Unhappy Appy (2 page)

I turned to see if Towaco had followed us, but he hadn't. “Maybe not so groovy—not if I can't get Towaco to come around. That Appy has been acting as strange as Hawk, Catman. He bit Nickers.”

“Downer.” Catman stretched his long neck to gaze out at the Appaloosa. “Dude looks sad, man. Unhappy Appy.”

It was exactly what I'd been thinking, that the only thing wrong with Towaco was that he was sad. I think he missed Hawk. Even when Hawk did stop by to see her horse, she was sharp and impatient with him. “Maybe a great ride through the fields with Nickers and me will fix Towaco
and
Hawk.”

I fetched a plastic bucket and dipped some oats into it. Nickers nickered at me, expecting at least a handful. I gave her two.

“Catman, I thought you and Barker would be at Pat's Pets all morning.”

Eddy Barker is my age and just about the nicest person I know. He and Catman are best friends. Barker loves dogs the way I love horses and Catman loves cats. The three of us make up the Pet Help Line staff at Pat's Pets, answering e-mails people send in about their problem pets.

Catman let Nelson curl around his neck. The tip of Nelson's black tail swayed in front of Catman's nose. “Barker's in Texas. The annual Barker Thanksgiving reunion.”

“Lucky Barker.” I didn't just mean because he'd be missing a couple days of school. Barker has the greatest family, and I was trying to imagine what a reunion full of Barkers would be like. Mr. and Mrs. Barker teach African-American studies, computer science, poetry, and classy stuff at Ashland University. “What are they doing with the dogs?” Barker had trained a dog for each of his five brothers.

“Traveling with,” Catman answered. “Can you dig it?”

I tried to imagine the Barker bus en route with five dogs, six kids, two parents, and one grandmother.

“I better saddle Towaco before Hawk gets here, Catman. I don't want to give her an excuse to back out.” Tossing him a leadrope, I added, “Follow me, and keep that rope behind your back.”

I carried the bucket of oats to the pasture. Towaco was standing in the same spot, his head low, ears lopped to the sides. He's a perfect, blanket-patterned Appy, dark brown with a solid white blanket over his rump and hips, brown spots scattered over the blanket.

“Mmmm. Look what I've got, Towaco. Oats!” I shook the bucket and let the grain swish against the sides.

The Appy's ears flicked, but he didn't come.

“Bummer,” Catman muttered from a few feet away.

Nickers came trotting up behind me.

“You don't want Nickers to get it all, do you?” I asked, walking up to the Appaloosa.

Nickers nuzzled over my shoulder, around my arm, trying to stick her nose into the bucket.

Towaco let me walk up to him but didn't even glance at the bucket. Something was really wrong. Horses are curious, especially about food. I held a handful of oats a foot from his nose, but he wouldn't take a step toward me. Finally I gave up and moved the oats under his lips. He took my handful of grain, but didn't ask for more.

Nickers stuck her head under my arm and into the bucket, greedily lipping up the grain. Towaco didn't blink. He let out a horse sigh and dropped his head even lower.

“Carrots!” I cried, remembering how much the Appaloosa loved the carrots Hawk used to bring him. I shoved the bucket at Catman. “See if you can do anything with Towaco. I'll be right back.”

I ran through the pasture toward the house, calling back to Catman, “If Hawk comes, do whatever it takes! But don't let her leave!”

I treaded carefully through our yard, jumping over lawn-mower parts, broken vacuum cleaners, dissected toasters, and other small appliances—my dad's “works-in-progress.”

People call Dad “Odd Job Willis.” He can fix anything they bring him, unless he gets distracted by his inventions. Dad thinks of himself as Inventor Willis, which is a long ways from what he was in Wyoming—Mr. Jack Willis, boss of an insurance company.

I leaped over a wad of coiled wires to our front step and nearly landed on a long, skinny, black shoe. It wasn't like any shoe I'd ever seen. A rectangular bump on the tip of the toe looked like a switch. I picked up the shoe and flipped the switch. Out came a miniature garden shovel. When I did the same thing to the other shoe, a tiny spade popped out.

Carrying the shoes inside with me, I called out, “Hey, Dad! What's with the shoes?” I figured they must be one of his latest inventions. And I hoped he didn't expect
me
to wear them.

I crossed the living room to the kitchen. “Dad, I—!”

Dad was on his knees, wrestling with a large, black umbrella. But he wasn't alone.
She
 was with him. Madeline. Madeline Edison, fellow inventor. Dad met her at the Invention Convention in Chicago and discovered she lived in Loudonville, only a few miles from us. Lucky us.

I couldn't take my eyes off them. What could my father be thinking, bringing a strange woman into our very own kitchen! I felt my ears go back, like Towaco's. If they'd been horses, I'd have bitten them!

Neither Dad nor
the woman
turned from the black umbrella on the kitchen floor. It struck me that redheaded Madeline Edison was kind of umbrella-shaped herself, if the umbrella's red and closed. She's tall, thin, and pointy. She wore shiny black slacks and a red sweater and seemed totally fascinated with Dad's umbrella.

I cleared my throat and opened the fridge.

“Winnie?” Dad asked, sounding surprised to find
me
in the kitchen.

“Carrots,” I mumbled, my head deep in the fridge.

“You remember Ms. Edison, don't you?” he asked.

