Ask Anybody (9 page)

“What's bothering you, Sky?” my father said after I'd slapped Tad's hand when he grabbed for something.

“Nothing,” I snapped.

“You could've fooled me,” he said. “You're not your usual sweet, adorable self.” He reached over and patted my hand, and I jumped up.

“Sky's crying! Sky's crying!” Sidney shouted, rushing at me. “Aren't you crying, Sky? Aren't you?”

I pushed him. It wasn't a big push. Still, he went flying, skidding across the floor. He wasn't hurt. Only his pride.

“Did you hear from my mother yet?” I asked my father, knowing perfectly well if he had he would've told me. “Isn't it time for her to be coming home?”

“In the next couple of days we should get a cable,” my father said, dusting Sidney off, telling me by his face and eyes that what I'd done wasn't nice. Which I already knew.

“Are you sure?” Sidney cried, hanging onto my father's leg.

And Tad, the man of few words, the realist, said, “Maybe.”

Maybe what? Life was full of maybes, it seemed. Maybe my mother would come home soon. Maybe she'd be alone. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she'd bring Angus. Maybe she wouldn't. I'm sick to death of maybes.

I don't care, I told myself. If she wants to, she will. If she doesn't, she won't. It's as simple as that.

Ask anybody.

16

Next day a big moon-faced boy followed us home from the bus stop. I knew it was because Nell was walking with us. We were talking about having a knickknack table at our yard sale. Rowena and Betty discussed knickknacks in an easy way that indicated their familiarity with knickknacks. Last year my mother had gone through our house putting all our knickknacks into a box, which she donated to a thrift shop. She said they were nothing but dust catchers.

“I have this darling pin cushion that resembles a tomato,” Betty said. “I also have some owl candles that have only been used once or twice that might be good.” Rowena chimed in with the news that she had some salt and pepper shakers shaped like little fans that she thought would sell like hot cakes.

“We don't have any,” Nell said in a tone that took care of any idea we had that she might add to our knickknack table.

What would we talk about when our yard sale was over? I wondered.

“Who
is
that creep?” Betty said, looking back over her shoulder, making sure the big moon-faced boy was still there. He was. He wore a baseball cap set backwards on his head, and a pair of gigantic wading boots that reached to his crotch. He kept spitting noisily to get Nell's attention.

“He's some dumb bozo,” she said.

I was impressed by her use of the word “bozo.” “He reminds me of Marlon Brando,” I said.

Rowena came to a grinding halt in the middle of the road.

“What a terrible thing to say!” she shouted. Betty was so mad she wouldn't look at me. Even Nell took offense. They were all a little in love with Marlon Brando. Rowena and Betty had seen him in
On the Waterfront
on TV five times. I could take him or leave him alone.

“I can't help it,” I said. “He does.”

We went the rest of the way in silence. When we got to Nell's house, the moon-faced boy had disappeared. We unrolled the rug from the dump to inspect it. Nell's dog sniffed and lifted his leg tentatively.

“Take off, you old coot!” Nell hollered, kicking out at him. The dog skulked off a way and sat on his skinny rump, watching us.

No wonder he'd planned to pee on that rug. He figured he might as well join the crowd. Patches of dog pee made an elaborate design; big patches, little patches, medium-size patches. Plus it was some bald in spots, some raggedy in others.

“That should bring a fast five, ten cents,” I said in a sour way. We stood looking down at our find, wondering what to do next. Nell's brother Leo stuck his head out the door and said, “Ma said to tell you you got to clean the kitchen today,” he said.

“Clean it yourself,” Nell told him.

“Ma says she might have to thump on you if you don't.”

Nell tossed her curls, sending them to quivering like a bunch of bedsprings.

“Let's face it. If we're going to have a good yard sale, make some real money,” she said, “we need more stuff to sell. We don't have nearly enough. We need a whole bunch of junk. The more the better. If we don't get ahold of more stuff, we better forget the whole thing. It's not worth it with just the little bit of stuff we have now.”

The three of us, Rowena, Betty, and I, stood meekly, listening to the general. We acted like our tongues had been cut out, not making a peep.

