The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle Page 12

  We tell her how there’s a Mr. Tott and a Mrs. Sardello. Both new. Sometimes one of them comes to the SWOOF with Annalissetta Yang. But just to drop her off. Other kids too. Grandma sighs a little like she is thinking back to her working days at the school.

  But Calvin and I don’t know more to tell her. We don’t know all the new names. Merrimack Middle School has been adding grown-ups. Teachers and aides. You name it.

  Of course, Shayleen comes out of my old room to be annoying. She says, “Has anybody seen Drum yet?” She is watching for him to come back from his day at the diner. She says, “I hope he’s going to get here on time.” She taps her teeth with her thumbnail. She paces.

  Grandma says, “Is this about the Denim Show, Shayleen? Another shopping channel event? Drum already said no to that, sweetie.”

  Shayleen gets upset. And you can tell it is a two- or three-times-over kind of upset. She says something about how she just wants a jacket. A faded thing. With fraying threads here and there. “Distressed,” she says, and I think that sounds like the jacket is pretty sad.

  I ask her, “Why do you need that? You don’t go outside. Except to stand on the porch and watch me bring boxes from the UPS truck. And Shayleen, if you want a holey jacket, I could drag the one you have on behind the tractor. I’ll run it over for you too.”

  Calvin about loses his banana milkshake out his nose. I see Grandma making smiling minnow eyes at us. Calvin gulps down a laugh. He says, “Mason . . . don’t pick on her.”

  I say, “I wasn’t picking!” Because I really wasn’t. I say, “I’m trying to help!” Because I really was. This time.

  Now he laughs into his elbow like he doesn’t want Shayleen to see. Doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  Shayleen laughs too. But it’s squeaky. Whiny. Like it will turn to crying. She goes to the front window of the crumbledown to look for Drum. This is how it goes with her. She will try one more time to get that sorry jacket. And Uncle Drum will have a hard time saying no. He might even say yes.

  Truth is, I feel bad for Shayleen. Not about the jacket, but about how she doesn’t get happier even when she gets to buy. Well, no. She does. But it’s only at first when she makes the order. And then some more when the UPS truck comes. But in the end the things don’t fill her up. Tell you what. She has not missed her big plastic salad chiller bowl one bit. Even that makes me feel bad for her.

  I think this: Shayleen is distressed.

  So I say, “Sorry, Shayleen. I really wasn’t teasing. I know I do it some. But today, I didn’t mean it.” Then she gives me a teary nod. Then all I want to do is get out of there.

  So we do that.

  chapter 45

  WEDNESDAY MODE

  Calvin and I skip the root cellar today. We are free to be visible. Calvin calls this Wednesday mode. And he calls it the aboveground part of our lives. Makes me laugh because it is true. I have noticed that quite a lot of times. True things are funny.

  We go walking out through the rows of apple trees. Calvin brings his backpack in case we stay out until suppertime. We might. Tell you what. The aurochs and the dead man and the Caves of Lascaux are awesome. But I like being in the orchard. I like seeing the parts we still own. Even if there is a big waste of apples on the ground. We step around where the bees come to drink.

  I tell Calvin, “Did you know that you have to listen for the insects?”

  He says, “Really? What’s that about?”

  I say, “Well, you have your good insects and your bad ones. And you want to keep your spraying down. Or not at all.”

  He says, “Oh, you mean pesticides?”

  I say, “Yep. The Buttles don’t like them. Been careful about them from way back. And sometimes that cost us some of the crop. But my grandpa said it plenty of times. My uncle Drum too. You have to think about the bigger picture. The health of that orchard.”

  Calvin says, “Right. There must be a lot to know.”

  My brain has filled up. Feels like all these things I know about being an orchard family have moved up front right where I can remember them. I could talk a blue streak about apples. But not so sure Calvin wants to hear all of that. So I show him just one more thing.

  I say, “Look at that. The Winesaps and Macouns are ripe. But up at the other end of the orchard, the Paula Reds? Done. The apple season stretches pretty nice and long if you have enough varieties.”

  Then I reach. Bring a branch low. I’m careful. I know how to do it. I tell Calvin, “Go on and pick. Twist of the wrist.” Calvin picks two apples. I let the branch go back up. Then I tug up my pants. Something is going on with those. Been slipping down lately.

