The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle Read online

  Mrs. Drinker looks me over to see if I am okay. But I look at her house to see if I put a dent in it. Looks all right.

  Most important thing is this: Moonie is right close beside Mrs. Drinker now. She puts a hand on his head. He wags. Safe and sound.

  She says, “I know Moonie gets loose. He loves to run.”

  I think this: Well, he sure has been running today.

  Then I say, “He just comes over because he knows me. From the times I take care of him. That’s all.”

  Mrs. Drinker nods her head. She says, “I know. And that’s fine.” Then she faces Matt. Straight on. She says, “But Matty, it’s not fine that you crash into Mason like you just did. And the name-calling and insults? That’s unacceptable. You need to apologize.”

  He won’t. I know he won’t. He looks up into the air. Puts his lips tight. And the waiting makes me squirm. I wish she had not bothered with this. Then Matt starts humming.

  Mrs. Drinker says, “Okay. Matty. Inside. Now.” She points. As if he doesn’t know the way.

  Matt says, “No! We hardly got to practice at all. We’re still going to take accuracy shots.”

  I think this: His shots are pretty accurate. I am covered in apple mush. Kind of wonder if Mrs. Drinker sees that.

  She shakes her head at Matt. She says, “No. Not this time.” She looks up at Lance and Corey. She says, “Boys, I’m sorry, you’ll have to go home now. It’s going to be suppertime for everyone soon anyway.”

  I’ll tell you something about Mrs. Drinker. She looks worn out about all of this. Even more when Matt pushes by her to get inside. He rams her too. Not like he did to me. But some.

  Lance is slow about leaving. Corey McSpirit tells him, “Come on. We gotta go. Get your stuff.”

  They head away. Lance does not show me his middle finger. Not today. Not with Mrs. Drinker still close to the door. But funny thing, Corey McSpirit turns around and raises a hand like a wave. And he lifts his chin. At me.

  And I can’t help thinking it again. There is something about Corey McSpirit. He’s not the same as Matt and Lance. He’s nicer. But it’s more than that. He seems sorry about them being the way they are. I can see it on his face.

  chapter 47

  SUPPER CALL

  I climb the hill for home. Legs ache. This has been a long Wednesday. Some good. Some bad. Some I don’t have figured out. Like what happened up here around the crumbledown. With Matt and Lance. One of them said it: Lost the pygmy! That’s Calvin, of course. I smile about it. Wonder how he gave them the slip. I know he will tell me. I know where to find him. I can kind of feel his eye on me.

  I look over my shoulder. Make sure the coast is clear. Nobody left in the Drinker yard. I slip behind the tractor. Reach into the brambles and pull the rope to open the door.

  I step down in. I pull the door shut. Start talking into the dark. I say, “Calvin! Holy cow! How did you get back here . . . so . . . fast? Calvin? Hey, Calvin?”

  I stand still. The root cellar is way dark. And silent.

  I reach back. Push the door a crack for light. But it doesn’t really help. I blink. A few times. I look around again.

  Calvin is not here.

  My eyes adjust. Enough so I can see the shape of the great aurochs on the pale wall. Strong and mighty. I say, “Have you seen him?”

  It’s a joke with no one to hear it. I stare at the beast and it happens again. Looks like he is moving. Can almost hear him breathing. A whispering kind of in and out. I think, what if that aurochs could run right off that wall? Out the door and into the orchard. My brain makes it up. Quick thought. Then it’s gone.

  My stomach growls—out loud—in the quiet root cellar. Makes a noise like a groan or a moo. I am as hungry as an aurochs. Makes me laugh. Bet Calvin got hungry too. Went on home for supper. Before dark. That’s the rule. I think, darn! I want to hear how he made his getaway. The telling will have to wait for tomorrow. I pull the door shut. I make sure the bramble blanket covers it up right. The camouflage.

  I come up from the dip in the backyard thinking about Matt and his mom. Ugly scene, that was. Makes me sorry for her. And I’m kind of sorry for Corey McSpirit too.

  I catch a whiff of myself. It’s sour apples. And armpits. And something else too. I smell like the side of the Drinkers’ house. Now that is something I never thought had much smell. But getting rammed into a place will make you notice. My elbow still aches. Good scrape on it too.

