A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
A guy on an old Western had said that once. He was right. I wasn’t a man, but it still counted for me, too. I spent the night in my room thinking. I took off that silly Santa pin Mary Francesca had given me and almost tossed it, but at the last minute I laid it on my desk. The mitten continued to wave at me and I wondered how long until the battery ran out.
I went out once to the garage after the folks were asleep then came back and watched the stars and sliver of moon through my window. The cold air made them brighter, closer, until you could see the teeth in the moon’s sly grin and the cold patience behind the stars’ eyes.
After an hour of that I went back in and stared at my closet. My last real Christmas was in there. It made me sad, proud, and had me pining all at the same time. Finally I put on my boxers and T-shirt and went to bed. I dreamed of cookies, presents, and a thousand lighted trees, and behind each tree was a Santa. He was laughing, cheeks red, stomach bouncing. A thousand Santas wherever you looked.
When I woke up in the morning I had one of those things…oh shit, what is it?…an epiphany. A big word for a big idea. I knew what to do, how to do it, and if I did things just right, just so, it would turn out even better than I thought yesterday. It would be better than okay. It would.
It had to.
I ate lunch with Mom, Dad, and Tess. Let Jed freeze his ass off in the woods waiting for me. I was in no hurry. Afterwards I grabbed my coat and backpack and said I’d be back. Grounding was grounding but, my dad thought that roaming in the woods was good for kids. Taught them things. Toughened them up.
I set off down our gravel road. The sky was white and gray and blue. Might be snow, might clear up. That was the fun thing about winter: it was always a surprise. I wore faded jeans and my rattiest sneakers. You never knew what was going to happen to them, not with someone like Jed. I liked the sneakers. We’d got them in San Antonio…they were orange with the black outline of a coyote howling at the moon. It was the same kind of moon we’d had last night. Narrow and hungry.
I hefted the backpack and tried not to think about that. I had to do what I had to do. Thinking about things like that—it wasn’t good. It wasn’t good for the plan or for Tess or for me. I kept on walking, new snow crunching under my rubber soles. We’d had lots of snow lately, at least a few feet of it. Blue Water Creek was the size of a small river now. You could toss a stick in that and it would be gone before your eyes could follow it.
Thirty minutes later I reached where I’d told Jed to meet me. He was there. Like he wouldn’t be. If I was stupid enough to walk right up to him, he wasn’t going to turn me down. He looked up from the struggling bundle of fur he had at his feet. The grin he gave me was colder than the snow under my feet. “Brought you a present, shithead.”
Tied to a tree he had a dog. From the smell of the wet fur, it was soaked in paint thinner and Jed was trying to get a lighter to spark. He was trying to catch a dog on fire…on fire, just to piss me off before he finished me. That was the kind of sick asshole he was.
“I like dogs a lot,” I said flatly. “ I don’t like you at all.”
Jed had parked his bike on the edge of the swollen Blue Water Creek. I turned and kicked it into the flood. The bike was carried away instantly. That was why the adults told us to stay away from the creek: it was over the banks, it was icy cold, and it could drown you in an instant.
“Whoops,” I said cheerfully. “You should’ve listened when they said stay away from the water.”
He growled, “You goddamn son of a bitch. You don’t know who you’re dealing with, asshole. I’m going to make you wish you were dead. Hell, I’m going to make you dead.” The pale eyes glowed with hatred as he shoved the lighter in his pocket. He picked up a baseball bat that had been hidden in the brush and rushed me, Louisville Slugger swinging. I caught it before it landed, ripped it out of his hands, whirled, and swung for the bleachers. He went down like Ms. Finkelstein on Principal Johnson.
Hard and fast.