Going Where It's Dark

  What Buck wanted to do was to say no and leave, but in fact he was desperately thirsty. In his anger he had simply dropped his backpack at home, climbed on his bike, and taken off, without bothering to get a drink or a snack. How could he tell Uncle Mel that Jacob had paid him and offered him lemonade, and he’d still turned around and walked out? He’d already been rude once today.

  “Okay,” he murmured, and followed Jacob into the kitchen. But then, having said yes to the lemonade, he realized he could hardly say no to whatever jobs Jacob had lined up for him that afternoon, and he felt mad at himself all over again. He had been planning to finish the glass standing up, but when Jacob lowered himself to a chair and nodded toward the one across from him, Buck felt he had no choice. It was getting worse by the minute.

  Jacob’s voice was still deep and gravelly, but seemed to have lost some of its sharpness, and his bushy brows no longer met in the middle like a V. He picked up the plastic jug on the checkered oilcloth and filled two glasses. Pushing one toward Buck, he took a swallow of his own drink, his mouth puckering at the sourness. Then he asked, “How long have you been stuttering?”

  One thing you could say about Jacob Wall, he didn’t beat around the bush. What business was it of his? What was with this guy, anyway? It was all Buck could do not to say, or try to say, “What’s it to you?”

  What he said was “Why d…do you want t…t…to know?” He was surprised at his own boldness.

  “I used to work in a military hospital with speech patients,” Jacob said. “I figured your uncle found that out somehow and thought this whole thing up—you working here, and that annoyed me last week.”

  Buck lowered his glass. “You’re a d…doctor?”

  “Was. Not practicing anymore. A speech doctor, not an MD.”

  “We hardly know anyth…th…thing ab…b…b…” Not here! Not now! Buck thought, and started over. “Hardly know anything ab…b…bout you. J…just thought you n…n…needed some help.”

  For a long time, it seemed, Jacob sat without speaking, and Buck sensed that he too had to work not to be rude. Finally the man said, “Well, I was thinking the same about you. I worked with men who stuttered.”

  Try as he would, Buck could not picture this stern-looking man in this small cramped house as a professional in a white coat. Or maybe he hadn’t worn a coat. Buck still couldn’t imagine it.

  “Wh…wh…what d…did you d…do for them?” he asked, unconvinced.

  “It’s what they did for themselves. But it’s hard work, and I didn’t accept just anyone into the program.”

  “Yeah, well…” Buck drained his glass and pushed it away. “I’m g…going to start th…th…the…” He took a deep breath and tried again, blinking his eyes and tightening his jaw. “I’m going to st…st…start th…therapy at school. Th…thanks.” He was stuttering on practically every word!

  “How often do they see you in therapy at school, Buck? Every day?” Jacob just wouldn’t quit.

  Buck almost laughed. If you saw the therapist every week, that was exceptional. “C…couple times a m…m…month,” he said.

  “And you think that’s going to help?”

  “I d…don’t know,” said Buck. “B…but it’s all s…s…s…set up.”

  “Okay, then,” Jacob said. “Just thought I’d offer.”

  Buck stood up. “G…got any jobs for m…me today?”

  •••

  When Buck got home from school on Wednesday, Mel was there, showered and rummaging stocking footed through the refrigerator.

  “Heeeey!” he said when Buck and Katie walked in. “What do you guys eat when I’m gone? Nothing much here but peas and carrots. You a bunch of bunnies or something?”

  Katie laughed. “There’s nothing in there you like, you mean. We didn’t know you’d be home.” She gave her uncle a quick hug. “Amy and Sara are coming over and we’re making popcorn, if you want any.”

  “Take more’n popcorn to fill me up,” Mel said, and sat down on a kitchen chair to put on his shoes while Katie took her stuff to her room. Soon music by her favorite band drifted down from upstairs.

  Buck had just grabbed a couple of crackers when Mel gave him a mischievous look—first the squint in his brown eyes, then the smile that traveled sideways.

  “Got an idea, Buck,” he said. “Let’s go pay your mom a visit at Holly’s.”