  Coming around to the front of the crumbledown, there’s another smell. Bacon and maple. Uncle Drum slides out of his truck. Sun is down. Wonder if he’s just getting back from the diner. Drinking coffee right up to suppertime. There’s a long, long Wednesday for you.

  He waits for me at the porch. He says, “Hey, Mason. You okay? Looks like you need a fresh shirt.”

  I say, “Yeah. Well. That’s pretty much always.”

  Uncle Drum laughs. Just a grunt. He says, “Where’s Calvin today?”

  I say, “He was here. But he went home.” I jab my thumb toward Jonagold Path.

  Uncle Drum says, “Sorry I missed him.”

  I almost say it. If Uncle Drum wanted to see Calvin maybe he should not have sat so long at the diner. But I don’t say it. No point.

  Inside the crumbledown I smell Italian sausages—and it is so good. That is the kind of smell you want to end your day with. Juicy. Salty.

  Shayleen is putting napkins around the table in a slap-down sort of way. She’s having a pout. Must be the Denim Show didn’t work out so well. Must be she didn’t get to order her new jacket. The distressed.

  I go on up, change my shirt. Bad thing is, it is my last clean one. Must be a dozen dirty ones on the floor. My own fault. I have been too now and then about this. I gather them up and dump them down the chute. Smell of sausages comes up through. Grandma is going to see my shirts land in the basket there at the end of the kitchen. It will be up to her if I have clean ones for tomorrow.

  We sit down to eat. Noodles and cheese with sausage on the side. All through supper Shayleen keeps looking at Uncle Drum then making a droopy face. He won’t look back. She eats her food. Baby bites. Not me. I dig in. I do some real eating.

  Phone rings. We all stay put. Let the machine pick it up. It will be one of those calls nobody wants. Something recorded. Like the cardholder services one from that lady named Rachel. Or the guy called Kevin with a power washer. Or the offer for a cheap price on a cruise. Like any Buttles would get up and go on one of those.

  But it’s not any of those. We hear Margie. Margie who works at the Chumsky house. She says hello. She might be a little mad or something. She says she is calling for Calvin. Or, about Calvin. We listen. She talks like Calvin is not there. I don’t get that.

  It happens that I stop still and look at Shayleen while I am forking noodles into my mouth. She says, “Ew, Mason! That’s gross! And dry off!” She pushes the roll of paper towels at me. I miss some of Margie’s call.

  Grandma gets up. She stands by the phone. Brow wrinkled up. Margie is still talking. She says something about when the Chumsky parents get home. She says, “So I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call back in the next few minutes. Please.” The call ends.

  Grandma looks at me. She says, “Calvin went home, didn’t he?”

  I nod yes. I have a cheek full of sausage. I try not to talk with my mouth full. Don’t want to stir up Shayleen.

  Grandma picks up the phone. She dials Margie back. She talks. Then she listens. We all wait. Grandma tucks the phone under her chin. She says, “Mason. Where did you last see Calvin?”

  I think about it. I remember him going to the left. And up. Scrambling. His white hair. The backpack swinging.

  Grandma says, “Mason? Where?”

  I say, “It was a ways down the orchard. He was running up the hill. To come here.”

  Grandma looks at me. Really at me. She says, “And when was that? Do you know what time?”

  I shake my head. I think this: The sun was low. The air wa
s cool. . . .

  She says, “But were you with him?”

  I say, “I was. But then, not. I was going to meet him again. But some stuff happened. I was gone kind of long taking the dog back down to the Drinkers. So Calvin went on home. To supper.”

  Grandma shakes her head at me. Face full of worry. She says, “No, honey. He didn’t. He’s not there.”

  I push back my chair. Stand right up. I go out the door of the crumbledown. Daylight is gone. Has been for a while now. I cross Swaggertown. Head up Jonagold Path. I call for Calvin. No answer.

  I turn and look back toward the crumbledown. See Uncle Drum come off the porch with the flashlight. He’s moving at a trot. Fast as I have seen him go anywhere in a long time. Looks like he will circle our place.

  I go on. Up into the yards of all the new houses. I call Calvin’s name again and again. Tell you what, every time I do not find him I feel the world tip. Little more. Little more.