  Calvin hands me one apple. Bites into the other. He says, “So that farm stand out by the road, that was where you sold them?”

  I say, “Oh yeah. Sold plenty there. Pies and apple butter too. And we had PYO. Pick Your Own. And there was the company that came for the cider apples. The McIntoshes and Empires mostly.”

  Calvin says, “Couldn’t they do it again? Like, bring back the Buttle orchard?”

  I hear that word they. I guess he means Uncle Drum and Grandma. They are the adults. I tell Calvin, “Don’t you know I wish for it. I think there’s something about that. Our hard times, I mean. It was six years ago now. That’s pretty hard for me to remember. But two funerals right together is a double punch. Everyone dropped off what they were doing. My grandma gave up her teacher’s aide job at the school. She quit baking too. Just too sad to get it all done. I guess. And then two bad crops in the orchard and I think that put Uncle Drum off trying. He never got going again.”

  Calvin says, “Are they still too sad now?”

  I think about that. I say, “Grandma is kind of better. She calls that kitchen her first big step. The way she keeps it nice now. Before that she had to set her alarm for mornings. Stop herself from sleeping past the sun. She gets on my uncle Drum. Tells him he needs to take a step too. If I were him, I would call that cider company. Tell you why. Even when you don’t have the prettiest apples, you can still make good cider. And they come get them.”

  Calvin says, “Yeah? So? Maybe suggest it. Have you?”

  I say, “Oh yeah. He tells me maybe. Then he tells me never mind.”

  We eat our apples. I toss my core as far as I can. And who comes running to bring that back to me? Moonie Drinker. He bounds through the tall grass. I stoop to catch him, but then I let him plow me down. He stands on my chest and licks my face. Calvin and I laugh. Then Moonie sits half on me, half off, and eats that apple core. Whole thing. I know he’s not supposed to be out of the Drinker yard. I don’t know how that happens. But I cannot help it. I love to see this dog.

  We hike down to the small pond. This is the bottom of the hill away from the new neighborhood. Marks the end of the orchard. Calvin and I sit. He leans back on his backpack. Moonie goes around the pond. Nose to the grass all the way like that’s his job. A bug flies up out of the weeds. Makes him jump off all four feet. Then he tries to snap it out of the air. Calvin and I laugh so hard.

  I pull that photo of Benny Kilmartin out of my pocket. Good thing is, Ms. Blinny put some clear contact paper on it. That was Calvin’s idea. I would have ruined it by now. The way I keep bringing it out to look at it. My fingers, my sweat.

  I tell Calvin, “Wish I could see all the words that went with this picture. Even though I couldn’t read them all.”

  Calvin says, “I read it.”

  I say, “Really? You did?”

  Calvin says, “Well, yeah. Stuff comes up on my tablet on the local newsfeed. Or I browse. That caught my eye mostly because of you, Mason. Once I knew Benny was your friend, and once I read his acrostic poem, I was interested. And also, well, it’s kind of this big thing here in Merrimack. A hard story.”

  I say. “Yeah. Kids are not supposed to die. And a lot of people knew him. And miss him. Can you remember what it said? In the paper?”

  Calvin nods. He says, “It told what happened. There were parts about the
police asking questions. How they think one, or more than one, person might know things they are not saying. They want help and cooperation. They want people to come forward with information.”

  I say, “That . . . that sounds . . . I don’t know. Disturbing. Sounds like they think someone has a secret. Dark one.” I twitch a bit when I say it. I switch the photo hand to hand. Dry my palms on my pants. I look at a blue glitter dot that got stuck under the contact paper. Next to Benny’s ear. Wonder if it’s the dot I thought I ate.

  I tell Calvin, “Lieutenant Baird says he wants my cooperation. I try to tell him everything I know. But like I told you, he interrupts. Like he wants to hear something different from what I have to say. I don’t know what. Maybe some of those parts I wrote with the Dragon will help him.”

  Calvin runs his hands through the grass. He nods his head. I see him close one eye in the low sun. He says, “I think they want to know more about the place where it happened.”

  “Where Benny died? Like, about the tree fort?”

  Calvin shrugs. He says, “You could say that. The article mentioned an address. It said at 1054 Swaggertown Road. Then it said town records show the property is an orchard owned by Janette Buttle.”