“Where do we get it?” Betty said. All eyes turned toward Nell. She was the leader, after all. She was the only one who knew what she was doing.

“First,” she said, frowning, “we drive around some, take another trip to the dump, see what's laying around there. Maybe stop at some houses along the way, ask 'em if they have anything they want to get rid of that we can take off their hands. The ticket is”—Nell's foxy little face was excited, more excited than I'd ever seen it—“we give 'em a tax deduction for whatever they hand over. That gets 'em every time. That way they take off the value of what they donate to us off their income tax. You'd be amazed what telling them they get a tax deduction does to those folks. Why, they empty their attics and their cellars and everything else to get a tax deduction. It's like magic.”

“How do we do that?” I said.

Nell spread her hands. “Simple as pie,” she said. “We get ourselves a legal pad, one of those long yellow lined pads, makes it look very official and everything, and put in big letters at the top ‘Tax Deduction.' Then we put their names on it, the date, and list the items they give us and their value. Price everything high, real high. That's important. That way, the more they give us, the more the tax deduction they get. And aim for the old folks. The older the better. The old people always have lots of stuff squirreled away in their houses. And they're all worried about money, getting sick and having to pay all those hospital bills and all, so if you tell 'em they get a big tax deduction for their things, they practically give you the shirt off their backs.” Nell grinned. “I know because I did it. Plenty of times.”

“That way,” Rowena said, a smile breaking out on her face as she got the idea, “we help them, they help us. One hand washes the other.”

“You got it,” Nell said.

“What do they do with the tax deduction after we make it out and give it to them? What happens to it so they save money on their income tax?” I asked.

“They attach the piece of paper to their income tax returns and the government gives 'em the deduction next year. That way”—I was fascinated watching the way her tongue rolled around in her mouth—“that way they save piles of money.”

I think I'd have known she was lying even if it hadn't been for her tongue. It was too easy. I'd watched my father make out his returns too many times, heard him complaining, seen him scratch his head, perplexed, as he tried to fill out the forms, to know it wasn't a simple problem to solve.

“Who'll drive us around? Your Uncle Joe?” Betty said.

“He's not here,” Nell said. “I'll drive. If we stick to the back roads, we'll be all right.”

“You're kidding,” I said.

She gave me one of her flat stares. “No, I'm not,” she said. “I know how to drive. Done it plenty of times, since I was about eight or nine. I know what I'm doing. It's not hard.” She walked toward the old pickup parked in the driveway. “Who wants to come?”

Leo came to life. “I'll tell!” he hollered, jumping up and down, hitching up his trousers in a nervous way. Leo looks like he has a lot of bad dreams.

“No, you won't,” Nell told him. “Not if you know what's good for you, you won't.”

Leo subsided and sat on the edge of the bottom step, watching, his pale eyes slipping from side to side, seeing if anybody was going to try to stop her. Presently he put his finger up his nose and left it there, keeping it warm.

Nobody moved.

I stayed where I was, heard the truck engine start up, and watched as Nell drove around the corner of the house and stopped in front of us. I could see her perched on the edge of the seat so her feet could reach the gas pedal.

“See how I do it!” she cried, putting the truck in gear. She went forward, chugging and leaping, her head jerking back and forth like it might snap off.

“Hop in!” she shouted.

“Not me,” Betty muttered. “Not on your life. My father'd have my hide.”

Rowena nodded in wordless agreement. Nell gunned the engine, showing off. “You all are nothing but a bunch of scaredy cats!” she taunted.

Leo got up from his place on the steps and began pacing back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back, head down. The old dog came ambling from wherever it was he'd been sleeping. He was so thin I could see his ribs, count 'em, one by one. He had cataracts in both eyes and couldn't see too well, and he was deaf. Otherwise, he was in good shape, and I never saw a dog go after a bone like he did. He enjoyed eating and sleeping and chasing cars, and when strangers approached, he let out a resounding bark. I remembered that first day when we'd gone to welcome the new family and the way the dog had come to check us out, as if he owned the place. I liked him. He was a fine old gentleman.

Nell backed up, then put the car in forward gear and came at us. “Nothing to it!” she hollered. “Come on.”

