The Secrets of Tree Taylor (13 page)

“Are the roses from your bushes?” I asked.

“I got no more roses,” she said. And that’s when I remembered what Mrs. DeShon said about Mr. Kinney yanking out the roses in a fit of temper. “Somebody brought these here for Alfred. But I like them where they are.”

We stared at the petals.

“Do you miss him, Mrs. Kinney?” It was the first real question I’d asked about her husband. And it wasn’t even on my list. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind the askin’.” She seemed to be considering her answer, though. Finally, she said, “His absence is duly noted. That’s a true thing, that is.”

Since the non-incident at the IGA, Jack had phoned me a dozen times. I had Eileen and Mom tell him I was still too mad at him for scaring me. But the truth was, as Mrs. Kinney put it, Jack’s absence was duly noted.

Somehow, Jack managed to sneak two “anonymous” notes into my bike basket:

The second came from Walter Winchell, the voice of news radio:

I had to admit the quotes weren’t bad.

Just after supper the phone rang, and I forgot and answered it myself. “Hello?” We were supposed to say, “Taylor residence,” in case it was a patient for Dad. But I forgot that too, like I did most of the time.

“Good. Tree, don’t hang up,” Jack said. “I know you’re mad at me. But how would you like me to give you a driving lesson?”

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t hang up. I’d been after Jack—and Eileen and Mom and Dad—to teach me to drive. We wouldn’t get to take driver’s ed until sophomore year, but I didn’t want to wait till then to get the feel of the wheel. Sarah had been driving trucks and tractors all over her farm since she was ten.

“Just think, Tree,” Jack continued. “It will give you a chance to yell at me face to face.”

“That’s true,” I conceded. “And you’re going to let me drive Fred?”

“Fred is willing. I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Five,” I said, just to be contrary.

“Deal.”

I changed into jeans and a clean red T-shirt and ran a brush through my hair. Five minutes later, Jack pulled up. Mom and Dad were playing croquet in the side yard.

I dashed out of the house and waved to them. The rain had stopped for good, and our dry ground had soaked up most of it. Sunshine burst through wisps of clouds as the sun made a grand appearance before setting. “Going for a drive with Jack!” I shouted to my parents.

They waved back at me.

I slid in and stared straight ahead.

“Before you officially have a cow,” Jack began, “I’ve got to say that I’m not the one you should be mad at.” He pulled onto the road. “This was Donna’s fault, Tree, and you know it. Still, I’m sorry you flipped out.” He reached across the gearshift and tapped my shoulder about where I’d slugged
his
shoulder. “I’d have done the same for you.”

He rolled along at a snail’s pace, neither of us saying anything. I’d already come to the same conclusion. If Donna hadn’t bugged him for gossip, or if she hadn’t called the whole town, none of it would have happened.

“So,” I said, “are we going to talk all night or drive? Punch it! Pedal to the metal!”

Jack grinned. So did I.

I wished Dad and I could get over things the way Jack and I always did.

“First, there’s something I want you to see.” Jack turned onto Main Street. When he got to the bank, he slowed down.

“What?” I didn’t see anything.

He tilted his head toward the bank, motioning me to look up.

Then I saw it. On the roof sat a sign, like a stop sign, only white. I couldn’t read it from where I sat. “What’s it say?”

“Haven’t you seen our new police officer’s specially made parking sign? It says, ‘For police department vehicles only, by order of Officer Duper.’ ”

“No way!”

“The guy hadn’t been here twenty-four hours when he brought out that sign. He moves it from the sheriff’s office,
where nobody ever parks anyway, to the café, where spots can fill on a Sunday after church. Wherever Duper goes, it goes.”

“So you moved it to the top of the bank?” I was trying hard not to laugh.

“Did I say that? I just thought it looked cool up there, and I wanted to show my best buddy how Hamilton welcomed the new fuzz.”

I filled Jack in on my visits to the Kinney place and how I hadn’t gotten much for my article but that Mrs. Kinney made cool baskets and knew weird facts about places she dreamed of going. I told him what Randy Ridings said about letting me write something for the
Hamiltonian
. Jack filled me in on how the IGA had returned to normal—boring. And how Donna had taken him seriously and was making a Jesse James getup for the steam engine show, and how he didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d been kidding, especially after the IGA disaster.