  I say, “See, that’s my grandma. She is Janette.”

  Calvin says, “It says Benny fell from a ladder on that property and that a playmate of Benny’s found him.”

  I say, “Me. I’m the one. Holy cow. It’s in the paper?”

  Calvin nods.

  I say, “See, and I keep thinking, isn’t that all there is? He fell. In some way that hurt him real bad. Isn’t that what happened? The lieutenant thinks there is more to know. But I keep thinking he might be done with the puzzle. Because what more could there be?”

  Calvin shakes his head. He is very quiet now. We both watch Moonie coming full circle around the pond. I say, “So the Buttles are in the newspaper too. We are in there with Benny.”

  Calvin looks up. Pulls his lips in. He nods. For just one second I think I see it. He looks sad to see me.

  chapter 46

  RUN, SPLIT, RUN

  We are still by the pond—Calvin, Moonie, and me. We’re all lying back in the grass. The dog is belly up. Calvin is watching the sky. It’s the kind of day you lose track, but I know it’s getting near to suppertime. Low sun. Cool air. And my growling belly. Calvin hears it.

  He says, “Are you hungry, Mason?”

  I say, “Yeah. But I like waiting it out as long as I can. Not letting the day be over with.”

  Calvin says, “I get that. And you know what else is a drag? Having to be home earlier and earlier. To make it in before dark.”

  I say, “Right. We are getting shorter days.”

  Then we hear a yell. A whoop. Comes from the edge of the orchard. Moonie rolls onto his feet. Ears up.

  Then we hear this: “Buttle! Chumsky! We’re coming to own you!” Matt and Lance march out of the tall grass across the pond. Lacrosse sticks up and loaded. They waggle them at us. Moonie steps left. Then right. Then stands with one foot up.

  Calvin says, “Ugh! This is an ambush.”

  We both scramble up off the ground.

  He says, “So much for Wednesday mode!”

  We are on our feet. Backing up. Matt and Lance are coming around the pond. Heading straight for us. The first apple sails in. Plunks into the water. We are off and running, with Moonie Drinker coming along beside. He is faster than all of us. That dog could be home in a split. But he stays close.

  The going is tough unless you are a bounding dog. The tall grass is a tripping thing. Gets wrapped on the shoes. Calvin grunts when an apple hits him. I put him to the front of me. Wish he didn’t have the backpack on. Calvin is not the best runner. But we go—heading for the crumbledown. Still out of sight. Still far up the hill.

  I look behind.

  They are gaining. Not good! We are going to get applesauced.

  Calvin shouts to me. He says, “Split up! We’ll circle! I’ll meet you. You know where! Don’t give it up, Mason!”

  He goes up. Left. I go down. Right. Moonie comes with me. I worry. What if Matt and Lance both go after Calvin? Can’t let it happen.

  I stop and turn. Stand in the path. I raise my arms, waggle my hands, and stamp my feet at them. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of white. Calvin’s hair. Then his backpack. He is pushing his way up the hill.

  I flap my arms and caw at Matt and Lance. In comes an apple. And I can’t believe it—I catch it! I whip it back at them. Then turn and run. Moonie follows.

  Apples whiz by my head. Splat on my back. I run down the orchard rows. Not so sure where Calvin is now. I think of his tan-sandy shoes slapping down. Backpack swinging. How he is not so good at running.

  Moonie is galloping beside me. I look back. I see Matt. Close. And Lance. Not as close. Good thing is, they are both chasing me. Not Calvin. But I wonder how in heck I’m going to circle back up.

  An apple smacks Moonie. He skitters sideways. Matt aims at him again. I try to send Moonie ahead but he doesn’t understand. I about fall over him. I have to run on. I weave through the tree trunks all along the row. Matt is totally on me.

  My breath is out. I slow down. Then I stop. Behind a tree. I have to. I’m breathing like a beast. I want to head uphill. To the crumbledown. Moonie waits. Looks up to me. Brown-gold eyes. He wants to know, What’s next?

  Shower of apples is what. Man! They cream me! Apples smack me and the trees with a whap-whap sound. Juice sprays. Pulp flies. Matt and Lance have scooped some soft ones. They reach low with their sticks and reload. Easy to do. So many apples, ripe and dropped.

