Wilder Boys (2 page)

Bull kicked at Cody, but the dog deftly leaped to the side, cowering from the stocky, barrel-chested brute standing over him.

“Leave him alone!” Taylor hollered. “He didn't do anything to you!”

“He's eating my food!”

“Taylor . . .,” Jake began, trying to calm his brother. Jake knew that once Taylor got going, there wasn't much that could stop him. Even though fights with Bull only ever ended one way.

“It's our mom's money that bought this food!” Taylor shouted at Bull. “Cody can have as much as he wants!”

“You'd better watch your mouth,” Bull snarled, stepping forward.

Taylor didn't back down; instead he puffed his chest out and glared up at Bull, his green eyes flashing. “Why? You're not even part of this family! If our dad were here, he'd kick you out on your butt!”

Bull's face grew even redder, all the way up his veiny forehead to the roots of his slicked-back hair. “Thank God, I ain't your dad. Your dad was a worthless loser, and crazy, too! What kind of man would leave his kids and his sick wife to go chase some crazy daydream?”

“She wasn't sick before you came along!” Taylor shouted back. “
You
made her sick. You make
me
sick. You steal and cheat and . . .”

Bull took another step forward. “Why, you lyin' little—”

Bull raised his hand to strike Taylor, his sinewy forearm slick with sweat.

“No!” Jake shouted, leaping in front of Bull's arm as it
began to swing. The blow caught Jake flush on the cheek, knocking him to the floor. Cody began barking furiously. Jake saw purple spots but struggled to get back up, afraid Bull would strike Taylor next. However, instead of continuing the attack, Bull just glared at the two boys.

“You thieving little punks. If it wasn't for your . . .”

Bull didn't finish the sentence. Instead he spun around and stormed out of the house, tearing off the screen door as he left.

2
Cody whined and rushed over to lick Jake's cheek. A pinkish blotch was already forming, clashing with his deep blue eyes; his dark hair was plastered across his face.

“Are you okay?” Taylor asked, helping his brother to his feet. “You didn't need to do that. Cody and me could've taken him.”

Jake didn't bother responding to that; he just pushed back his hair and stared at Taylor. Despite Taylor's enthusiasm, neither of the brothers was a match for their mother's boyfriend. And Jake might look older, but he was still only thirteen.

“I'm okay,” Jake muttered, but inside he felt an all-too-familiar mix of anger and helplessness at having to put up with a thug like Bull. “C'mon,” he said, trying to change the
subject. “Let's look up that bird we saw earlier.”

Taylor picked up the hot dog package and shoved another one into his mouth. He held the package out to his brother. “You want one?”

Jake couldn't help cracking a smile. “Might as well. My face already paid for it.”

Taylor laughed and handed one of the cold wieners to Jake, and for good measure, fed another to Cody, too.

Back in their room, Jake pulled out their bird book and passed it to his brother. The book had been a gift from their mother the Christmas before, and it was already full of dog-eared pages and highlighted passages.

“What do I look for?” Taylor asked, plopping down on his bed.

Jake thought about it. Even though his mom had somehow managed to send the boys to camp the previous summer, and one of the counselors had taken them birding several times, Jake had always gotten mixed up trying to identify the songbirds. “Not sure,” he told Taylor. “Try warblers or finches.”

While Taylor and Cody flipped through the bird book, Jake's eyes landed on his dad's old journal, and he pulled it off the shelf. He sat down on his own bed and began leafing through it.

As angry as he often felt toward his dad, Jake prized this journal more than anything else he and Taylor possessed. Their hands had worn the leather cover smooth,
but the precious contents remained protected. The journal contained a strange hodgepodge of entries: notes from his father's travels through Wyoming as a young man; sketches of birds, reptiles, and mammals from right here in Pennsylvania; hunting and fishing tips; a section on medicinal and useful plants in the West. More than anything, the journal contained their father's dreams of finding his own kind of utopia, a place where he and his family could live off the land. Clearly, Abe had been obsessed with finding the perfect place.

