The Pumpkin War Page 8

I looped the rope through the iron ring bolted to the wall and slowly pulled, forcing Jimmy’s head higher so he couldn’t get his head between his legs and start bucking.

  After we got Paco and Jimmy tied up, we dumped fresh alfalfa into the trough, a trick to keep them busy eating while we stole their fleece.

  Cami handed me some clippers and a pair of leather gloves that were so stiff and old, I could barely shove my hands inside.

  I turned the squeaky little knob to switch on my clippers. They vibrated hard, and I could feel my hands starting to tingle. Last year, my hands went numb halfway through the second llama.

  I glanced at Cami.

  She was making clean strokes across Paco’s back, leaving a trail of soft stubble on top of bright pink skin. Mounds of fleece pooled around her feet like snowdrifts.

  Paco actually looked like he was enjoying his rebirth as a sleek hairless creature.

  When Cami saw me stalling, she flipped off her clippers and came over. Standing next to me, she parted Jimmy’s thick hair at the bottom of his long, skinny neck.

  “Do it,” she said with a flick of her head.

  I took a deep breath as I lifted the clippers and lined up the gnashing metal teeth along Jimmy’s back. Even though I’d done this a bunch of times before, it always felt like it was the first time. I finally dug in, pushing into the wall of hair. Except I cut his skin instead of his hair. A thin line of bright red blood seeped out of a raggedy little wound.

  Jimmy didn’t even flinch.

  “Wrong angle,” Cami said calmly, pressing down on the cut with her gloved finger as she grabbed a tube of antibiotic cream. She squirted some cream on it and stopped the bleeding. But soon a long streak of red blood dripped down his side and dotted the cement floor.

  “He’s fine,” Cami said. “Just keep going.” She took my hand and gently positioned the clippers at the right angle. Before I knew it, I was knee deep in big, fluffy, snowy fleece balls.

  That’s when Jimmy let me know exactly how he felt about my clipper skills.

  As I ran the clippers across his back and down his flank, I felt a stinging pain in my left buttock.

  I yelped and dropped the clippers. They bucked around the floor, a mechanical fish gasping for air. Cami yanked the plug out of the socket and grabbed Jimmy’s halter. Not that he was going anywhere. He’d already stuck his nose back in the alfalfa.

  “What happened?” Cami asked.

  “What’s it look like? He bit me!”

  “Let me see.”

  I carefully rolled down one side of my shorts and twisted my neck, but I couldn’t see.

  But she could. “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Um, it’s not that bad.”

  “Really?”

  Jimmy lifted his head and looked right at me. It was like he tagged me last and we both knew it. I didn’t know a llama could smirk. Cami told me, “You might want to put something on it.”

  I felt like I’d been quilled by a porcupine.

  I left Cami to the llamas and headed up the meadow. As I trudged home, I saw Sam just ahead of me. He was looking up at the sky. When he turned his head, I caught a glimpse of his face.

  He looked happy.

  Sam was the last person in the world I wanted to see. I whipped around and headed down to the lake.

  The dock was deserted. Even Grandma’s diner was closed. I went to my boat slip, yanked the hitch knot off the dock cleats, and slowly climbed in my boat, where I sat down very carefully, even though the pain was melting away.

  I shrugged on my life jacket and pushed off. As I did, a wedge of yellow warblers swished past me, flying low and fast, their feathers the color of egg yolks, with faint streaks of red. Usually they hung out in the cottonwoods by the lake, since it was breeding season.

  “Billie! Where’re you off to, lass?”

  Grandpa stood at the end of the dock, loaded down with two buckets of blackberries.

  “Going to check my trap nets,” I yelled back.

  He set the buckets beside the diner door. “Would you be wantin’ some company?”

  The answer was no. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  “Come on, lassie!” he yelled. “Let me come along for the ride, won’t you? I will let you have your thoughts in peace.”

  I turned the rudder and zipped back to the dock, where he climbed in and sat on the metal slat seat in front of me. He put on his life jacket and I gunned my little outboard motor, and we flew across the water.

  I headed for a lonely pocket of water where I’d set up a system of buoys and mesh nets to trick whitefish into my trap.

  The traps were empty. My traps were never empty.

  We skirted around the buoys, and I found the problem. The net had a big dip in it. That’s where the whitefish had made their way to freedom. I moved one of the buoys to get rid of their secret route.

  My llama bite was still throbbing, but I didn’t want to go in yet, so I let the boat drift.

  I saw a rising mound of thunderclouds in the distance. Cumulonimbus clouds. We’d have to head back soon.

  Grandpa pulled a bag of granola from his pocket, and we ate it all, lulled by the sound of the waves lapping the side of the boat.

  “It’s time,” Grandpa said.

  He said it so softly, I could barely hear him.

  “Time for what?”

  He reached over and took my hands in his.

  “Time for me to go home.”

  I stared at him.

  “Isn’t this going to be your home now?”

  “I have a home across the ocean, remember? In Ireland.”

  “But we’re here, and we’re your family.”

  Grandpa rocked back as my words landed on him.

