Last Summer Boys(62)

She barely looks up when Frankie and me come in from the barn.

“Orange juice in the fridge,” she says, placing a hand over the receiver.

Frankie and me are both too tired to eat. We climb those spiral stairs for bed, and we’re surprised to meet Pete and Will halfway. My brothers are bleary eyed, but I can smell the excitement on them.

“It’s barely six o’clock in the morning. What is everybody awake for?” I blurt.

Pete don’t answer me. “Get your shoes on and come with us.”

“But, Pete, we’re tired. Where we going and what for?”

“Town,” Will answers as my brothers brush on by. As they round the corner below, he adds: “We’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Meet us out front in two minutes!” Pete calls.

I look at Frankie. Dark circles ring dark eyes.

“You look awful,” I tell him, surprised to hear myself say it.

“You look worse.”

We stand on the steps, both of us bone-tired and still trying to figure out what we should do.

“Jack!” Pete, from below.

“Well, Pete, what are we shopping for?” I call down the stairwell.

Pete’s voice booms: “Beer!”

Beer?

I look at Frankie. He shrugs.

“Might as well, Jack,” he says. “I’m too tired to sleep.”





Four cases of beer. Ten pounds of ground beef.

That’s what we bring back to Stairways that afternoon.

“And Ma said to buy all this?” I ask Pete as he swings one of the beer crates my way.

Pete ignores my question. “Take this up to the barn.”

I stagger off with the box of beer clinking in my arms. Behind me, I hear Frankie puffing along with another crate.

“Don’t make no sense,” I say. “We’ve beer and beef enough for an army.”

“That’s the idea,” Pete says.





It’s long after dark when Dad and Sam come back. Sam’s truck sputters off down the lane, honking once in farewell as he goes.

Dad stands in the drive, lifts one arm in a funny kind of way as a goodbye. He sways a little, then turns and comes for the porch in slow, measured steps. It ain’t until he tousles my hair with one heavy hand and the evening breeze blows just right that I smell it on him: alcohol.

Dad and Sam been out drinking all day?

All of a sudden I’m scared.

Everybody knows somebody who got into a tight spot, somebody who turned to the bottle for relief. Lots of those same folks don’t ever let go of it.

Dad goes to where Ma is sitting in the deepening twilight. He lowers himself down next to her, and I listen careful to hear what she’ll say then.

For a while she don’t say anything, and all there is to listen to is the cicadas humming in the trees behind our home. Then: “Did you find them?” Ma asks in a tight voice.

My father nods and lets out a bushel of air. “Eventually. Some hole-in-the-wall joint three counties over.”

He puts his arm around her. My parents sit together.

“Will they come?”

“Hard to tell. They might.” Dad is quiet for a long time. “They might.”





It’s morning on the first day of July. The council vote is set for three o’clock.

Dad has us splitting pieces of firewood to keep us from getting too restless. He and Pete and Will trade out taking swings with the sledge. Frankie and me roll the logs into position and set the wedges for them. I’m kneeling beside one of those stumps and just about to set a new wedge when Mr. Halleck’s black Cadillac eases up our drive. He don’t even bother getting out.

Through his open window he calls to my father: “Got a call this morning, from a friend on the council. They will vote to flood.”

“We’ll testify anyway,” Dad replies instantly.

Mr. Halleck nods, smiles. “Good. I’ll be there.”

Dad stands a minute alone after Mr. Halleck drives off, then he goes inside.

Us boys stand silent around the stump. The screen door slams, and suddenly hot tears spring into my eyes.

So it’s over before we even have a chance to fight.

I don’t understand.

“How can they make up their minds without listening to us?” The fire pours up out of my stomach all at once, burning hot and cold. I’m trembling.

Pete sets down the sledge. “John Thomas Elliot, you stop your crying this instant.”

I don’t ever remember Pete using my full name before.

“Didn’t you hear Dad?” he asks.

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. We’re going down there and we’re gonna fight anyway.”

Pete looks at me hard.

“But, Pete, we’re gonna lose,” I cry.

“What difference does that make to whether we fight?” he asks. “Load up another wedge.”

I pause. Sniffle a little.

Pete is still looking at me hard.

I do like he says and slide another wedge into place as he lifts that sledge again.





There’s a heaviness in the air when Dad leaves for the council meeting. He’s leaving early to make sure the council don’t vote before it’s supposed to, at three o’clock. He wears his one and only suit, gray, with his brown shoes and the tie Ma got him for Christmas a few years back. Our family gathers on our sinking porch to watch him go.