
Dessert is a huge hit. I explain that it’s a traditional Irish dessert. Mom says she’s going to keep ice cream and apple jelly around all the time. It’s fun, laughing with Mom, Beth, and Rosie. But then they start talking about the things they’re doing.
Moving to Colorado.
Entering the beauty pageant.
Making a big sale.
I can’t wait to get away. Max greets me at the tent, tongue drooping a foot. Though daytime temperatures have dipped, it’s still hot for late June. I change my pillowcase and crawl inside.
The night is peaceful. Crickets and frogs singing their night songs. Owls swooshing through the trees. Clouds playing tag with the moon. Max snoring.
I breath in deep. Exhale slowly. In time, darkness erases everything on my mental whiteboard.
Sleeping bag a sleeping bag.
Max’s growl jolts me awake. He’s at the door of the tent, trying to push through the mosquito netting. Then I smell it. Musk. The smell of a wild animal.
I grab the flashlight and my ball bat, unzip the door. Max knocks the flashlight and bat out of my hands. In the darkness, I can’t find either one. But I don’t need the flashlight to see what’s happening. In the dim light, eyes are glowing. Lots of eyes.
I identify four sets of eyes surrounding us, four ringed tails shining in the moonlight. The marauding raccoons are back.
Birdie is awake, too. I can hear her in the nest, pushing four cheeping baby birds under her body for protection. Raccoons eat all kinds of things. Roots. Garbage. Pet food. Small mammals. Birds.
“Go away! Get back!” I run back and forth, waving my arms and yelling. Max barks, running at one raccoon, then another. Stopping to catch my breath, I see a huge set of eyes on one side of me, three smaller sets on the other. And then the huge set starts to get bigger. And bigger.
“Aww, man.”
I’ve gotten between the mother raccoon and her babies. A stupid thing to do. A mother raccoon—any animal mother—is very protective of her young.
I run.
The raccoon is huge. Its gigantic shadow chases me, a shadow that’s attached to a ring-tailed ball of claws and teeth. Then a bigger shadow runs it to the ground, a ferocious monster dog. Max snaps at the mother raccoon’s tail until it runs off, the three smaller raccoons racing after it.
And just like that, the night is peaceful again.
“Woohoo!” I yell like a crazy person and do an Indian dance around the yard. “Max the warrior dog to the rescue! He saved us from the evil Fenrir!”
Max jumps around, too. Barking like he’s gone mad.
“Sammy Smith—what is going on out here?” Mom stands at the corner of the barn, hands on hips. Beth is behind her, rubbing her eyes. “That yelling would wake the dead.”
“The raccoons—Max chased off the raccoons.”
“Cool.” Beth raises a high five in my direction. “Going back to bed now. . . .” She retreats into the shadows.
“That’s good, Sammy.” Mom’s tolerant face makes a showing. Soft. Smiling. “But it’s time you moved back into the house. You’re wrecking my sleep. Now get your pillow and follow me.”
“No.”
“What?” Mom’s angry face emerges. A traffic light, blinking red.
“What I mean is, I need to stay awhile longer.” I’m not sure why, I just know I do. “Please, Mom. Just until Birdie’s babies fly. Those raccoons might come back. I . . . I don’t want to abandon her.”
Mom sags, her exhausted face showing. “I swear, Sammy Smith. I don’t know what’s come over you this summer.” She disappears around the barn, shaking her head.
I look at Max, who’s taken up his post in front of Birdie’s nest. Sitting erect. Shaggy mane encircling his neck. A stone lion.
“You’re a warrior dog, Max.” I pull him close and give him a hug. “A real hero.”
We crawl back inside the tent. The battle won, we stretch out on a bed of goose down. The night erupts again. Frogs and crickets. Night birds. A noisy riot of sound. But Max and I don’t care.
Sleeping bag a victory robe.