  “Why did you even come if you’re just going to leave?” I said, starting to cry.

  He reached up and tried to wipe away my tears, but I pushed his hand off.

  “I wanted to help him find the strength to forgive me,” he said.

  “Why? So you won’t feel so bad?”

  “No, Billie. So he won’t feel so bad.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He sighed, his shoulders slumping.

  “I wasn’t a good father. That’s no secret. I wasn’t able to be there for him the way he needed me to be. I hurt him down to the marrow in his bones. But carrying that hurt around is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

  I felt like I was trying to figure out a really hard math problem, only the answer wasn’t black-and-white.

  “Every day, we make choices,” he said. “We choose between love and hate. Between kindness and indifference. Between compassion and cruelty. Between anger and forgiveness.”

  Tears slowly filled his eyes.

  “My own father left me to fend for myself, and I couldn’t forgive him. It took me a long time to understand that when you choose to forgive, it frees you. But you have to choose it. It doesn’t just happen. And until you choose it, you’re trapped in the hurt.”

  I thought about Sam and me.

  That’s how I felt.

  Trapped.

  A distant crack of thunder boomed over the lake, startling us.

  Now the clouds in the distance were the color of eggplants. I suddenly remembered the warblers swishing past me by the dock.

  Birds flying low, expect rain and a blow.

  “We best be getting back,” Grandpa said.

  I gunned the engine.

  When the storm hit, it hit hard.

  Freezing cold blasts of stinging rain slapped at my face.

  “Billie!”

  Grandpa’s voice sounded tinny, a million miles away. But he was right in front of me, hunkered down on the metal seat, shoulders hu
nched, arms spread, each hand gripping one side of my bucking boat.

  He twisted around to look at me. I kept my hand clamped on the slippery tiller and strained to hear him. The minute the words were out of his mouth, they were gobbled up by blasts of wind.

  I opened the throttle all the way. The engine whined and wouldn’t go any faster.

  A long, low squall was headed right at us. In the distance, I could see a waterspout spilling out from dark clouds down to the gray water below. It looked like a giant funnel.

  The lake was starting to buck, the swells growing beneath us. The pelting rain turned into spitballs of hail. A jagged bolt of lightning cracked above my head.

  For the first time in my life, I knew what real fear was.

  I could see a sliver of land way in the distance. How did we get this far out? Then I realized we were caught in a rip current and it was yanking us away from shore.

  A wave hit us out of nowhere.

  One second I was gripping the tiller, and the next I was flying through the air until I hit the icy water.

  The roar of the wind was gone.

  All I could hear was the churning water rushing past my ears. It was almost peaceful. Until I saw Grandpa, sinking fast into the dark water. I swam toward him, kicking as hard as I could.

  My lungs were about to burst as I stretched out both arms, fingers splayed, reaching, reaching, reaching until I just barely managed to grab a handful of Grandpa’s shirt.

  At last I figured out which way was up as I turned my face toward the murky light filtering down through the water.

  Still kicking, I burst through to the surface. I gasped for air as a wave hit me in the face. Choking, gagging, it took all my strength to yank Grandpa above the water. He had a thin gash on his forehead. Bright red blood dripped down the side of his face to the corner of his mouth.

  “Grandpa!” I screamed. “Grandpa!”

  His head lolled.

  I slapped him across the cheek. His blood stained my hand until the water washed it away. I slapped him again even harder, and he sputtered, coughing and spitting up water.

  He looked around in a panic.

  “The dinghy? Where’s the dinghy?”

  A giant wall of water crashed down onto us and shot us into a shallow wave trough.

  I saw it.

  My boat.

  Upside down.

  Again and again, we fought the surging swells of water as my boat played hide-and-seek between the waves. Grandpa gripped my arm so tight, I thought he might snap my bone in half, but I didn’t want him to let go.

  Over and over, we’d get close, then a wave would rise up and shoot us away. My arms got so heavy I could barely lift them out of the water. A crack of thunder ripped through the air, closer than ever as the biggest wave yet rose up.

  Grandpa angled his body and faced the wave, pulling me with him.

  “Get ready!” he yelled.

  Just as the wall of water rose above us, he yelled “Now!” and dove into it. I took a deep breath and went right after him under the crashing wave. We popped up on the other side of the churning water. And there was my dinghy.

  “Kick!” Grandpa yelled.

  We kicked and kicked. Just when my legs wouldn’t listen to me anymore, my hand landed on the cold metal of my boat.

  After several tries, Grandpa managed to push me up onto the top of my turtled dinghy. I spread out and clung to the bottom.

  There wasn’t room for both of us, so Grandpa hung off the front end of the boat with his legs in the water and his hands gripping my shoulders.

  We rode the waves as the storm raged around us. I kept waiting for the dinghy to roll onto its side and toss me back into the water, but every time we’d start to tip over, Grandpa would throw his weight to the other side and steady us. My teeth were chattering, and my lips were so cold I couldn’t move them to make words.

  The hail was coming at us from all directions, clawing at my face. Lightning and thunder flashed and boomed together.

  We were going to die.

