Spare Change (Wyattsville #1)(37)

Ethan Allen

We’d of been in Norfolk by now, if that stupid ass car didn’t give out. Mama would be real proud of me, driving off in her car, and escaping as I did. She says I’m free-spirited like her. She says her and me has got a God given gift for seeing past bad times and fixing our eye on some bright spot in the future. I ain’t figuring on no bright spots coming up anytime soon, but leastwise I ain’t getting my ass pounded to a pulp by Scooter Cobb.

I’m glad I’m like Mama, even if she is dead. Leastwise I‘ll be having myself some fun instead of grumping all the time, like Daddy. This Grandpa, I’m headed for, he’s from Daddy’s side of the family but I sure hope he ain’t nothing like Daddy; ‘cause if he is, I got myself one hell of a problem.

One time I asked Mama where her side of the family was, but she said there wasn’t none. She said she never had no mama or papa; she just one day crawled out from under a rosebush, full grown and singing like a lark. That was Mama, always making up stuff and acting a fool. Daddy used to think she was poking fun at him, but Mama poked fun at everybody, even herself. Daddy never did see that.





Help at Hand

Welcome to Exmore the sign said, but for as far ahead as Ethan could see there was nothing but dirt road. He’d been walking for what seemed to be hours. He was tired, thirsty, and damn sorry he hadn’t brought his bicycle. If I had it, he thought, I would have been clear to the ferry by now, instead of dragging my sorry ass through a bunch of back roads. Almost an hour after he passed the sign, Ethan came to the first inkling of civilization; a gas station. Standing alongside the pump was a man wearing a uniform that read Go ESSO. “You got water for a dog?” Ethan asked.

“Around back,” the man answered, “there’s a spigot and pan.”

“You sell food? Sandwiches, maybe?”

“Just soda pop and snacks.”

Ethan led Dog around to the back of the station and waited as he lapped up two full pans of water. Then he trudged inside the garage where a rack of cup cakes and candies sat next to a red cooler. Ethan took hold of two Moon Pies then lifted the lid of the cooler—a bunch of pop bottles were bobbing around in a tub of lukewarm water. “Hey,” he shouted, “this pop ain’t cold!”

“It’s all I got,” the man answered.

“Figures,” Ethan groaned. He pulled out a bottle of Yoo-Hoo then slid a pack of gum into his pocket on his way out the door. “How much for two Moon Pies and a pop?” he breezily asked the attendant.

“Fifteen cents for the pies and ten for the pop, two cents deposit if you’re taking that bottle with you.” The man, willowy as a reed and, according to neighborhood boys, suspicious by nature, raised an eyebrow. “And,” he drawled, “that gum in your pocket’s an extra six cents.”

Ethan, who had a knack for sliding things into his pocket smoothly, had never before been caught in the act. He turned red-faced; “Oh yeah, the gum,” he stammered, “I almost forgot about that.” He fished in his pocket and counted out thirty-one cents. “I ain’t gonna take the bottle,” he said.

Ethan squatted on the curb and peeled back a Moon Pie wrapper. He took a bite then broke off a piece and fed it to the dog, took another bite and fed the dog another piece. The attendant watched as this continued until the first Moon Pie was finished but when the boy unwrapped the second one and started doing the same thing, he called out, “You ought not be giving that dog chocolate, it’ll kill him!”

Ethan turned, “Huh?”

“Dogs,” the man said, “they can’t eat chocolate the way people can. Speeds their heart up; causes them to fall over dead, that’s what it does.”

“You pulling my leg, mister?”

“I sure ain’t. I got eight dogs, I’d feed any one of them gun powder ‘fore I’d give them chocolate.” The man walked over to the curb and sat down alongside Dog. “Bet you love this dog, don’t you?”

Ethan nodded.

“Can’t say I blame you. He’s a mighty fine animal. Yep, a body sure wouldn’t want to harm a fine animal like him.”

“No sir,” Ethan answered, “I wouldn’t.”

The ESSO man smiled, “What’s your name, boy?”

Ethan swallowed hard then spit out the first name that came to mind. “Jack,” he answered, “Jack Mahoney.”

“Well, Jack Mahoney, my name’s Tom, Tom Behrens.” Tom reached over and scratched the back of Dog’s neck. “Yes sir, you got a mighty fine animal there. You two ain’t from around here, huh?”

Ethan nervously shook his head.

“I’d know if you was,” Tom said, “…because I’d remember such a fine animal. Where you headed?”

“Wyattsville,” Ethan answered. No one was looking for a Jack Mahoney and a truthful answer might help him learn which way to be travelling.

“Wyattsville? Why, that’s way past Richmond!”

“Could be. My mama gave me a note saying how I was to get there, but I done lost it. Can you point me in the right direction?”

“Well, it’s over on the mainland, but that’s a mighty far distance for a boy your age to be travelling alone. Your mama ought to be taking you!”