  •••

  Whatever it was, Buck was ready—ready to forget this rotten, no-good day, and he was out the door even before Mel picked up his keys. He wished his uncle could drive the big semi he used for business home after each run, but he had to park it instead at the terminal in Roanoke, then drive his own car the rest of the way. It was fun the few times he’d let Buck sit up there in the passenger seat of the huge vehicle, though. Like riding around in a two-story building. Now he settled back in Mel’s Ford and buckled his seat belt.

  “Anything h…happen on this l…last trip?” Buck asked.

  “Nothing much to speak of. Some crazy fool with a U-Haul trying to play musical chairs with me just this side of Chicago and almost got himself killed. I go to pass a Honda, see, travelin’ along at sixty-five, and this guy’s right behind me like he’s riding my tailwind. I figure as soon as I pass the Honda and pull over, he’ll pass me and go barreling on up the road.”

  “And what happened?”

  “As soon as I see I’m clear, I start to pull over, but that’s not soon enough for the U-Haul. Instead of waiting for my rig to move over, he tries to pass me on the right. I see him disappear from my side-view window, and I’m thinking, ‘What the heck…?’ And then I hear the Honda blasting its horn and a squeal of brakes, and I realize the idiot with the U-Haul’s between me and the Honda, ’bout to be squeezed like a tin can.”

  Uncle Mel reared back in his seat and wiped one hand on his thigh. “Makes me sweat just to think about it. I managed to pull back, just time enough that I didn’t squash him like a june bug. Him and his U-Haul too. And you know what? When he does go around and I let him pass, does he thank me for saving his life? He gives me the finger!”

  Mel shrugged it off then and let out his breath. Finally he glanced over at Buck. “So how are things back here? You stop by Jacob’s while I was away?”

  “Yeah. Put a p…patch on one of his s…screens. M…mopped the kitchen floor and stuff.” Buck had already decided not to tell his uncle about his conversation with Jacob that day. Instead, he asked, “What k…kind of w…w…work did he d…do before? You know?”

  Mel shook his head. “Haven’t the slightest idea. I noticed one of his letters was addressed to a Dr. Jacob Wall, but there’s all kinds of doctors out there. Could’ve been a dentist, for all I know. But you’ll never get it out of him. Lucky he’ll even give you the time of day.”

  Buck stared straight ahead and said nothing.

  •••

  Fifteen minutes later they pulled off the highway onto a side road that brought them into the back lot of Holly’s Homestyle Restaurant.

  Buck tried to stop smiling as he went around and came through the front entrance, his Nationals cap backward on his head, as he usually wore it. Charlie, the short-order cook, raised a spatula in greeting and went on turning onion slices on the grill.

  “How you doin’, Buck?” he called.

  Doris Anderson, who was cleaning tabletops in the booths, looked up as Buck sat down at the counter.

  “Well, hi!” she called, stopping to wipe one arm across her forehead. “You come out here on your bike?” The white apron she wore over her green and gray uniform had a few spots on it from serving the breakfast and lunchtime crowd, and Buck knew she hadn’t had a break yet because she always changed her apron at the break.

  “G…got a ride,” he said, and braced his hands against the counter, scanning the menu on the wall. It wasn’t unusual for Buck to show up at the restaurant on a late afternoon when the place wasn’t busy. Not unusual for him to get a ride with someone going this way, and then rid
e home with Mom if she had the car, or with Dad if he came to pick her up.

  Sometimes, if there was food left over from the blue plate special, they gave it to him free. He was always hungry. “Anything you want t…to get r…rid of?” he asked.

  “You,” said Charlie, and they laughed.

  “Well, now, aren’t you something! Coming in here bold as brass, asking for handouts,” said his mom with a grin. She picked up a tray on the counter. “Let me get these dishes in the machine and I’ll see what we’ve got left in the fridge. Pork and sauerkraut, maybe. I’ll sit down with you in a few minutes.” She balanced one end of the tray on the palm of her hand, the other end on her shoulder, and moved through the double doors to the kitchen.