  I am almost to the Chumskys’ place when a police car goes by me. Merrimack Pee Dee. I watch the cruiser turn into Calvin’s driveway.

  The world goes upside down.

  chapter 48

  THE SEARCH FOR CALVIN CHUMSKY

  Everybody searches. Everybody phones everybody else. It’s after dark. Calvin should be home.

  I stand out front at the crumbledown. Sent home. The searchers are here. They want grown-ups only now. I watch the flashlight beams sweep through the yards up on Jonagold Path. So many. A picture of Calvin goes to every house. Happens fast. And people come out to call, “Calvin! Calvin!”

  On my own I check out in front of our place. Seems like that’s where Matt and Lance came from when they said they lost the pygmy. I want to look fast—find him fast. But I make myself be slow and careful. I look behind our branchy shrubs. Could be he hid here. But this doesn’t make sense. It is not like Calvin would need to stay hidden so long.

  Shayleen has her head out her window when I come by. Elbows on the sill. She is biting her thumb. She says, “Is there any sign of him, Mason?” She sniffles. She is crying. I know it’s for real. Nobody ever said it. But Shayleen likes Calvin.

  I shake my head at her. I say, “No luck yet. Still looking.”

  I walk along our rickety porch. Past the mousey chair. I wrap my arm around the porch post. Look out to all the near places where I wish I would see Calvin right now. I grit my teeth.

  What happens is this: You just cannot stand it. It is too much like another time. When another friend did not go home for supper. The worry is the most giant kind. I see the mud-green. It’s all in patches. Got a feeling. Like my heart leaking into my chest.

  Then I think this: What if I was wrong? What if Calvin circled wider for that chase? What if he got to the root cellar after me? There is not much of me that believes it. No way he would wait there all through suppertime. And up to now.

  But I go. I slip back down to the dip in the yard. Tuck myself behind the tractor. No one is watching me. They are looking for Calvin out in the dark. I fumble for the rope with the knot in it. The thorns bite my hands. But I make it inside. And don’t you know, it is even darker in the root cellar. And no flashlight. Uncle Drum took that to go searching with the others.

  I cannot see. So I don’t try to. I close my eyes. I walk my hands all along the painted stony walls. I am quick, but I am careful. I feel the wall where I drew with charcoal. I feel the bump of the aurochs’s rump. Smell the oil crayons. I know this whole place. I touch all the walls. Then I touch all the air. Every bit of it. Arms out in front of me. I get low. I brush my hands along the floor. My fingers hit something soft and lumpy. I about jump out of my skin.

  But it is not Calvin. It’s the rug that Moonie likes. I creep along. Bump my forehead into the bench we made with the five-gallon buckets. This whole time, I whisper Calvin’s name. I hope and I hope. I check every inch of that root cellar.

  But I find just what I think I will find. Nothing. I sit back on my heels. I whisper, “Calvin, where can you be?” Then I whisper, “Calvin, do you know where you are? Tell me.”

  Then I remember how it was to find Benny Kilmartin at the bottom of the tree house. I think, no, Mason. Don’t think like that. It’s Calvin now. Find Calvin.

  I get up and go outside where I can see. Strange thing, that is. The root cellar being darker than the night. I close the door and that blanket of brambles behind me.

  Some searchers come down across Swaggertown Road. Giant fireflies. They bob through the cluster stop. Down McIntosh Circle to the new neighborhood below us. Some head into the space in the middle—our orchard. I want to go with them. I don’t need a light. I can see without.

  I think this: All of us need to check every mound of grass and make sure none of those is Calvin. We have to look up every tree. Even though Calvin is not a climber. Check anyway. So I start marching out there.

  I don’t get far. Uncle Drum calls for me. I turn around. See him up at the crumbledown. Looking down off the end of the porch. And I see the shape of someone else beside him.

  Lieutenant Baird.

  chapter 49

  THE LAST TO SEE

  Don’t you know, the lieutenant wants to have a talk with me.

  We go inside. Sit at the table. No notebook tonight. And Grandma does not wipe down the kitchen. She and Uncle Drum stand near me. Shayleen has her eye at the crack of the bedroom door. The lieutenant is jittery. He talks fast.

