We were down the street from my house, and I thought for sure Brock would take off the cap, but he didn’t. And when I glanced over, he looked thoughtful.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His head tilted to me, and he said softly, “Really glad you stepped into the fort that day.”
He didn’t let it show often, but there were times when I was reminded that his home life wasn’t good. This was one of those times. Holding his stare, I answered sincerely, “Me too.”
Seconds passed, and then he snapped out of it, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a house. “Let’s get some candy.”
“You got the wire cutters?” I asked, as Brock and I belly crawled toward the cage on the Millman property.
“Yeah, and the burlap bag.”
We both heard the sound and stopped. I did a hand motion, like I’d seen in that war movie we watched the other night. Brock lowered his head to muffle his laughter. “You’re a dope,” he whispered.
Silence followed, we continued.
“He’s going to make noise.” He warned.
“I know. That’s why I’ve got the walnuts and grapes.”
“He’s going to be heavier than he looks.”
I glanced back at him. “That’s why I brought you.”
“The Millmans are going to be pissed.”
“That’s why I brought this.” I said, dragging the bag behind me.
“You’ve thought it all through.” Brock was teasing me, but I had thought it through.
We reached the cage. I checked my wrist, even though I wasn’t wearing a watch. “We’re right on schedule.”
“How the hell do you know that?” he said, moving in front of me and cutting the cage.
“I’m using the stars as a reference.”
He glanced up; it was overcast. “Alright, Slick.”
He cut the wire. We both slipped inside. We weren’t going to have a lot of time before the one we were rescuing made a scene. I threw the walnuts. He appeared. He was bigger than I thought.
“Is he going to fit?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’ll fit.”
He pecked up a walnut then another and another. He got closer; Brock put the gloves on, came up behind him. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
I got the bag open, Brock moved in and all hell broke loose. Feathers went flying, and who knew how deafening a gobble could be. The back-porch light went on. Brock got the turkey in the bag; I left the frozen turkey in his place with a note that said, Happy Thanksgiving. Slipping through the cage first, Brock pushed the burlap bag to me before following after.
“Who’s out there?” Mr. Millman shouted.
It wasn’t easy carrying the pissed off turkey, but we were saving his life. We hauled ass into the woods and just kept going.
“I think we’re far enough away,” Brock said. We put the bag down then climbed the closest tree and watched as the irate turkey found his way out of it.
“He doesn’t look very grateful,” Brock said.
I tossed the rest of the walnuts and the grapes at him. “One day, when he’s old, rocking on his front porch with his wife, all his children and grandchildren around him, he’ll appreciate what we did.”
I felt Brock’s eyes on me. He thought I was a nut. I grinned.
“Did you save any of those walnuts and grapes?” he asked, then added, “Because we might be up here a while.”
“There’s no way. Donny is lying.” I scratched my head and pushed my glasses up on my nose. “No way.”
“You don’t want to try?” Brock said, egging me on.
“No. If it was possible, which I highly doubt, we could cause damage. I would feel awful.”
“You are a tender heart,” Brock said, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Alright, so no cow tipping today.”
I glanced over at him. “So now what?”
“My parents aren’t home, and there’s ice cream,” Brock suggested, but he didn’t wait for me to answer, pulling me along behind him.
Brock’s house was massive. I’d only ever met his parents a few times, not that they said much to me. Unlike my parents, they wouldn’t be getting any parenting awards. He pulled me into the kitchen, flipping on the lights. “Get the bowls.”
I moved through his kitchen like I knew it because I did. We hung at his house a lot because we had the place to ourselves.
Brock made the biggest sundaes, and I never ate all of it, but he always finished mine.
We settled on the sofa, flipped on the television and watched Jurassic Park. I fell asleep, but woke, when I heard the door slam shut.
“Goddamn it,” his dad roared.
“It’ll be alright,” his mom said.
There was a sound right before his mom cried out. I tensed because he’d just hit her. Brock took my hand. “We got to go,” he whispered, pulling me from the sofa to the French doors that led out back. We slipped outside and ran, not stopping until we were at our fort.
“I’m sorry,” Brock said.
“For what?”
“Them.”
“He hit her,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Does he hit you, too?”
He looked away from me, but I knew he did. I suspected that was what had brought Brock into my life that first day. “Brock.” I tugged on his arm; he reluctantly turned his gaze back on me. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”
“The Caribbean. Working salvage, diving wrecks,” he said.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, and a cottage on the beach. What about you?”
“Wyoming or Colorado. Some place with wide-open spaces. A cabin, maybe a horse or two.”
“That sounds nice too.”
“Maybe we do both,” I suggested.
His hand tightened on mine. “Yeah, we can do that.”
I was doing homework when I heard pebbles hitting my window. My heart sank because that was our signal. Pulling my boots on and grabbing the kit stored under my bed, I hurried from my room, down the stairs and out of the house through the woods to our fort. He turned to me. Tears rolled down my cheeks. His father hit him. Not anywhere visible, but there was pain in his eyes. I wanted to hit his father.