“And the other key?” asked Jack. “How did you find out I had that one?”
His dad said, “Now, that was more like a lucky guess. I mean, I could have figured it out, but I would have had to get out the master key log and start counting until I found another stack that was one key short—but that would have taken me all night. It was because the tunnel key was right there near the bottom next to the tower key. I guessed that if I were you, I’d go and take one of each. And of course, I knew you were working in the auditorium. So, two plus two equals four.”
“I’m sorry I made you worry, Dad.”
John Rankin cleared his throat. “Well, I could see just what happened, you leaving the key in the door, and all. I went down in the tunnel with a light and I saw your footprints. I almost started yelling, and you probably could have heard me too. But I knew you wouldn’t come to any harm. If I needed to find you, I knew I could. And sometimes you just have to step back and let things play out.”
His dad fell silent and flipped the heater switch back to low. As the fan got quieter the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers seemed louder.
Jack felt funny, like he was different. He wanted to tell his dad everything, and he wanted to know more. Jack said, “I met Eddie, Dad—Eddie Wahlson. I saw the place in the tunnel. And Eddie let me out the door at the fire station.”
John Rankin leaned forward and released the parking brake. He pushed in the clutch, dropped the shift lever into first, and eased out onto Main Street.
And all he said was, “We’d better head home now.”
Chapter 21
SomethinG PeRmAnent
It was slow-going on Main Street. The road crews were out, but the temperature was dropping quickly and the snow was coming faster than the salt could melt it.
The pickup crawled along past the library, and Jack stared out at the snow. It came rushing at the windshield. Jack loved looking up at streetlights during a snowstorm. Those millions of swirling flakes had always reminded him of a wild, happy dance.
But not now. Now they looked frantic, confused. The flakes crashed and tumbled in the air, fierce and chaotic.
Had he said something wrong? His dad was three feet away, but he seemed like he was in a distant room. Jack felt like a door had slammed in his face.
“Dad, I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, about the tunnel . . . I won’t tell anybody.”
John Rankin looked across at him and smiled. Jack had never seen a smile like that before. His dad said, “Jackie, I know that. I know you wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s just that that place is . . . well, it’s a whole other story. . . . And I think it’s a story you’re old enough to know about. . . . And when I try to think about how to tell it to you, it brings back a lot of memories.” His dad looked close to tears.
Jack said, “I saw Lou’s name on the wall. It said ‘Lou Carswell, 1973.’ Did Lou really stay there?”
John Rankin laughed and looked out his side window for a moment. “You sure do get right to the heart of things, Jackie. Yes, Lou did spend some time living down there, and that’s a pretty good place to start the story. . . . But really I have to go back a few years before.”
Jack knew what that meant. A few years before 1973 was when his dad had been in the army.
John Rankin said, “That time I spent in the army—that was a hard time for me. I mean, going into the service is never an easy thing, and thank God there are men and women who still take on that job. I had two tours of duty, with the infantry, down on the ground. I went through some awful times, and I lived through things I pray you or nobody else ever has to live through.”
In the moving light and shadows Jack could see his dad’s jaw clenched tight. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When I got back to Huntington after Vietnam, I was in a bad way. I was scared a lot of the time. I got sick real easy. I lived at home for a while, but my dad didn’t know how to help and Mom wasn’t well enough herself. I was the last thing she needed right then.
“I wasn’t doing well at all, and for about a year I went and stayed at the veterans hospital this side of Minneapolis. I was just barely holding on.
“Then once, when I came down for the day to see Mom and Dad, I got it in my head to go say hello to my senior English teacher at the high school. I went to her room after school, and she wasn’t there. Janitor said she’d moved to St. Paul. Well, he and I got to talking, and turns out he’d been in the same field division as me, but during the Korean War. And right out of the blue he asks me if I can work nights cleaning up at the high school. Said he really needed the help. I didn’t learn till about three years later that he gave up his overtime hours to let me get back to feeling useful.