  As soon as she was gone, Mel came through the front entrance, one finger to his lips. Charlie grinned and dumped another handful of onions on the grill where they spit and hissed, their savory scent filling the air. The small man looked something like an onion himself in his white shirt and pants, and an apron even more stained than Mom’s. He was sallow-complexioned, and what little hair he had stood up in one gray tuft on the top of his head.

  It was several minutes before Buck’s mom came back, wearing a clean apron and holding a dish of bread pudding.

  “This is all we’ve got,” she said, setting it down before Buck, and then, to Charlie, “My human garbage disposal.” She nodded affectionately toward her son. As she straightened the salt and pepper shakers on the counter, she scanned the room, then fixed her eyes on a man who sat slumped at a booth in the corner. His head was buried in one arm on the table, the collar of his stained Windbreaker turned up around his ears.

  “When’d he come in?” she asked Charlie.

  Buck, perched on a stool, was glad he had a mouthful of bread pudding because it helped keep him from smiling.

  “Couple minutes ago,” Charlie replied, unsmiling.

  “Is he drunk?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t think so. But this is the last of the liver and onions, and if he don’t want it, it’s my supper,” Charlie said.

  At that moment a thin, straight-backed woman came through the kitchen door and looked over to where Uncle Mel sat sprawled at the table in the corner booth. Holly, the green embroidered letters on her uniform read. Her dyed black hair was scooped on top her head, held there with a comb, making her look even taller.

  She turned to Buck’s mom. “Who’s he?”

  “We don’t know, but he’s either drunk or asleep,” said Mom. She pulled her order pad from the pocket of her butcher-style apron and walked over.

  “You ready to order, sir?” she asked the man in the rumpled Windbreaker, whose breathing was now loud enough for Buck to hear.

  There was no answer.

  Buck watched his mom try again.

  “Good afternoon,” she said loudly. She leaned a little farther over the table and took the menu out from behind the napkin holder. “Hello?” she added, nudging Mel’s head with the menu. And when there was no response still, she said, “Sir? Sir?”

  Holly stuck her head in the kitchen and called, “Pearl? Come out here a minute, would you?”

  They were soon joined by a grandmotherly-looking woman whose blond hair didn’t quite match her face.

  “You know that man in the corner?” Holly asked.

  “How do I know if I can’t see him?” Pearl answered.

  Buck had to drop his chin down to his chest and hold his shoulders rigid against the laughter swelling up inside him.

  Pearl came out from around the counter and joined Buck’s mom at the corner booth. The two women stood looking down on Mel, and then Pearl reached out and lightly shook his shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said loudly, “but the kitchen’s about to close. Won’t be serving dinner for an hour. You want anything, you best tell us now.”

  Mel only grunted and Charlie rapped his spatula against the grill to disguise a chuckle. Buck wondered if Mel’s watch wouldn’t give him away, but perhaps the sleeve of the old Windbreaker kept it hidden.

  Mrs. Anderson turned toward Charlie. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

  “Tell him he can’t sleep here, to move on,” Charlie told her, deadpan.

  Holly, watching from the kitchen doorway, agreed. “Not good for business, folks walk in, see that.”

  “You think we ought to pour some water on his head?” Pearl suggested.

  And suddenly the rumpled jacket moved, the cap rose up, and two hands reached out, one to grab Doris Anderson’s arm, the other, Pearl’s.

  The women screamed and stepped backward, and then the cap fell off.

  “Mel!” Buck’s mother cried, hitting at him, and she and Pearl both whacked him over the head with the menus while he roared with laughter, and Buck and Charlie joined in. Holly, trying to hide a smile, turned away with a shake of her head.

  “You tramp, you!” Mom said, laughing too now. “Where’d you get that dirty old cap and jacket?”

  “I keep ’em in the truck, case I have to change a tire in bad weather,” Mel said, wiping his eyes, and guffawed some more.

  “Well, I was about to call an exterminator to get rid of you,” Holly told him. “But now that you’re here, I suppose you’d like some coffee.”

  “If you please, ma’am,” Mel said, making her smile. “I’ll have that last piece of coconut cake too, and I’m paying.”

  Mom brought over the cake, the coffeepot, and some cups and sat down across from Mel. Buck took his bread pudding and joined them.