Like I could forget her. I'd met her right after Dad got back from the Invention Convention. I suspected Dad had seen her a couple of times since then. I'd answered the phone once when she called. But this was the first time, as far as I knew, that she'd actually set foot in our house.

Foot!
I realized I was still holding the shoes, which, judging by Madeline's stocking feet, must have been hers.

Note to self: Let sleeping shoes lie.

Maybe I could sneak the shoes back outside before they noticed. . . .

“Hello, Winnie,” Madeline said. “Like my shoes?”

Before I could answer that I hated her shoes, had no idea how they'd gotten into my hands, she was by my side, staring down at me from her great height. “They're my garden shoes,” she explained. “If I don't feel like bending over, I wear these and let my feet do the digging.”

I handed them to her and tried not to look like I was about to hurl. “That's nice, Ms. Edison.”

“Call me Madeline, Winnie.” Her voice was high-pitched, full of ups and downs, like a TV jingle. “I made Mason, my son, a pair of shoes just like these. He loves walking in the garden.”

I nodded, but my brain wheels were churning. She had a son. No wedding ring. Three minus one equaled divorce. My dad was friends with a divorced woman?

“Mason's in school today,” Dad informed me, as if I cared. Besides, what kind of kid goes to school on Saturday?

Madeline absently slipped her shoes on her hands and glanced from Dad to me. She reminded me of a nervous American Saddle Horse. “Mason's not in
school
school exactly.
Special
school . . . at the university.”

I remembered there was a genius kid in Catman's class who took English or something at the university.

Madeline kept chattering. “I just hope he likes it there. He has trouble making friends. But he loves to learn. Most boys his age can be pretty rough.”

Great. All we needed in town is another brainier-than-thou boy.

I pocketed the bag of carrots and tried to make my getaway. Maybe Dad hadn't known she'd drop by. But I hadn't seen a car outside, just Dad's cattle truck. What if Dad had driven to Loudonville and brought her here on purpose—to our house, without even asking Lizzy and me?

The umbrella popped open, knocking Dad on his backside.

“Jack, are you okay?” Madeline ran to his side.

I ran faster, easing in front of her. “You okay, Dad?”

“I'm fine.” He got up and brushed himself off. He stood a few inches taller than Madeline, not quite as skinny, and was much better looking. My mom said Dad's curly, black hair was the first thing she'd noticed about him. “Look!” He pointed to the umbrella. “It works!”

I stared at the contraption, which hadn't opened like a normal umbrella. Instead, it stood upright on a flat handle.
“That's
working?” I asked.

Dad fiddled with the top of the umbrella. “You put the camera here, and
voila!
It's a tripod!”

He pressed down on the top, shrinking the umbrella to a third of its height. Lifting the handle, he pulled down a black cloth cap and put it on his head. “Like this, it's an umbrella hat!” Dad paraded around, safe from unexpected kitchen rain showers.

He whipped off the umbrella hat and tugged on the cane handle. It grew long again and turned into a funny-looking golf club. “Perfect for practicing your swing while you wait for the commuter train.” He took a practice swing that banged into the oven. Staring at the club, he muttered, “It would be easy to put a claw on this end, kind of a hand-extender. . . .”

“And he's adding a flashlight and a warning siren!” Madeline exclaimed. “I'm trying to get him to put in a radio.”

I shook my head, as if the radio part were the only dumb idea here.

“I call it the Swiss-Army umbrella!” Dad announced.

He and Madeline leaned into the umbrella's handle, muttering something about installing flashing lights. Their heads touched.

Note to self: Two heads are
not
better than one.

I backed out of the kitchen.

My relationship with my dad reminded me of a Pinto mare Mom trained one summer. That mare had the roughest trot. It was the only time I'd seen Mom bounce in the saddle. But she'd said she didn't mind the rough ride, as long as the mare kept going forward.

Dad and I had been through some pretty rough ups and downs since Mom's death. The first year we hardly spoke to each other, leaving it up to Lizzy to keep us a family. Since we'd moved to Ashland, though, we'd both tried to keep the trot moving forward. But things kept getting in the way, making us back up again.

The night Madeline had called and I'd answered the phone, Dad and I had gotten into a huge argument. Our shouting match had ended with Dad declaring that he and Madeline Edison were just friends, as if that settled everything.

Friends.
I felt like the only one on the planet who didn't have one.

That reminded me.
Hawk!
I'd stayed in the house too long. What if Hawk had come and I wasn't there? What if Catman couldn't hang on to her? I raced back through our junky yard toward the barn.

Catman waved at me, then pointed to the pasture.

There was Hawk, hands on hips, trying to get her horse to come to her.

“Hawk!” I cried. My regular voice is raspy and sounds hoarse all the time. But my throat had gone dry, so all I could get out was a squeak.

Hawk turned and said something to Catman.

The Appy flattened his ears, just like he had with Nickers.

“Towaco!” I screamed.

He bared his teeth and stretched his neck to take a chunk out of Victoria Hawkins.

Catman reached out a long arm and scooped Hawk away in the nick of time.

Applause burst from the other side of the fence. “Yea, Catman!” Lizzy cried. “You rock!” She and Geri cheered from a few feet away, which is as close as my sister will get to horses.

I scrambled over the paddock fence and ran out to them. “Way to go, Catman!” I could just imagine what Hawk's parents would have done if their precious daughter had come home with teeth marks.