“I think I found it!” Taylor said.

“What?”

Jake crossed over to his brother's bed. Setting down their dad's journal, he looked at the page Taylor pointed to in the bird book. “American goldfinch, huh?”

“Yeah, I think we saw the male,” said Taylor.

Jake took the book and quickly flipped through the warbler section. Then he flipped back to the goldfinch. The picture on the page definitely had the same gold-and-black colors they'd seen on the bird earlier. He smiled. “I think you're right. And I thought I knew them all around here!”

Taylor grinned, but the smile faded when he saw their dad's journal.

“Jake?”

“What?”

“Do you think Dad really
was
crazy? Like Bull said?”

Jake lowered the bird book and paused. Part of him
did
wonder if his father had gone nuts. Mostly, though, he just thought his dad was selfish.

What else would make him leave his family like that?

“No,” he told Taylor. “I don't think Dad was crazy. I think he . . . he just had an idea he couldn't let go of.”

“You mean going out West to ‘live off the land'?”

Jake nodded.

“But why wouldn't he take us, Jake? Why did he have to leave?”

Jake sat down next to him and shrugged. “I don't know, Taylor.”

Just then they heard a tap on the door.

Taylor got up to open it. Their mother stood there, leaning against the doorframe for support.

“There are my boys,” she said, her mouth spreading into a weak smile.

“Mom!” Taylor gave his mother a hug.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked.

Jake quickly slid their father's journal under Taylor's pillow and got up to help their mother over to his brother's bed. The boys perched on either side of her, while Cody leaped up and circled twice before resting his chin in Jennifer's lap.

“So,” she asked, stroking the dog's head. “How was the second-to-last day of school?”

“Good,” Taylor said. “No homework!”

Both Jake and his mom laughed.

“I checked out some extra books from the library,” Jake told her.

“It's too bad they can't keep it open for you—” Jennifer stopped midsentence and reached up to touch the red mark on Jake's cheek. Even as sick as she was, concern etched her face. “What happened to you?”

“He—” Taylor began, but Jake cut him off.

“I ran into a metal post at school.”

Jennifer might be depressed, but she wasn't stupid. “Who did this, Jake?”

“Uh, I had a little disagreement with someone. My face got in the way of his hand.”

Jennifer lowered her own hand, and her body seemed to slump.

“It was nothing,” Jake quickly assured her, putting his arm around her back for support.

Jennifer didn't respond, just breathed wheezily in and out. Finally she said, “Promise me, boys . . . that you will try to be good. And promise me you'll try to get along with Bull.”

“Why? We all know he's no good!” Jake hissed.

Jennifer's eyes met Jake's. “He's the only thing we've got right now,” she said softly. “We're lucky to have a man around here at all.”

“Why? So he can spend your disability checks and use your food stamps to buy pizza for his friends?”

Jennifer dropped her eyes. “No, not for that.”

“Then what?” Taylor asked.

“Because,” their mother said, “we don't have anyone else.”

“But we don't
need
anyone else,” Taylor insisted. “You, me, and Jake would do fine by ourselves. Jake and I could take care of you until you get better.”

Jennifer managed a smile and kissed her younger son on the top of his head, ruffling his wavy hair. “I know you could, but . . .”

“But what?”

Jake guessed what his mother was thinking—that she might get even sicker—but he didn't dare say it. Instead he said, “You should get back to bed, Mom. Come on, Taylor. Gimme a hand.”

The short conversation had clearly exhausted their mother. Once they got her back to her room and settled into her own bed, she asked the boys to snuggle up for a while.

“Okay!” Taylor eagerly responded. He climbed in on the far side while Jake sat next to his mom's pillow. Looking down at her, Jake couldn't believe how thin and pale she'd grown in the past year. He swallowed, but it didn't get rid of the sadness he felt—or his worry that she might be getting even worse.

“Tell us about Dad again,” Taylor asked.

Jake saw his mother bite her lip, but then she began. “Your father loved you very much.”

“I wish I could remember him.”