  “I don’t know how I tolerated a brother like you!” Mom said, reaching up to tuck a loose lock of hair under her small pleated cap. “Like to give me a heart attack, grabbing at us that way.”

  “Good for your reflexes,” Mel said. “Keep you looking young.”

  “Why didn’t you call and let us know you’d be home for dinner? I don’t have a single thing on my mind to cook tonight. Figured I might buy something here to take with me.”

  “Don’t you worry. Buck and I are going to pick up some ribs on the way back. We’ll even have the table set. All you’ll have to do when you get home is sit down.”

  “Now, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” said Mom. Then she looked at Buck and back to Mel again.“You guys!”

  •••

  He was heading downstairs in his stockinged feet that evening when he heard Katie talking about him to Mom in the kitchen. Buck paused in the hallway, one shoulder against the wall.

  “He just acts so strange sometimes, Mom. My friend Colby looked at me and said, ‘What’d I do?’ I had to explain it’s because he stutters. Buck didn’t even say hi. How can I introduce him to people if he acts so weird?”

  His mom murmured something—Buck couldn’t make it out—and then he heard her say, “I don’t know, Katie. I really don’t.” She sounded tired.

  Katie went on: “It didn’t use to bother me, but…but I see how it’s going to hold him back. What will happen to him when he gets to high school? Kids tease him on the bus—I hear it every day. I can’t go around apologizing for him forever.”

  “Buck’s going to see the therapist at school in September.”

  “Yeah? He’s been through that before. I worry for him, Mom. What kind of job is he going to get when he’s grown up if he can’t talk to anyone?”

  “Now don’t say he can’t. You’ve heard him talk as good as anybody.”

  “But not when he really needs to!” There was exasperation in Katie’s voice. Buck rarely heard it when she was talking with him, but he heard it now. “I want to help him, but I just don’t know how.”

  “I don’t know either, Katie. I don’t know the answer to any of it,” his mom replied wearily. “Each and every one of us will have a cross to bear before this life is over. Looks like Buck just got his a little early.”

  Buck turned and went back upstairs as softly as he had come. But when he sat down on the edge of his bed, he wheeled about suddenly and pounded the pillow. Again and again and
again.

  Thursday after school, Buck rode out to check on the Hole. He couldn’t keep away any longer. He told himself that all he wanted to do was make sure he could still find it.

  Mel was sound asleep on the sofa, glad for some time off before his next run, and Katie had gotten off the bus a few stops earlier with one of her friends. Buck could get to the old Wilmer place and be home again well before dinner.

  He left his backpack by the stairs so everyone would know he’d been there, and climbed on his bike.

  Early June was a nice time in the valley, with the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond your backyard. Not yet too humid, the way it got in D.C., not as hot as North Carolina. The birds were going crazy, challenging each other’s territory, and the air was sweet with their songs and the scent of honeysuckle.

  As he neared the place, Buck had a momentary wave of panic because there were several fences that reached as far down as the road. Did he really remember which one he had followed before? But then he saw the edge of the woods coming closer and, more sure of himself now, he wheeled his bike off the shoulder, down into the gulley and up again, and left it beneath a gooseberry bush along the barbed wire fence that sagged in places and was completely down in others.

  He tramped through the weeds, avoiding the nettles that sprang up here and there, and as he came close to the trees, he began counting the heaps of rock that spilled out into the pasture—the first, then the second, watching for the place where the ground dipped next to the tree line, the little heap of fox or dog bones. Yes, there they were, and his heart pounded with excitement when—there it was—just as before, the Hole, almost invisible.

  Buck crouched on the rocks, feeling the cold draft coming up out of the earth, and pulled back the grass that hung heavy and wet over the entrance. Yes, the sides of the Hole inside were wet and sticky, and he knew that if he were to climb in there in the next few days, he would be covered with mud.

  Now there was still another factor to consider. Not only would he need more equipment to go exploring again, not only did he need a full day, with everyone in the family gone so they wouldn’t miss him, but it had to be a time the earth had a chance to dry out a little. An unexpected rain could ruin everything, no matter how well he planned the rest.