Franny Parker (14 page)

“Where are you going?” Pearl asked, as I stood.

“It's okay, I'm just checking on Snort.” I hurried away, down the side of the hill to where Snort huddled in the far corner of the pen. It was strangely quiet and clear; Snort whinnied nervously. There was no time to comfort him. Once in the safety of the darkness, I turned back, creeping along the fence line, to the barn. As I neared it, I could feel the heat, taste the smoke in the air. There was a sudden crackling noise beside me, a twig breaking on the other side of the fence. I turned, half expecting to see Pearl chasing after me. But there was no one.

Mama and Daddy stood in front of the barn, aiming the hose at the loft. They didn't see me open the side door and hurry back inside.

The smoke was thicker now, swallowing the stalls, rising into my lungs. Coughing, I dropped to the floor and crawled to the rear stall.

“I'm back,” I called, rushing to the opossums. They were curled together, pressed against the rear of the cage. I couldn't tell if they were still alive or not. Again, I tried to hoist the large cage onto my shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. I yanked and tugged, dragging it halfway off the hay bale. Above me the barn roared.

“It's too heavy!” I cried out. But no one was there to hear. No one knew where I was. I pulled again, then again, with all my might. I didn't have much time. Finally the cage lurched forward, tumbling on top of me, and we landed together in the dirt. The opossums rolled around inside.

I could hear the flames through the beams in the ceiling. They were speaking in tongues, hissing and spluttering. I tried to wiggle out from under the cage, but I was pinned.

The babies will die
, I thought.
All those lullabies and feedings and checkups
. And then it occurred to me: so would I. I closed my eyes and screamed. And then my chest lightened, the cage lifting slowly off of me.

“Franny,” a voice shouted.

In the smoky haze, Lucas was reaching for me, pulling me up. He yanked the cage free and we dashed out of the stall, out of the barn as the roof creaked above us, out into the night, where my mother swept me up and my father cried out in shock. Fire trucks lined our drive, great spirals of water streaming toward the barn. But it was too late. We collapsed under the wet spray and watched the roof cave in before us.

L
ucas and I caught our breath on the grass, unable to take our eyes off the barn. Mama scurried back into the house to check on Ben, who had slept through all of it. Daddy, finally sure that we were safe, slumped against the fence as the firemen worked. Before us the entire barn glowed orange, the spirals of water from the fire hose toppling the timber with its force.

When Sidda appeared with towels to wipe the smoke and soot from our faces, the spell was broken.

“At least we got everyone out,” Lucas said, turning to face me. He was soaked, his hair plastered against his forehead, mud streaked across his cheeks. He had never looked more handsome.

“You're back.” I coughed, reaching to touch him to be sure.

But Lucas shook his head. “I'm leaving, Franny. I came back for my mom.”

“Now?” I looked at the burning barn and the trucks lining our driveway. My mind raced.

“My dad's passed out,” he whispered urgently. “We haven't got much time.”

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“I don't know yet.”

“Stay here. We'll help you.”

He shook his head. “No one can help with this.”

I felt out of my league. And selfish. Here was Lucas trying
to save his mother, and I was worried about the questions I wanted answered. I glanced over my shoulder at Sidda and Pearl, seated behind us on the wet hill.

“Wait, let me get Mama. She'll know what to do.” I was pleading now.

“There is one thing you can do,” Lucas said, standing up.

I stood with him.

He nodded in the direction of Lindy's potting shed. “I need your help.”

“Anything!” I cried.

“Go to the shed, tomorrow. You'll know what to do.”

“What's in it?” I asked.

Lucas shook his head. “Wait until morning,” he said. “I trust you.”

“That's it?”

“That's it,” he said.

I looked at his drenched shirt, his dirty face. And I knew what I had to do.

“Wait here,” I told him. “I have to give you something.”

I raced up to the house, stopping only at my bedroom dresser. I took what I needed from the top drawer before hurrying back outside again. Lucas was at the edge of the yard, already moving toward the cabin. Already moving away.

“Take this,” I said, handing him my coffee can.

