Road Trip (9 page)

“I see your point.” I think for a minute. “I guess.”

“Ben. I bought the house three months ago.”

“You … But I thought … It sounded like … You didn’t just buy it and quit your job on the same day?”

“Nope. I tried to tell you the whole story in the truck.”

“Oh. I stopped listening because I was so mad.”

“I’ve been working on the house all that time. I
thought if I could show you the business was already a success, you wouldn’t be upset by the big change. And the risk.”

“How far along is the house if you’ve been working that long?”

“Done!” Dad beams and pounds his knee. “Ten days ago, we got an offer. But it was iffy. We’ve been back and forth with offers and counteroffers. I’ve been going crazy waiting.”

“You’re not the most patient person.”

“Exactly. And then the bill for hockey camp arrived. The timing couldn’t have been worse. I wanted to be square with you, so I knew I had to tell you sooner than I’d planned. And to warn you that hockey camp wasn’t a given. So when the email about the puppy came, it was the perfect excuse to do something other than sit around and worry.”

“I’m glad you explained it. Can I tell you something?” He nods. “When I saw the haunted house today, I was worried you might get a craving for it. You know, because it had that possessed-by-demons-from-the-day-it-was-built look. And it seemed to be on top of a cemetery, which would probably make it great for ritual sacrifices. And that it might, I dunno, scream ‘flip-worthy’ to you.”

“I actually called the realtor to see if the place was for sale. Good eye, son.” He laughs at the expression on my
face. “Gotcha! Imagine the work we’d have to do, huh, Ben? First the housing inspection, then the exorcism? Too much even for me.”

We laugh and then I reach over and punch him on the shoulder, which, as everyone knows, is like a guy hug. Because he’s Dad, I give him a big bear hug. Just like when I was little, we try to squeeze the breath out of each other. For the first time, he gives in first.

“What do you think is going to happen with the offer?” I ask.

“I think,” he starts to say, and then, because I can read the look in his eye, we finish the sentence together, “it’ll all work out.”

Theo and Gus barge into our room like they own the place, Mia and Atticus on their heels.

“What’s the matter with you people, not locking your door? Don’t you know there are lunatics out there who’ll rob you and kill you and hide your bodies under the mattress?” Gus says before he makes himself at home, propped up with pillows on my bed. He whistles to Atticus, who curls up at his side.

“We couldn’t sleep,” Theo explains.

“Too quiet and lonely,” Mia agrees.

“Glad we’re all together,” Gus says. “I’ve been thinkin’. Got an announcement.”

I look at Dad, Theo, and Mia and see I’m not the only curious one.

Gus wags his finger at Mia. “Yer crazy if ya think yer goin’ back ta the kind of life where ya play cards with the likes of that Bobby character. I don’t know where yer folks are or what ya think yer doin’, but I’m steppin’ in now. Ya need someone ta keep an eye on ya. I’m no kin ta ya, I know, but I don’t hold truck with the crazy life ya got goin’. Okay with me if ya wanna talk silly energy field this or that, but ya gotta get a job where decent people spend their money, and you’re gonna get an education. Do whatever you want after that. Read tarot cards at the county fair if ya wanna. Only yer gonna have some schoolin’.”

“Go on.” I’d have thought Mia would put Gus in his place for talking to her like that, but she’s intrigued. Me too.

“I’ve got a lady friend—” Gus pauses and blushes. “Runs a diner. She’s always lookin’ fer good help. Rents out an apartment over her garage. Good place; I did the wirin’. Once you’ve got a new job, new apartment, you can save fer school.”

“I’d love that,” Mia says. “Actually … I told you I had roommates, but I’ve been couch surfing the past couple of months. My roommate and I couldn’t make rent and lost our apartment. I’d rather drink my own pee than move back home. And … maybe … You’re right. I’ve been thinking about school.… I’m tired of auditions and rejections. The experience I’ll get in
college productions will help me when I turn professional later, right?”

We all nod even though no one knows if that’s true. Atticus isn’t the only one who wants to keep Mia around.

