One of his tears breaks free. Now we’re both crying there in the alley between the barbershop and the shoe-repair store.
Then Will does something that surprises me more than anything he’s ever done.
He hugs me.
It’s late evening when Dad hauls the crate of fireworks out from the garage. Sun’s dying in the west, shooting fingers of fire into a deepening purple sky. In that failing light, my father carries the crate into the meadow where he and Pete line up the rockets.
Our family’s gathered to watch them do it. It’s just like every Fourth of July far back as I can remember, only we got Frankie and Anna May with us this year. Frankie and me sit on the porch steps, eating bowls of ice cream. Anna May lies next to Will in the yard. They’re talking quiet and peaceful until Butch wanders over and licks her face.
This Fourth is different in another way too: it will be the last time we’re all together. Maybe for years, maybe forever.
Frankie puts an arm around my shoulder, almost like he’s reading my mind.
“It’ll be all right, Jack. He’ll be all right.”
Frankie cried too, when I told him. Pete ain’t even his brother, but he broke down bawling just the same. Don’t know what it is about sharing a person’s pain, but it makes it just a little easier to carry. We sit with our arms around each other on the porch. Me and my cousin. Me and my best friend.
Pete finally told the family at dinner earlier, but there wasn’t a person at the table didn’t already know. Dad brought out the bottle of whiskey from the cabinet next to the fridge and poured glasses. He gave Pete a toast and told us how proud he was of him. Like he’s not afraid at all of him getting killed or blown up.
And that’s the thing. I’m proud too. Prouder than I can bear. My brother is doing one of the most selfless things you can ever do. And I am so, so frightened.
“I know it’s one of the most special things you can do,” I say, and I feel my lower lip start dancing up and down. “And I still just wish he wasn’t going.”
The tears come again, and I don’t even try to hide them. Frankie gives my arm a squeeze. We sit that way a while and watch the fireflies start their show across Knee-Deep Meadow.
In the yard, Will is telling Anna May a story. It’s about the night a few winters back when Dad arranged some railroad flares in a giant circle in the snow. He woke us boys up and told us aliens had landed.
“And you believed him?” Anna May laughs.
“You’d have believed him too if you’d seen a red circle glowing in the snow,” Will tells her.
“What happened next?” Anna May asks.
Will laughs. “Dad told us, ‘Stay here while I go and see what they want.’ So we did and he went out and smoked a cigar in the field and let us get more and more scared wondering why he wasn’t coming back. When he finally came in, he told us the aliens wanted us to do our homework and clean the dishes after dinner every night. That’s when we knew he was faking.”
“That all true?” Frankie asks.
I sniff and nod. “You bet.”
In the yard there’s a sound like a giant snake hissing. Next thing we know, one of those rockets is whizzing skyward, a trail of orange sparks spitting out behind it. It climbs a hundred feet.
Pop!
White smoke hangs in the air, blows out over the trees.
Anna May claps her hands.
“That’s just the start, Anna May!” I call out. “Just wait until—”
A sudden shape racing across the yard makes me stop. It’s Butch, running lickety-split for the lane, scared out of his mind from the rocket’s burst. We forgot to tie him up. That dog is terrified of loud noises. He just takes off running for miles and miles. Next thing we know, my dog is gone into the night.
I am up and about to chase him when Ma comes through the screen door. “Sit down, John Thomas. Don’t you forget you’re still sick. If Butch doesn’t like the loud noises, he’s better off running than being chained up having to listen to them. He’ll be back.”
She’s right. I just don’t like him to be scared is all.
Ma sits down beside Frankie and me. “Relax and enjoy the show. Look, your father and brother are lighting another one.”
In the field, there’s another hiss as Pete and Dad set off a new rocket. Then another and another. There’s pops and bangs and flashes of red and green sparks. One leaves a white-hot splotch on the sky that burns its fuzzy shape on the backs of our eyeballs so we’re seeing it long after it’s gone. Next comes a high-pitched whistler that makes us cover our ears.
Dad and Pete keep firing off rockets, and after a time I get used to the explosions. The breeze blows the smell of burnt fuses and cordite back our way while above, wisps of smoke stretch pale and thin across the moon. I almost forget about Pete’s joining the Marines this morning. I almost forget that he’s going to a place where the rockets don’t just shoot up and explode harmlessly into pretty pictures. But then it all comes back to me in the dark and I stop my oohing and aahing.
Ma knows. Ma understands. She puts her arm around me and draws me in close. She rocks me gently as those rockets take off.
“This has been a hard summer for you, John Thomas,” she says. “But you are holding up. I’m proud of you. And I love you.”
She squeezes me tight.
We watch the fireworks for what seems like hours as the dew falls and that white smoke becomes part of the mist creeping up the creek. At last Dad and Pete’s crate is empty and they come back, smelling like smoke.
Dad brings the pickup around to drive Anna May back to her house in town. She and Will are just about to climb up when she lifts a finger and points.
“What’s that?”
Across the valley, a light twinkles at us. A flickering light.
Then Ma says in a low voice, “My God, Gene, you’ve started a fire.”
Chapter 22
BACK TO MADLINER PLACE
It’s a tiny little light. Noiseless. Gentle. Like the flame from a candle.
Pete hops up on the truck fender to see better. “Can’t be us. Our rockets can’t reach that far.” He squints. “That looks like it’s clear across the valley. That looks like . . .” His voice trails off. “Like it’s at the Madliner place.”
A hush falls over us.
Then Will says suddenly, “It ain’t us. It’s him. Caleb’s lit a fire. He’s a firebug! What’d I tell you?”
Ma tells him to hush, but Dad moves for the house. “I’ll call Arthur,” he says. “Could be he’s just burning rubbish.”
Dad goes inside to make the call while we wait and watch that far flickering light.
The sudden awful feeling in my stomach tells me something ain’t right at all. Something about that far light has got me spooked.
“Who burns rubbish on the Fourth of July?” Will is asking. “Nobody, that’s who. That’s one of Caleb’s fires for sure.”
“But why’d anybody light a fire on purpose?” Anna May asks.
“Because he’s a firebug. He likes fire. He likes watching things burn.”
Anna May tells Will that what he’s saying is hearsay. Will tells her it ain’t, and the two of them go back and forth about what hearsay is and what it isn’t.
But me, I don’t take my eyes off that little light on the hill. It holds me hypnotized. And that awful feeling in my stomach gets worse and worse. And then it hits me: a fire at Madliner House could easily spread to the trees. Or the meadow. And somewhere in those trees or that meadow, running scared, is my dog.
“Butch!” I say suddenly. “Butch’s out there!”
Anna May and Will stop their arguing. Everyone looks at me.
“He got scared from all those fireworks and took off running. If there’s a forest fire, he’ll be out in it. We’ve got to find him!”
Ma pushes out her lower lip. “John Thomas, there is not going to be a forest fire. And our family is not going looking for Butch.” She turns to Will and starts in on him about how his fire talk has got me upset.
Right then and there I decide. Maybe my family isn’t going looking for Butch. But I am.
Dad comes out of the house. His face is grim.