He frowned. “I can't take your Animal Funds, Franny.”

But I pushed it toward him again, and he did not refuse.

“I won't be able to call you, Franny, or write. Not for a while.”

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

“I will, though. Someday I will, I promise.”

I wanted to tell him to be careful, to come back, to promise. But I just nodded like a little girl, tears spilling stupidly down my cheeks.

Lucas took my hand, turning the palm up in his sooty fingers.

I shivered.

“Remember,” he whispered, tracing my palm. And then he leaned in, his lips brushing mine gently at first, then firmly, all the promises and pain of the summer passing between us.

When I finally opened my eyes, he was walking into the darkness.

A
s we sat stunned on the wet hillside, Grandma Rae's fancy black car rolled in behind the trucks.

“Thank the Lord, thank the Lord,” she wheezed, hurrying from one of us to the next in her robe and bedroom slippers and smothering us in her embrace, even Pearl. Soda-can-size curlers peeked out from under her floral scarf, crushing my cheek as she hugged me once more for good measure. “I heard the sirens and saw the trucks head out this way. When no one answered the phone . . .” She dabbed her eyes and looked away. Then she turned her attention to the rows of cages, the patients huddling inside. Grandma Rae shook her head sadly and pointed to her car. “Load 'em up!” she ordered.

“What?”

“Quick, child, before I change my mind.” Grandma Rae opened the trunk of her town car.

Surely she didn't mean what I thought she did. “But you hate them,” I reminded her. “They're dirty, germy, rotten, smelly animals.
Wild
animals.”

Grandma tilted her head, considering this, and nodded. “Yes, yes, all of that is true. But they are
in need
. You can keep them in my shed. Not quite as big as your barn, but there's plenty of shade. Now, come on.” She motioned to the trunk again.

“But they'll suffocate in there,” I protested.

“Oh, dear, I guess we don't want that.” She sighed and mopped her brow with a monogrammed hankie. Clearly this was more than Grandma Rae had bargained for, certainly more than
those in need
required of a person. Even a Christian. “All right, the backseat it is. Just don't scratch the leather.” Grandma Rae opened the door dramatically and covered her nose.

“Why, Rae!” Mama exclaimed, her face brightening. “I can't believe it.”

Grandma cringed as I lowered Speed Bump onto the car seat.

“
The Lord
will be real proud,” Mama said, squeezing her arm.

“It's only temporary,” Grandma warned.

When the backseat was fully loaded, Grandma Rae got behind the wheel. She adjusted her rearview mirror so she wouldn't see the patients. “Lord have mercy. Never thought I'd have rats for passengers,” she muttered.

Ben and I stood outside the car, waving goodbye. He squealed in delight. “Guess what you are, Grandma?” he asked.

“Crazy?”

“No. The Animal Taxi!”

Grandma, pretending not to hear this, blared the horn at the firemen and roared out of the driveway. “Make way, men, I've got rats in transport!” she called.

L
ooking at the smoky remains the next morning left a powerful hole in my heart. When the day broke over the pile of rubble that used to be our barn, the Fire Department began their search. Detective Roy and several others scoured the site. This is what they found: a singed English saddle with the brass nameplate “Shadow,” the wire cage that Mama saved Speed Bump from, and an empty whiskey bottle.

“Know anyone who could've been up in your loft?” Detective Roy asked Dad.

“It wasn't a hay fire, from the heat?”

“No, sir, this time Mother Nature's innocent,” Detective Roy informed us.

Dad took the bottle, and I followed his gaze as it fell on the cabin. For the first time I noticed the blue truck still parked in the driveway. How could that be?

“They're still here,” I hollered, forgetting the barn, the bottle in Dad's hand.

“Who?” Detective Roy stepped forward.

“Lucas and Lindy,” I said, turning to Mama. “They were supposed to run away last night. Something's wrong!”

“Something is wrong,” Mama said quietly, her brow wrinkling worriedly. She motioned to the barn, the trucks. “All of this going on, and they never came out last night.”