Then Gus turns to Theo, clears his throat, and bellows like a drill sergeant, “Minute we get back ta town, you an’ me are gonna go see whoever it is ya need ta see about this time ya gotta do. Yer gonna get that hardware outta yer face”—he points to Theo’s eyebrow piercing—“and pull up yer trousers, because no one wants ta see yer drawers. You’ll do yer time like a man. Then yer gonna clean up yer act if I have ta kick yer keister every step of the way.”

“Thanks, Gus, that’s really nice of you.” Theo’s all red in the face, but he’s smiling.

“I’m not nice.” Gus harrumphs. “What’s that silliness on your arm?” He points to Theo’s wrist.

“It’s a tattoo. Or a prototype. Figure I’ll have it made permanent when I’ve done my time. A reminder.”

“What is it?” Mia asks. We all lean forward and he shows us what he’s drawn: a flying bus next to a grinning black and white dog.

Mia laughs. “Draw it on my ankle, maybe I’ll have it made permanent, too.” Theo turns red again when she puts her foot in his lap, and his hand shakes a little as he starts to draw.

“Then me,” I say. “Go old-school, right on my bicep.”

Theo draws tattoos on Mia and me while Gus and Dad look for something to watch on TV. They find an old movie about a guy trying to get somewhere and not doing a great job of it.

“By comparison, our trip has been relatively peaceful. It’s all a matter of perspective,” Dad explains to Gus. Atticus raises his head, looks at me, and yawns. He’s as unimpressed by Dad’s wisdom tonight as he was when I said almost that same thing to him earlier in the day.

“Yeah, right,” Gus snorts. “When ya hafta compare yer day to that disaster ta find the upside, ya ain’t in good shape.”

I swear Atticus smiles at me before he lies back down. “It’ll all work out,” I tell Gus. “It always does.”

Theo’s done drawing tattoos on Mia and me, and I take pictures of them. Dad and Gus take a pass on his offer to ink them.

“Okay, now we’ve really got to get some sleep,” Dad says, switching off the TV again. “We’re wheels up at oh-five-hundred hours, so sleep fast.”

We all say good night and everyone heads back to their rooms. Atticus stays on Dad’s bed this time. As it should be.

“You might want to call Mom before you go to bed.” I flip my phone to Dad. “Tell her we’re okay. Tell her”—
I pause and then say it real fast before I can change my mind or something mean comes out of my mouth—“that I say hi, too, and I’m sorry I missed her calls and texts today.”

Dad grins and tips his head in agreement as he dials her number and steps outside the room.

The perfect end to a perfectly weird day.

Good thing that Gus is helping Theo and Mia. Someone’s got to keep them straight, and they don’t have me.

I heard him say that he raised everything on four legs on a farm.

Teenagers can’t be that much different.

The Reason for the Trip

We pull up at the shelter where my new dog—I’ve settled on calling him Gretzky—has been staying. I leap out of the bus and race up the sidewalk.

The door is locked.

Dad, Gus, Mia, Theo, Atticus, and I are peering through the glass, and it’s all I can do not to keep pressing the bell until someone answers. I think Theo’s going to reach over me and start pounding with his fist. Mia’s got her forehead pressed against the door, her hands cupped around her eyes, trying to see inside.

“Over here,” a voice calls from the corner of the building.

We turn, and I see a cute girl gesturing at us to follow her to the back. She’s holding a tiny gray kitten and a
baby bottle. She looks like she’s my age. And she’s more than cute. I forget to breathe for a few seconds.

She leads us to a small fenced-in yard with a couple of kids’ wading pools and a bunch of toys scattered around on the grass. She settles in a deck chair and starts feeding the kitten.

Atticus walks over and sniffs the kitten, nuzzling its tiny ears and licking one small paw. Then he sits next to the chair and watches the girl feed the cat. He nudges her hand when the bottle slips out of the kitten’s mouth.

The girl is wearing a
V L NT R
apron and a badge that says
AL S N
. She’s totally focused on feeding the cat and acts like we’re not even standing there.