“Your dad was a good man . . . mostly,” Jennifer said.
“He knew everything about animals and nature. He could do anything he set his mind to.”

“Then why did he leave?”

Jennifer took a deep breath. “He was a dreamer. It wasn't enough for him to make a living. He always had bigger ideas, and when his company let him go . . .”

“That was his chance to go live in the wilderness,” Jake offered.

“Yes.”

“Is that why he left?” Taylor pressed.

Their mom nodded.

“Didn't he want us to go with him?”

Jake saw his mother again bite her lip. “He . . .”

“He what?” Taylor asked.

Jennifer paused, the conversation clearly taking a toll on her. Then she said, “Boys . . . I need to show you something.”

Jake and Taylor glanced at each other, confused.

“Jake, go into my closet and look behind my coat.”

Jake got up and stepped over to the closet.

“Under the sweaters, you'll see a box. Bring it to me.”

Jake lifted up some old sweaters and was surprised to find a faded orange shoe box. He slid it out from under the sweaters and carried it to his mom.

“What's that?” Taylor asked.

His mom slowly raised herself up. Jake quickly piled pillows behind her for her to lean against.

“When Abe—your father—went out West, he . . . wanted us to go with him.”

Jake's and Taylor's eyes met, wide with surprise.

“He wrote to me a lot,” Jennifer continued, “pleading with me to take you both out to Wyoming.”

“Why didn't we go?” Jake asked.

His mom's jaw clenched. “Maybe I should have,” she said. “But I just didn't know if it was right for you boys.”

“But why not?” Taylor pressed, growing more agitated. “Wyoming would have been great!”

“Shush, Taylor,” Jake said.

Jennifer continued. “Your father, he didn't have a job out there. He constantly moved around. I didn't see how you could go to school, or even how we could survive. I almost got us bus tickets a couple of times, but then I got sick. That made the decision once and for all.”

No one said anything for a few moments. Taylor slowly shook his head. Jake was stunned. Finally he said, “What's in the box?”

Jennifer patted the orange shoe box. “These are the letters he wrote to me. You should have them. Maybe they'll answer some of the questions I know you have.”

“But why are you telling us now?” Taylor asked.

Jennifer's body seemed to slump again. “I thought it was time. . . . Boys, I'm tired. I need to sleep for a while.”

Jake helped his mother get comfortable again while Taylor pulled the blankets up snugly around her neck.

“Thanks,” Jennifer said weakly. “I love you, boys.”

“We love you, Mom,” said Taylor.

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but his mother's eyes were already closing.

“C'mon, Taylor. Let's let Mom rest,” Jake whispered.

As he slid off the bed and placed his foot on the floor, Jake felt something slip beneath it. He looked down to see one of the floor tiles had moved.

Great,
he thought.
One more thing that needs to be fixed.

As he bent down to replace the tile, however, he noticed a hole underneath it.

“What are you doing?” Taylor asked, placing the orange shoe box on the floor.

“There's a space here under this tile,” Jake whispered.

“Really? Is anything in there?”

“I don't know.”

Jake got down on his knees and reached into the shallow hole. He pulled out something heavy wrapped in an old shirt. Feeling the shape of the object under the thin material, he hoped it wasn't what he thought it was as he carefully pulled back the cloth.

“A gun!” Taylor cried, reaching out for it.

“Get off, Taylor,” Jake said, pulling the weapon away from him.

“Let me see it!”

“No!” Jake didn't know much about guns, but he did know that they spelled trouble.

“Is that a six-shooter?” Taylor asked.

Jake studied the weapon. It was definitely a revolver of some kind, with a brown plastic grip. Jake saw the words .38
SPECIAL
engraved into the short chrome barrel, and remembered reading about those guns in detective novels. He was just as curious as Taylor, but he knew that they'd stumbled across something they shouldn't have, and he tried to make out like it was no big deal.

“Yeah. I think it's a six-shooter,” Jake said, wrapping the weapon back up.

“Why can't I see it?”