Jack drove to the reservoir outside city limits. It was the perfect place for a driving lesson, although the sun had already gone down, making it harder to see. The reservoir looked like a mini-lake, with winding trails around it. Hardly anybody ever drove out there.

“Do you remember when our dads used to bring us out here to the spillway?” I asked. A concrete slope directed water down so the reservoir wouldn’t overflow. We used it as a water slide.

“That was the best place to cool off before they built the pool,” Jack said. “I haven’t thought about the spillway for years. Wonder why we stopped coming.”

“Don’t you remember? Water moccasins. One slid right over my leg.” We’d seen black snakes and king snakes at the reservoir. But water moccasins are poisonous.

“Man, I can’t believe I forgot that! Eileen screamed louder than you did. I thought I’d never get over seeing that snake wiggle over your leg.” He shivered.

“Tell me about it.” I could almost feel that slimy snake on my leg again. For a second, I flashed back to Jack and the imaginary robber, and how things could change in an instant, and what if that water moccasin had opened its mouth and sunk its fangs into my leg.

Jack stopped the car and turned off the engine. “Your turn.” He walked around the front of the car.

I scooted over and let Jack take the suicide seat. “One question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do they call where you’re sitting the ‘suicide seat’?”

“Yeah, well, it’s also called ‘riding shotgun.’ So shut your face and drive.”

We moved the seat up. I had no trouble starting the engine. But I was concentrating so hard on the little diagram on the gearshift that I forgot about the clutch. The car shrieked when I tried to put it in gear. “Sorry,” I told Jack. Or Fred.

Finally, I got the car into first without killing it. We jerked forward. Then rolled ahead. But just when I was getting used to first, Jack told me to shift to second. And the whole mess started all over again.

Half an hour later, we’d both had enough. We swapped seats, and Jack started the engine.

“Thanks, Jack. I hope I didn’t hurt Fred.” I patted the dashboard. “Do you think I’ll ever get my driver’s license?”

“In your lifetime?”

“Funny,” I said, not smiling. I rolled down the window. Music came in with the breeze. “Do you hear that?” I strained to make out the song. “That’s Jan and Dean, or we’re not Jack and Tree.”

“Cool!” Jack cried. “And it’s not even Saturday.” He looked over at me, and his grin widened. “You feel like dancing, Tree?”

“Always.”

He spun Fred around and drove up the hill to the other side of the reservoir.

Just over the hill I spotted a circle of lights, like an alien spaceship. The music grew louder the closer we got to the lights. “What’s going on out there?”

“Tree Taylor, I think it’s about time I let you in on a secret.”

A dozen cars were parked in a circle, front ends pointing in, forming a big round grass dance floor in the center. Each car had the windows open and the radio tuned to WHB, Kansas City’s rock station. “Surf City” blared out of every speaker while couples danced in a ring of headlights.

Jack pulled Fred into the circle and turned off the engine, but not all the way, so he could play his radio too. The dial was already on 710, so our Jan and Dean joined everybody else’s.

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” I exclaimed. I knew the dancers, kids from Jack’s class, and Eileen’s. The guys wore jeans and T-shirts. But the girls were dressed cool—full skirts, some housing even fuller petticoats underneath, sleeveless tops with big buttons and wide belts.

Several of the kids waved at us—well, at Jack.

“Ready?” he asked, one hand on the door latch. The song ended, and the DJ cut in with something about Dick’s Used Cars in Liberty, Missouri.

“Wait. I can’t dance in front of all these people.”

Liz Cavenaugh had on a red skirt with a hidden pleat in front and back, exactly like the one Eileen told Mom I’d look good in. Her red sneakers matched the skirt. I glanced down at my old jeans and my plain T-shirt. And why had I worn my yellow rubber flip-flops?

Liz and her boyfriend, Kent, jogged up to Jack’s window. They were holding hands and didn’t let go, even when Kent leaned in. His gaze rested on me. “You robbin’ the cradle these days, Jack?”

