Charlie headed back down the stairs, set his rocks down, and moved the big flower pot he still hadn't gotten around to planting anything in to get the spare key. But there was nothing under the flower pot. He sighed. Great. Locked out. He looked down at his watch. 6:17. At least his dad would be home soon. But he couldn't let him see him like this.
He headed over to the backyard, kicking at the lawn. Time to mow. Again. He grabbed a lawn chair from the side of the house, unfolded it, and collapsed into it with a long sigh. He yawned, feeling a weariness that never seemed to leave. The winter had been long and dreary, and the last patches of snow hadn't melted until last month. Even then, the winter weather made brief comebacks, as though the winter refused to completely surrender. But somehow the weariness didn't leave with the snow. Maybe once he finally got done with school, it would be better. But, unfortunately, besides warmer weather and freedom from school, Charlie couldn't think of much he had to look forward to.
Charlie surveyed their backyard. The swingset had been gone for a while, given to a neighbor. The trampoline frame was still up. He'd convinced his dad to let him keep it, even though he hadn't put the mat on it for... well, a while. He glanced at the hot tub his dad had gotten for his mom. She'd used it twice, then got too busy. By the time she got back to it, it was so overgrown with algae that it looked and smelled like a swamp. Charlie had drained it and cleaned it for her, but they never did get around to filling it again. His gaze wandered to the overgrown garden spot. It had been years since they had the time to plant and care for a garden. Even his mom's herb garden had been completely overrun.
He looked up sadly at the dead windbreak. The honeysuckles, Siberian Pea Shrubs, and willows had been so beautiful once. But his dad had needed the money more than the few water rights they had been holding on to to keep them alive, so now the once beautiful line of trees was a tangled mess of dead branches that howled eerily in the wind. They were a fire hazard now, but his dad hadn't had time to deal with them, and Charlie had been intimidated by their chainsaw.
Charlie smiled as he examined his treehouse. He stood, stretched, and walked over to it. At least that had held up fairly well. Fortunately, it was spared when a massive limb snapped off during a nasty windstorm. He climbed up the crooked trunk onto his first platform, gazing at the faded pictures he'd decorated the deck with using stencils and spray paint. He hadn't found many stencils, so the pictures were repeated images of dragons, castles, plants, spaceships, stars, and planets. He rubbed a recently sanded spot with his toe. A parrot had been there. He sighed as he glanced around at other bare, freshly sanded spots where more parrots and hibiscus flowers had been painted.
Charlie looked up at the second story. He had earned that second floor by not falling off the first floor for a whole year. Charlie chuckled. About a month after the second story had been finished, he had fallen off the landing next to the back door and broken his arm.
Wayne had been gone by the time Charlie had earned his second layer, so his dad ended up hiring Doug, who grumbled the whole time about building something so frivolous for a damn kid. But he did the work and took the money all the same.
Charlie climbed the colorful handholds screwed into one of the central trunks, wondering what had happened to Wayne. Wayne had disappeared the same way he had entered their lives— suddenly.
Charlie thought of what he'd heard about the day his family met Wayne as he sat on the platform. He, his parents, and Amy had slid off the highway in their old Buick during a terrible blizzard. Wayne's truck appeared in the middle of the storm, and Wayne pulled them out of the ditch and followed them home. His mom insisted he stay for supper, and he'd been part of the family since. He'd even been to Benny's funeral. Charlie chuckled at the sight of Wayne, all dressed up in church clothes, and his hair all slicked back nicely, sitting quietly in the back row. They had invited him multiple times to join them, but Wayne was always a back-row kind of guy.
Charlie noticed that while his dad enjoyed Wayne's company, his mom was never very comfortable around him. Charlie never understood as a kid, but as he got older, he suspected it had a lot to do with Wayne's smoking, occasional drinking, loud heavy metal music, and almost constant swearing, which Wayne tried to keep in check when he, Amy, and his mom were around. He never really talked much about himself. They knew he was new in town, but not much else. He helped Rich out a lot, especially on the new rental. But one day, not long after he had given Charlie the granitoid and the tool belt, he just didn't show up. Rich had gone to his house a few days later to check on him, but it was empty. They never heard of or from him since.
Charlie gazed at the rental, wishing he had been able to help Wayne finish it. He had been certain he had wanted to be a builder, but besides the second story on the treehouse, he hadn't had any opportunities to help build anything since.