“Those nights at the school were good for me. I was in a familiar place, a place full of good memories. It was just what I needed. Tom Baldridge. That’s his name. He retired about twelve years ago. I’m not just talking when I tell you that the day Tom put a broom in my hands, he saved my life.”
Jack said, “Is that Lou in the picture on your dresser? And that big knife in your top drawer? Was that your knife in the army?”
John Rankin laughed out loud. “You ought to go into detective work, get paid for all your snooping. That sure is my knife, and you keep clear of it, Mister Nosyman. And yes, that’s Lou in the picture. I met Lou on my second tour, and we teamed up, looked out for each other. You do a dozen or so patrols with the same person and you get to be close, like family. I carried a letter to his parents and his girlfriend, and he carried a letter to my folks, just in case. We used to joke that we kept each other alive because we neither of us wanted to have to deliver those letters. But when I got out at the end of my hitch, Lou still had another twelve months to go.
“Lou was from Chicago, and after he’d been home awhile, he came up to visit me. He needed work, and he needed a place to stay where he wouldn’t be a bother to anyone. So that’s when I rigged up that place in the tunnel. Friend of mine at the fire station helped me and Lou get the place fitted out, and I helped Lou get a job working nights cleaning up at the town hall. Once he had steady work, he moved into a rented room, but we left all the stuff in the tunnel. A few years later there was an opening at the high school. So that’s the story of Lou Carswell.”
They were only about three blocks from Greenwood Street, and Jack still had so many questions. “What about all the other names?” he asked. “It’s a long list. Are all the others your friends too?”
His dad nodded. “My friends, Lou’s friends, sometimes it’s a kid like Eddie, caught in a hard spot, needs a safe place for a few days. A lot of people know that place is there, and when there’s a need, someone gets in touch.”
“A lot of people know?” asked Jack. “What if someone told the principal or the school committee—or the police? Don’t you think it’s probably against the law?”
John Rankin smiled. It felt odd to have his son worried about him for a change. “Well, I’ve looked into that, and as far as I can tell, the only thing I might be guilty of is using some town electricity. I put in an electric meter right at the get-go, and every month since October of 1973 I’ve been paying the going rate in a cash donation to the annual Veterans Day parade fund, and I keep careful records. Anyone wants to take me to court, I’m all set. I think I can pull together a pretty good group of witnesses.” Then with a wink he said, “Now, you on the other hand—you just might have to go to jail for having a pocket full of keys. But don’t you think we could get Mr. Ackerby to testify that you’re a genuine temporary janitor?”
“And a darn good one, too,” said Jack with a grin, “just like you.”
Jack and his dad were still laughing as the truck turned into the snowy driveway at 920 Greenwood Street. Above the basketball backboard on the garage the floodlights were lit. As the pickup came to a stop Jack looked through the windshield, up into the light, and he saw millions of flakes swirling in a wild, happy dance.
Helen Rankin pulled aside the curtain above t
he sink and looked out the back window. She saw two boys get out of the truck. Or was it two men?
As they came toward the house John Rankin carried Jack’s backpack in one hand, and his other hand was on his son’s shoulder to steady himself.
They were trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, laughing, almost falling down.
Helen was struck with the image. Her first baby, her little Jack, didn’t seem so little. Somehow he was older, stronger.
And her husband, her best friend, her own John—he seemed younger, less burdened.
Helen knew what she was looking at.
This wasn’t an illusion. It wasn’t a fleeting sensation. It wasn’t something exclusive happening across the border in Boy Territory.
Helen was completely familiar with what she was seeing.
It was something good, something permanent.
It was love.
With a full heart Helen let the curtain fall back into place.
Walking to the front of the house, she called up the stairs, “Lois—they’re home. Come for dinner now.”
Then she went back to the kitchen to open the door for Jack and his dad.
Andrew Clements, The Janitor's Boy
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