I wanted to disappear under the floorboard.

But Jack came to the rescue. “Tree could dance the socks off all of you. I was lucky to get her to agree to have me as a dance partner.”

Kent frowned at me. “Right, man.”

I had no business being here. I stared out the windshield, hoping to see at least one person from my class. “Wait a minute. Jack, is that Butch? And Laura?”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard about Butch and Laura, but seeing them together creeped me out. Butch Hamlet was the only guy my sister had ever dated seriously. Eileen was the prettiest girl in her class, and everybody loved her. But she never went out with anybody more than once or twice.

Except for Butch. She’d had a crush on him since grade school. Last year they started going together. He made it official—gave her his class ring and told her they were going steady.

But Eileen wasn’t with him tonight. And Laura the Lifeguard was.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “About that—”

“What’s he doing with Laura?” I demanded.

“Dancing. They come here and dance. That’s all.”

“Why didn’t he bring Eileen?”

“Tree,” Jack said, “I love your sister. You know that. But … well … have you seen her dance?”

He had a point. Still … “So that’s it? They dance. But where do they go
after
they dance?”

“You’d have to ask them about that. But don’t do it here. Here is for dancing.”

Suddenly, “Heat Wave” shouted at us from every car. I loved that song.

Jack hopped out of Fred and reached in for me. “Come on, Tree! You love Martha and the Vandellas.”

I stayed where I was. “Yeah. But not with all these people around.”

“So pretend they’re not. We’re missing it, Tree!”

I thought for a minute and figured I’d already made a fool of myself by showing up here. I might as well enjoy it. I slid out and ran into the dancing ring while Martha belted out: “…  like a heat wave, burning in my heart. I can’t keep from crying, tearing me apart.”

A few voices shouted something to Jack, but I shut them out. There was nothing but the music now. Now was for dancing.

Jack took both of my hands, and, like we’d done on umpteen Sunday nights, we danced. I got into it so deep—spinning, bridging, underarm turning—I didn’t even notice another dancer until the song ended.

When I looked up, Jack and I were standing in the center of the circle, and I was shoeless. Nobody else was dancing. My heart pounded, but not from dancing. I knew they were going to tell me to leave. I was too young. I didn’t belong here.

Then somebody clapped.

And before we knew it, cheers burst out all around the circle. Hoots and hollers and applause. Even Kent. Especially Kent. “Take a bow, cats! You weren’t kidding about Tree dancing us into the ground, were you, old man!”

Several of the girls—not Laura—rushed up to me.

“Tree, that was so cool!”

“Far-out, girl!”

“Was that the watusi you did at the end?”

Before I could get a word in, Suzi exclaimed, “You have to teach me how you do that thing when you spin under and come up swinging!” Suzi was Hamilton’s homecoming queen.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Liz asked.

Before I could answer—and I wouldn’t have had a clue how to answer—another song started, and Jack whisked me away.

Then another. And another.

Jack wouldn’t let anybody else dance with me. Only him. Which was fine with me. We danced every song as if we were on
American Bandstand
. Meanwhile, lightning bugs flashed all around us, and stars shone overhead. A train wailed in the distance. I could smell grass, and water, and perfume.

Jack and I twisted. We did the mashed potato. We jived
and jitterbugged. I’d never gotten so much applause in my whole life. Even Eileen hadn’t gotten this much when she did piano recitals.

“Wipe Out” came on, and I was dancing by the first note.

Not Jack. “Tree, it’s late. I’d better get you home before your dad sends Officer Duper out looking for us.”

“No! I love this song, Jack!” I was so jazzed I could have danced
on
the reservoir.

But he was already halfway to the car.

I hated leaving, but I followed him.

Instead of heading back by the spillway, we took a different road out, past the main reservoir. It would have made a fine lake if we hadn’t needed to drink it.

“Right over there.” He pointed to a worn path near the water’s edge.

It reminded me of pull-over spots on highways so drivers could stop and get a good view or take pictures. It was a pretty spot, but no better than anywhere else around the water. “So what’s down there?” I said.

“That, my dear Tree, is a place you should never let those young rascals in your class take you once they get their licenses.”