I find my voice, but it cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “We’re here. Finally. It’s been, well, it’s a long story.” I squint at her, trying to decipher the code on her apron.

“Volunteer. Alison. The shelter’s on a tight budget, we can’t afford vowels.” She’s funny. Joking, right? But she glares a hole in my forehead, then gives Dad, Theo, Gus, and Mia the once-over. She’s petting Atticus’s head with her free hand without seeming to notice. He rests his head on her knee, studying the kitten. “You’re the people for Conor?”

Weird. People who like animals, in my experience, are usually friendly. Maybe she doesn’t like people.

“Who’s Conor?”

“The border collie. His name is Conor. I might not be able to keep him, but at least I can give him the most beautiful name I know.”

“Oh, we didn’t know he had a name. I was going to call him … Never mind,” I stumble. “We didn’t know you wanted to keep him.” Man, I didn’t see
this
coming. “But, yeah, we’re here. For … Conor.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Now that we finally got here, we’re … denied? Can she do that?
Why
would she do that?

“What makes you think you’re good enough for Conor?” She’s unfazed that this homeless dog has a welcoming committee of five and another border collie and that we arrived on a school bus. What does it take to make a good impression on this girl?

“Good enough?” Uh, we’re
here
. And we
want
him. What else are you looking for? I bite my tongue because a snotty response isn’t going to help.

“Mr. Duffy and Ben came all this way—and so did the rest of us—just to give the dog a home,” Theo pitches in. “You can trust them. Ben’ll take good care of him, of Conor; they’re excellent dog owners.”

“It’s a dog, for crying out loud,” Gus says. “You’re not handing out honorary titles here.” He snorts and
shakes his head. For once, Gus’s annoyance is on point. I wish he’d take it up a notch and bully her into giving us the dog.

“Uh, sweetie?” Mia says. “Is your boss around? Can we talk to a grown-up?”

Alison finally looks up from the baby cat. “I’ve known Conor since he’s been at the shelter. He’s special. There’s something about border collies that make you feel like they’re looking at you and reading your soul.”

“You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know,” I say.

“Then you know I can’t go handing out border collies to just anyone.”

“It’s hard to argue when you put it like that, but—”

“Besides, there’s already someone here to get him. Inside.”

No.

Oh, no.

I see the picture of the puppy on Dad’s phone in my mind and it hits me how much I want this dog. I haven’t been thinking about him much, I know. First I was so mad at Dad and then I got caught up with all the new people and the trip and Conor kind of slipped my mind.

But now that we won’t be taking him home, my heart aches. I think back to how awful I felt when Dad told
me I might not go to hockey camp; at that moment, I thought it was the worst feeling I’d ever know. But it’s nothing compared to hearing I’m not going to get Conor.

“Well, can’t you talk to the other person and explain that there’s been a mix-up and that the dog is ours, was promised to us, and we drove a long way, a
looooooong
way to get him and—”

“That won’t be necessary.” I’m cut off midsentence.

BY MOM.

Who’s standing right behind me with a wiggling border collie puppy on a leash.

Mom is here.

There are a few blurry minutes where Mom and I are hugging and I’m on my knees hugging Conor and then Mom is being introduced to and hugging Gus and Theo and Mia. Then Mom and Dad hug while the rest of us hug Alison and the kitten she’s still cradling and laugh that she and Mom pulled it off and gave us such a hard time. I take a picture of Mia and Theo hugging—he seems to hold on an extra long time, but I can’t blame him since I did the same thing with Alison. There’s a lot of hugging.

Until Atticus barks.

We all turn and look at him. He’s watching Conor.

Conor whines back at him.

Atticus pads over to Conor and they start wagging their tails and circling each other, doing that butt- and
ear-smelling thing. Once acquainted, they sit facing each other like mirror images, taking stock.

They belong together.

I look up from the dogs and see Mom and Dad watching them, too. He’s got his arm around her and she’s leaning her head against his shoulder.