To my surprise, I said, “I'll go if you promise to drive on the back roads.” Betty and Rowena stared at me. I don't know why I said I'd go. I guess I was showing off, too, the way Nell was.

Betty and Rowena linked arms and watched, their eyes big, as I climbed into the truck and sat beside Nell.

“You'll be sorry,” I heard Betty say. We started up, tires squealing. Nell leaned into the steering wheel, sitting tall, turning that old wheel this way and that like she was driving one of Uncle Joe's mammoth egg trucks.

“How come you go backwards smooth as silk,” I asked Nell, “but when you go forward, you jerk like to knock your head off?”

“Watch, just watch me.” Nell put the truck into first. Slow and easy, she took her foot off the clutch and put it on the gas pedal. The truck went forward, as smooth as if it'd been oiled.

“See!” Nell crowed. “I told you I could do it. They'll wish they came with us. They're nothing but old feardy cats, that's what. Now hang on to your hat and we'll show 'em!”

Her foot slipped. I saw it slip off the brake and onto the gas. We zoomed forward, fast, faster than I would've believed possible for that old buggy to go. The engine made a terrible roar.

The old dog came at us. His lip was lifted, and I didn't know if he was smiling at us or snarling. The sound of a noisy car made him young again, I guess. I'd never know what made him spring at us. Maybe he thought we were trying to race him. Maybe he thought it was a game. He leaped up at us.

“Watch out!” I screamed. Nell jerked the wheel over hard, the way she'd seen Uncle Joe do. I felt a thud, a terrible thud against the truck's side. She jammed on the brakes. We sat there for a minute. Red spots darted in front of my eyes. Something or someone seemed to be doing somersaults inside my chest.

“I think you hit him,” I said. Off to one side, I could see Betty and Rowena, their hands over their eyes, peering at us from between their spread fingers, the way you do when you watch a scary movie. Leo ran back and forth, waving his arms wildly, shouting, “You done it now! You done it now!”

The old dog lay, half under the left rear wheel, blinking at us. Stuff ran out of his mouth. He moaned, and the sound sent goose bumps up my spine. I jumped out and went over to him, bent down and touched his head. His tail thumped once and was still.

“Call the vet,” I said. “Maybe he can …”

Nell squatted down beside me. “This old man's not going nowhere,” she said. “What I gotta do is get this here truck off him and we'll see what's what.” Even as she got back into the pickup and started the engine, I admired her cool. I couldn't imagine any situation in which Nell would get excited, cry or wring her hands, the way people did, would lose her control. I shivered. The wind seemed to have risen, and as it sang its way through the dark pine forest ringing us around, a terrible pain glanced off one corner of my heart. Nell backed up smoothly, much more smoothly than she'd gone forward. The dog was free. There was nothing holding him now. Still he didn't move. I stood with my eyes shut, trembling.

Leo ran back and forth, shouting, thrusting his fists at the sky. Rowena and Betty put their arms around each other and touched foreheads. Nell and I stared down at the old dog. His eyes had rolled back in his head.

“I think he's dead,” I whispered.

“Sure hope so,” Nell said.

“What?”

“Sure hope so, I said. Doesn't look like he could be fixed up much. Now,” she said briskly, “all's we got to do is get him out to the road.” She took hold of one of the dog's legs and pulled. “Leo,” she shouted over her shoulder, “go get the shovel.” Leo brought it, and Nell and I worked the dog's body onto the shovel. Then we dragged it out to the road, where Nell upended the shovel and the body slid down and landed with a dull thump on the frozen road.

“What'd we do that for?” I asked. My head felt as if it were packed with cotton.

Nell stood back, surveying the scene. “That's good,” she said, satisfied. “That way it looks like some car run over him. Hit-run. Happens all the time. Left him laying right there. That way we don't get blamed. They knew I was driving the truck, I'd get thrashed good.”

“Is that why we brought him over here?” I asked, incredulous.

“Why'd you think?” Nell looked as me as if I were loony. “That's our story. And nobody's saying different. Right, Leo?” Leo crept behind us like an old man, moving back to his post on the porch, where he gazed out at the black pine trees with pale and desolate eyes.