I’m about ready to try again when Randy suddenly appears, smiling his ivory smile. He looks at Tangerine and then at me and his smile grows larger, exposing even more of his teeth.
“Giving you trouble, is she?” he asks me. I shrug and shoot the horse a little glare of annoyance. Seeing this, Randy laughs his deep, booming laugh. “The thing about Tangerine,” he says, “is that she’s afraid of everything and everyone.” As if to prove his point, Tangerine backs up another step and whickers at us disapprovingly. Randy continues. “Thing is, just like people, there’s always something that defeats fear. You just got to find that thing. Then they do what you want them to do. “ Randy cups his hand like he’s holding oats and then holds it out toward Tangerine. Used to being fed by hand, Tangerine walks forward immediately, and Randy takes her bridle. Tangerine doesn’t even seem bothered that the hand was empty. Randy smiles down at me and hands me the bridle. “For Tangerine, that thing is her stomach.”
Once I have the bridle, Tangerine is easy to maneuver. As I hook her up to the wagon, a crowd gathers to say goodbye and see Randy off. When I’m done with Tangerine and get back to the group, Randy is saying goodbye and shaking hands. He smiles his toothy smile and winks at Artemis. She does that I’m-so-cute giggle and twists her body at the waist back and forth. Artemis steps forward and gives Randy a quick kiss on his cheek and says goodbye before she rushes away, apparently out of shyness, but I know that’s mostly a show. Guys like that sort of thing, don’t ask me why. Then Randy comes over to me and smiles but he doesn’t wink. He reaches into his jacket and takes out something and puts it in my hand. It’s a candy bar. It’s not chocolate, there hasn’t been chocolate for a long time now, but oatmeal and beet sugar, mostly, but there’s nuts too. A real treat. I smile at Randy.
“Make sure you share that with your Dad, kiddo,” he tells me. I frown.
“He’s not my Dad,” I tell him.
Randy shrugs and cocks his head to the side. “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”
I don’t respond, but I narrow my eyes to let him know he’s on thin ice.
He just laughs and turns away, and I feel a little bad for getting irritated with him. I follow and watch him leap up on the cart. He’s pretty nimble for an older guy. But then again, he’s all bones and muscle.
“Take care of yourself,” I tell him, hoping he’ll see it’s my way of letting him know I’m not really irritated with him.
“Always do,” he says. This time he does wink at me with those blue eyes of his and I can’t help but smile a little. “Up now, Tangerine!” He shakes at her reins and before I know it, the cart is clattering down the road and leaving the Homestead behind.
I don’t stay to watch him leave like a lot of people do. Instead I turn back toward our house, holding the candy bar. There’s work to do. The fields have to be plowed and planted soon, and the last few days have been a real distraction. When I get home, I hide the candy bar for later, when I can really savor it. I know I’m supposed to share it with Eric, but… well, I’m not perfect.
11
After a long day working fertilizer (shit) into the field, getting ready to plant our crops, we usually meet at the Lodge. This day is no different. The usual crowd is here: Norman, Crystal, Eric, Matt, the goon squad of Crypt, Gunner, Rebok, Pest, and Curt, Diane’s son, who’s just a year or so younger than me. Norman and Crystal are warming up some cider while the rest of us pull some benches up to the table and sit down. We all stink like a barn that hasn’t been cleaned in a week. If you don’t know what that’s like, let’s just say it’s only pleasant if you’re a maggot. The goon squad sits at another bench, poking and punching each other like they do constantly. Rebok is angry about something and the others are teasing him. Only Pest is quiet. He’s studying me, like he’s been doing ever since the news of the war. I turn away from his gaze. Spooky little freak.
There’s an iron cook stove in the corner of the Lodge, the kind covered with white enamel. It was already old when the Worm was around. It works perfectly though and even heats up the Lodge, so it’s perfect for us. We’re always on the look out for more of them. They’re way better than gold. Norman and Crystal are feeding the stove with good seasoned wood and setting up the kettle of cider. Nothing like cider to cut the taste of fertilizer (shit) out of your mouth.
Eric is sitting next to me, quiet. Across from him is Matt, fidgeting in place. Matt hasn’t been doing very well since Randy told us about the war. His eyes are dark and red. I’m sure he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s shifty and communicates in hisses and grunts, and I’ve seen him give Eric dirty looks when he thinks no one is watching. The great thing about not talking much and being practically invisible is that most people don’t notice me. I observe. I remember. I’ve told Eric that Matt’s got it out for him for some reason. Eric just looks sad and shrugs.
This night Matt is worse than usual. Probably because earlier, while he was spreading manure with a spade, he stumbled. Eric was right next to him, so, by instinct, he reached out and grabbed his arm to keep Matt from falling. Instantly, Matt pushed the helping arm away. He fell because of it, but he got up instantly, swearing, and brushing off fertilizer (shit) from his pants. The look he gave Eric made me reach for my knife. I calculated how long it would take me to reach Eric’s side, and if I should cut Matt or stab him. Luckily, none of that was necessary. Matt just hissed again and continued to work.
I was hoping that Matt would go straight home from the fields and cool down, but he didn’t. So he’s here now, giving Eric a baleful look with bloodshot eyes. I don’t like that look. I feel something’s going to happen. I move my hand closer to my knife, making sure I’m ready. Eric doesn’t seem to notice. He just sits there, thinking, as we wait for our cider. I’m ready, even if he isn’t. I calculate I can slice Matt to the bone in about the time it would take him to stand up. But I keep a nice look on my face, blank, unreadable. I hope.
Crystal and Norman come with cider and set it down on the table and the goon squad comes over to grab theirs and fight over it. I ignore them and keep my eyes on Matt. He’s taken his mug from Crystal, but he’s not drinking it, he’s just fidgeting with it and looking everywhere but at Eric. I put my hand on the warm mug of cider, and I smile and look down at it, but my attention is focused tight on Matt. If I see his body tense up like he’s about to do something, there’s going to be trouble. Suddenly I get shoved. Pest has sat right next to me, way too close.
“Sorry,” he says. He sidles away from me and then smiles at me. He has brilliant blue eyes, like Eric’s, but it’s a quizzical little thing, that smile. Gives me the heebie jeebies, as Franky would say.
I narrow my eyes at him but don’t say anything. I haven’t got time for Pest’s weirdness now. I turn my attention back to Matt. He still looks angry as hell. Norman sits beside him with that old man groan he uses whenever he sits or gets up. A couple from the goon squad laughs at the sound, I’m not sure who.
“You wait until you're my age,” Norman tells them with a severe look. “You’ll be making the same sounds, believe me.” The goon squad look away, abashed.
Eric lifts up his mug. “To another day,” he says.
“Another day of shit,” Rebok says and we all laugh—well, except for Matt—and lift our own mugs over the wooden table. Matt mumbles something while everyone drinks. I keep an eye on him over the lip of my mug. His hair is all crazy and messed up and his body is full of nervous energy, like he’s about ready to explode. Times like these I wonder why I’m the only one who sees this stuff.