  I looked at Grandpa. He knew what I was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. He held on to me even tighter.

  Freezing cold water washed over us again and again. It wouldn’t take long to die in water this cold. After a while, I couldn’t feel my hands. Or my feet. I wasn’t shivering anymore.

  I heard Grandpa yelling.

  I was so tired, I could feel my dreams coming for me.

  “Billie! Stay with me!”

  But my dreams were stronger than his little voice, and pretty soon, I couldn’t hear him anymore. Because I was flying through the Milky Way on a beam of light. I couldn’t believe how fast I was going. All around me, millions of stars shimmered.

  When I came to the edge of the Milky Way, I saw one galaxy after another spreading out before my eyes. The name of each one was spelled out with banners made from flickering baby stars: Andromeda. Omega Centauri. Pinwheel. Sunflower. Tadpole.

  Then I did what Einstein said was impossible.

  I broke the laws of nature and began to fly through the universe faster than the speed of light. I was moving so fast I traveled back in time. Just like Einstein said would happen. And with each second, I could see the universe getting smaller and smaller. I went back fourteen billion years.

  To the very beginning.

  I watched as every single bit of matter in the entire universe was squeezed into a tiny point smaller than the littlest speck of dust.

  And that tiny speck of dust exploded in the big bang, and I saw the birth of the universe right before my eyes. I was floating in the center of a giant firecracker as it exploded into a riot of color. Red and orange and yellow and blue and purple spears of light shot every which way all around me. Protons and neutrons and electrons bashed into each other.

  Millions of years passed in an instant, and I watched as particles formed atoms and atoms came together and the universe gave birth to trillions of stars and planets and quasars and supernovas and comets and asteroids and black holes and nebulas and meteors.

  And then I saw the birth of the Milky Way, our very own galaxy. Our sun exploded to life right before my eyes, and a gaggle of planets spewed out. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune began to spin around the sun, and the Milky Way took a bow.

  A foghorn blasted away my dream.

  Men yelling.

  A big round spotlight swept over the churning water. More yelling. I was too weak to lift my head.

  A pair of big, strong hands grabbed me and lifted me up.

  A voice said, “I can’t find a pulse on the old guy.”

  And I was sucked into a black hole in the middle of the universe.

  I didn’t die.

  Grandpa didn’t, either, but that’s not the same as saying he was all the way alive.

  The doctors were afraid he still might die from hypothermia. Hypothermia is when you get so cold, all your organs forget how to act. Like your heart forgets it needs to keep beating to keep you alive. Grandpa’s heart was beating every once in a while, instead of nice and steady.

  When the coast guard brought us to the hospital, the nurses wrapped me in heated blankets and hooked me up to an IV. I could feel my body warming up from the inside out.

  At first, I was in the intensive care unit, in a room with glass walls. I was surrounded by beeping machines and color monitors and IV poles and silver carts packed with bandages and gauze and tape and needles.

  Mom was standing by my bed and holding my hand when I saw Dad through the glass as he ran up to the nurses’ station outside my room.

  “Daddy’s here,” I whispered. Mom squeezed my hand and walked out to him.

  She reached out and placed both her hands on Dad’s cheeks. She said something, and his face crumpled.
His shoulders were shaking like they did when he laughed. Only, he wasn’t laughing.

  He slowly sank to his knees. Mom patted his back and let his head rest against her belly as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Then she helped him up and led him into my room.

  “Hi, Daddy,” I said.

  He just looked at me, squeezing my hand like he wanted to make sure I was really there.

  Then he asked, “What were you thinking?” His words were hard, but his voice was soft. “You know better than to go out when the weather’s changing.”

  “I know,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t you ever, ever, ever do that again. Do you hear me?”

  “I won’t.”

  “You almost sent me to an early grave from worry.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  He leaned over and kissed the top of my head.

  I closed my eyes.

  He smelled like sweat and salt and algae and garlic, from the bait oil he used. I reached up and touched his cheek. I could feel dried salt. Then he rubbed his nose against mine, like when I was a little kid.

  “You’re my little girl,” he said, his eyes all shiny.

  “Go see your dad,” Mom said. “He’s over there.”

  She pointed to a brightly lit room on the other side of the nurse’s station where two doctors and two nurses were checking Grandpa’s monitor. The nurse was sticking white plastic tabs on his thin, pale chest.

  Dad kissed my forehead. Then he walked slowly past the nurses’ station into Grandpa’s room.

  The doctors and nurses looked up but kept working as Dad stood at the head of the bed. He stood there for a long time. Then he reached over and put his hand on Grandpa’s shoulder. He leaned over and began to whisper into Grandpa’s ear.

  Grandpa had a tube in his throat, and his eyes were closed and he was very, very still. I don’t think he could hear whatever my dad was saying.

  * * *

  I fell asleep. When I woke up, my mom was sleeping in a chair right next to me, her hands clasped together next to her cheek, like she was praying. The only light came from the heart monitor quietly beeping next to my bed.

  My heart hadn’t forgotten how to beat. I reached out and touched her hair. Our eyes met.