  What we get to is this: I am the last to see Calvin. Makes me sound special but not special. And I try to think, is it true? Am I the last? Do we know? But I think the lieutenant will not want to hear me ask it.

  He thumps a finger on the table. He says, “Mason, this is very serious. You understand?” I nod my head. He says, “We have a second missing boy. And here we are. With you.”

  I swallow down on nothing. Dry air. I think about that worry I have. That I am bad luck. I say, “You mean second . . . like Benny Kilmartin was missing first? And now Calvin?”

  He says, “Yes. Those are the two boys I’m referring to. I need you to tell me what happened today, Mason. Let’s get to it.”

  I wipe my face on my shoulder. My thinking goes backward.

  The lieutenant says, “I need to know everything. Was there a trick? A game?”

  I say, “No. Just a chase. And then I lost him.”

  “You were chasing him?”

  I say, “Not me.”

  “You just said you lost him.”

  “Yeah. But. No. No. I don’t chase. But we were running. Both of us. Then we had to split up. Then it was suppertime. He ran home. I mean, I thought he did. Up Jonagold Path. But now . . .”

  “Yes? Now what? What do you think now?”

  I say, “Now he is missing and the others might have—”

  “Who are the others?”

  I take a breath. I am trying, trying to hold on to the sequence in my brain. But when the lieutenant interrupts I have to go back. Catch the thing I was trying to say.

  I say, “Oh. Umm. The others are the neighbor kids who—”

  “And who are they?”

  “Oh. Okay. That’s Matt Drinker. Lance Pierson. They said they lost him. I think they meant he . . . disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Some spit flies with that P sound.

  The lieutenant is not happy. I hear him breathing through his nose. Being impatiently patient. That’s what that is. He will get madder. I know it. I reach for the paper towels. Tear one off the roll. Drag it down my face. I stop and hold it over my eyes.

  The lieutenant says, “Mason, why were you heading into the orchard just now?”

  I bring down the paper towel. I say, “To look for Calvin.” I look at the lieutenant. Straight on. I say, “I’m just like everyone. I want him back.”

  The lieutenant says, “Then you help me, Mason!”

  I try. I close my eyes. I start to see it, the chase. The map of it. It’s a going-backward map. I try to think of telling a story. Sequence. But it is going backward,
backward, backward.

  So I say, “The last thing was, I dropped Moonie at the Drinker house. Their dog. And before that, I was in the orchard. Middle of the hill. I was looking up to the crumbledown. This house. I saw Matt and Lance. They said they lost Calvin. Before that, they were coming around the corner. Of the porch.” I look at the lieutenant now. He lets a breath out. At me. I say, “Sorry. I don’t know the part before. I mean, I don’t know their map. Or Calvin’s map. That piece is missing.”

  The lieutenant makes a note. He puts his hands on the table. Straightens his elbows. He says, “You can be sure that we will talk to those other boys.”

  Grandma says, “When? When will you interview them? It sounds like they—”

  Now the lieutenant interrupts her. He says, “There is a process here. I will have someone speak to them. But this comes first. As far as we know, Mason is the last person to see Calvin Chumsky. But how about this, Mason? How about you walk me through this map of yours. But let’s go frontward instead of backward. Can you do that? How about we begin from when you got off the bus here today?”

  I say, “Oh. Okay.”

  “In fact, let’s go walk that map. You take me, Mason.” The lieutenant gets up. The table shakes. He says, “Let’s go out there. Let’s retrace.”

  Uncle Drum says, “That will be the three of us.” He flicks on his flashlight.

  So we do that.

  I think it is a good idea. Better than sitting and interrupting.

  It starts with the cluster stop. It’s Wednesday quiet. Two banana milkshakes. Then out of the crumbledown with Calvin. Into the orchard paths. I walk. The lieutenant stays on my heels. The orchard is different at night. The shadows. Dark fruits. Some clinging. Some dropped. The sweep of the lieutenant’s flashlight beside me. We hike. I am pretty sure we reach the pond same way Calvin and I did earlier this day.

  Tell you what. The lieutenant is interested in that pond. He says, “Any swimming?”

  I say, “No. Too weedy. Too mucky. And besides this is fall.”