Detective Roy interrupted. “Let me get this straight. Your missing neighbor reappears last night, your barn goes up in flames, and he told you he was running away with his mother?” He addressed my father. “Any reason to suspect a member of the Dunn family?”

Daddy looked at me, and then back at Detective Roy. “Perhaps you should talk to them, yes,” he said quietly.

It was too much. Detective Roy pulled out a walkie-talkie, his words cutting the smoky air:
arson, missing suspect, grocery store theft
.

I pleaded with Mama. “Lucas needs our help. I meant to tell you everything, honest I did. But I promised Lucas. His arm was all bruised, and then Lindy's face . . .” I turned to the detective. “Lucas didn't burn our barn.”

Daddy put his hand on my shoulder. “Franny, no one's saying he did. But there's a lot more going on than you know . . .”

I did know. “Lucas isn't a thief, Daddy. He wouldn't just steal from Harland's. Not for himself.”

He sighed. “Franny, sometimes people do desperate things.”

W
e watched as police officers circled the cabin, knocking on the front door, peering through the windows.

“Where did you last see him?” Detective Roy asked.

I pointed to the hill. “There. Just after the fire.”

He pulled Daddy aside. “You should take your family inside while we search the area.”

“But he's innocent!” I cried.

Daddy took my hand. “In the house, Franny. Now.”

But I couldn't go. The secrets and the promises rattled around my head, and I just couldn't keep them any longer. I had to tell.

“Daddy, please,” I begged.

But before I could speak, the cabin door flew open. Lucas's father teetered in the doorway, fury plastered across his face. Even the detective jumped in surprise.

“Get off my property!” Mr. Dunn yelled.

Instantly, police surrounded the cabin, some drawing their guns. Daddy snatched me up and hurried to the porch.

“What's happening?” I cried. But no one answered me.

“Let's have some tea,” Mama said, moving us to the table, away from the scene outside.

“Are Lucas and Lindy okay?” I asked Daddy.

“I don't know, Franny. We have to hope so.”

Ben started to cry.

We could hear the police next door, shouting orders to one another, demanding that Lucas's father come out.

My ears strained. Daddy covered my hand in his.

“It'll be okay,” Mama whispered as she put the kettle on. “It'll be okay.” We all sat at the kitchen table. Pearl and Sidda, Ben and Mama and Daddy and me. We sat for what seemed like forever, staring at each other, afraid to move or speak.

Suddenly there were shouts from the yard. Frantic shouts, followed by the banging of doors and more voices. And then a long, terrible silence. My stomach churned.

Ben whimpered, and Jax got up to lick his face.

Finally, an officer came to our front door.

“We've secured the property,” he told us. “It's all clear.”

Mama leaped up. “The mother and son?”

“They're fine,” he said. “We're taking them in.”

And just like that it was over. Mama buried her face in Ben's hair, and her body heaved a long time before the sobs came out. Daddy wrapped his arms around them both, and Pearl ran for the phone to call her mother.

I had to see for myself. I ran to the porch and was halfway down the steps before Daddy caught up with me. He grabbed me by the arm as two police cars roared out of the driveway.

“Lucas didn't do it!” I yelled, struggling to pull away.

But Daddy didn't let go until we were back on the porch and the driveway was empty. Only then did he lean down and look me square in the eyes.

“Franny, he'll be all right.”

“Where are they taking them?”

He looked down the road. “To the station. They're going to ask them questions. Find out what happened. It's all over now.”

But Daddy was wrong. It wasn't over. There was one promise left that I could keep.

A
s soon as the police and fire cars had pulled away, Pearl went home and we stumbled into our beds. When the house was finally still, I snuck outside and across the smoky yard.

The door creaked as I stepped inside the potting shed. Nothing looked different. Lindy's kiln squatted in the dark corner like a potbellied old man. Her vases and bowls lined the shelves, and the workbench was covered in shipping boxes. I scanned the shed floor. What had Lucas meant? I wondered. It was when I turned to leave that I noticed it. It was sitting behind the door. A small zippered sack, the name “Harland's Market” printed on its side.
Oh, Lucas
, I thought.