  I decide. There is no getting to the crumbledown now. So I turn the chase. Head for the Drinker house. I think this: If I get Moonie home this will end. He races next to me. I tug up on my pants. Jump the clumps of tall grasses. I keep running. I get close enough to see down the hill into the Drinkers’ yard. Someone is there. Looking up. Hand shading his eyes.

  Corey McSpirit. He sees me coming.

  I hear him call, “What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

  I think this: What does he mean? Can’t he see?

  I look behind me.

  What?

  No Matt. No Lance.

  I stop there on the hill. Between the crumbledown and the Drinker house. I rest. Hands on knees. Breathe in and out. Moonie waits at my feet. Pink tongue hanging. I wipe my face on my shirt.

  I lift my head and look through the rows of trees. Where did they go? And what about Calvin? I feel a few seconds press by. Thud of my heart going with them. I see our tractor sitting in the dip. Wall of thorns behind it. And I know the root cellar door is behind the thorns. I think this: Calvin made it. Bet he is there with his eye to the knothole. I start toward it. Just slow. No point in running. So I walk. But then Moonie darts ahead—way ahead. And don’t you know it, he is heading for the root cellar door.

  I think, no, no, no! Corey McSpirit is watching! Moonie, don’t give up the root cellar!

  I call, “Hey! Moonie! Moonie!” Tricky thing. I don’t want to be too loud about it. Don’t want to call attention. But then Moonie goes on by the door. He heads up top. Stands in the brambles. Stops with one paw up the way he does. Good boy!

  Then I hear a yell from down the hill. It’s Corey McSpirit. He hollers, “Run!”

  I stand still, wondering, does he mean me? Then don’t you know it. Matt and Lance come from around the front of the crumbledown. Sticks in the air. Eyes on me.

  Matt yells, “Lost the pygmy! Get the Sweat Head!” Lance comes with him. Both barreling down the hill. Both waving sticks at me.

  I can’t get by them. Can’t get home. And now here comes Moonie again. Fast as can be. I take off. He stays at my heels. This is it. My last run. I keep my sights on Corey McSpirit down by the Drinker doorway. He is the finish line. He calls to Matt and Lance behind me.

  He says, “Hey! You guys! Come on. Give it up!”

  But they don’t. And they a
re gaining. Then Matt swings his stick low. Takes a swat at his dog.

  I pick up Moonie—on the run. And it’s like that dog knows to curl up and hook his paws. Like he’s holding on to me. It is not so easy to run with a dog in your arms. And it’s not like Moonie is so tiny. I just have to get him to the door. Get him to Mrs. Drinker. I don’t want to get Matt in trouble. Don’t care about that. But I do care about this dog.

  I am there. Just outside the house. I make wide eyes at Corey. He watches. I try to be steady. Try to make my voice sound easy. Like I am not really breathing hard. Even though I am. Totally.

  I call, “Mrs. Drinker! Hey, Mrs. Drinker!” I see the back door crack open. I say, “Brought Moonie ba—”

  BAM!

  Matt’s whole body hits my whole body. He leads with that lacrosse stick going sideways. I lose my hold on Moonie. He slips to the ground. I am bashed smack into the side of the Drinker house. A big grunt comes out of me. A pain shoots up my elbow. Good thing is, I see Moonie scoot away. Just fine.

  Corey McSpirit says, “Matt! Are you kidding me? What was that for?”

  Now Mrs. Drinker is on the step.

  She says, “Matty! Whoa! Whoa! Did I really just see that? You rammed Mason right into the side of the house. What were you thinking?”

  Matt is red in the face. Huffing and puffing. Guess I did give him a good chase. He points the lacrosse stick at me. He screams. He says, “Buttle had our dog again! He steals him!” Matt spits on the ground. Pretty close to my feet. He says, “He takes him! All the time!”

  I have to say it. I tell Mrs. Drinker, “I don’t steal your dog. I wouldn’t do that. He just comes around, is all.”

  Matt says, “Yeah, well if he does it’s because he likes rats and skunks. Like the ones living under your ugly house, Sweat Head.”

  Mrs. Drinker says, “Matty! Enough!”

  She turns to me. She says, “Mason, honey, are you all right?”

  I cup my elbow. Open and close tingling fingers. I say, “Yeah. I think I’m pretty okay.” I try to smile about it. But tell you what. That was a big hit.