****************
Mark Jennings sat at his kitchen table, gazing at the window, frustrated that he had to be inside on such a nice day. His third cup of coffee sat on the table next to him, slowly cooling.
He finished the test he was working on, then looked at the next one on the stack.
Charlie Thompson.
He shook his head. Bright kid. Clearly got what was going on, but he just couldn't seem to focus long enough to apply himself.
He frowned at the smudged graph paper stapled to the back of the test. That was going to be fun to sort out.
He started squinting as he went through the test. Typical Charlie. He started out with good handwriting, but it became increasingly difficult to read as he progressed through the test.
Something unexpected met his eye as he turned the page to the story problems. Right under question 60, Charlie had drawn a stick figure under a surprisingly detailed tree. The stick figure had a little speech bubble. In the speech bubble was the number 42.
Mark started laughing. Oh, Charlie.
**********************
Charlie saw his dad's car pull into the driveway, so he slid up into the furthest corner and watched his dad pull up the driveway, park, and enter the house. Charlie waited until he was sure his dad was inside, then descended to the ground and snuck to the back of the house and to the back door. He picked up his rocks, went inside and downstairs, relieved that his dad hadn't seen him.
He opened the door to his basement. The old sign was still there, the paper faded, but the crayon still visible, "Warnign, boy's terratorie, enter at ur own risk."
The door led to his domain. The old brown couch with the white and yellow flowers was there, as was the TV/VCR combo, which was set up on the entertainment center against the wall. His parents had upgraded the living room, so he got the stuff they no longer needed. The shelves of the entertainment center were lined with movies he'd gathered. Jurassic Park, the land before Time, Star Wars, Sister Act, Mrs. Doubtfire, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, The Love Bug, The Birds, My Fair Lady, Toy Story, among others.
The rock tumbler was humming in the old coal room. He glanced at his crystals, the ones he'd grown over the years as well as new ones he had been growing. Lately, he'd been experimenting with borax crystals. He had a few eggs he'd put in vinegar as well; their shells had dissolved, and they were swelling. A few ice cream buckets full of Jenga blocks were sitting on the table, along with a puzzle of a beautiful mountain lake. Charlie gazed at the picture as he added pieces. Secluded, beautiful. The perfect lake for skinny dipping, as long as it wasn't too cold. He laughed. It was a mountain lake, of course, it would be too cold.
A telescope was propped up in a corner, and every available wall was lined with bookshelves, with piles of rocks stacked in front of the books, with dragons, glow-in-the-dark lizards and frogs, and dinosaurs scattered on top of the rocks. He went through the dull blue curtain, trying to forget the bright curtain it had replaced, and into his bedroom, where he crashed on his bed and sighed. He grabbed Winston, who looked at him reproachfully.
"When are you going to forgive me for letting Frankie go, Winston?"
Winson just watched him quietly.
Charlie gazed at the posters of animals, various maps, and a chart of the solar system that lined the dark blue, rough-cement walls of the basement. He glanced at the picture of Jesus with the children, then looked down, sure that both Jesus and Benny would be disappointed in him.
He stared up at the stars, tracing the constellations, then glanced over to Mars. He picked up the space shuttle he'd placed next to his alarm clock on his nightstand, then looked at Winston.
"Let's go home, Winston."
He and Winston held on to the shuttle.
5...4...3...2...1... blastoff! The shuttle launched into the atmosphere and through space to Mars.
**************
Cade yanked on the padlock.
"Fuck!"
Yank!
"Fuck!"
Yank!
Fuck.
***************
Charlie's stomach growled. He looked over at Winston. "That you, Winston?"
Winston stared at him.
"Yeah, ok, that was me. I'm starving!"
Charlie jumped down off his bed and set Winston on his pillow.
He slipped his gym shorts off, then grabbed his work pants.
Maybe I'll get the key from dad and head to the rental after supper.
He was surprised how much he missed the shorts when he slipped on his work pants. He grabbed an old t-shirt from a hanger on the wire strung between two studs. He noticed how sunburned he'd gotten that day.
Should have worn sunscreen.
How could we have known we'd need it?
When was the last time we'd gotten a sunburn there?
Think we'll get our tan back?
There? Are you crazy?
He sighed and slipped his shirt on, wincing as it rubbed against his sunburn.
Charlie made his way upstairs, starving. He entered the kitchen and headed to the fridge, avoiding looking at the new US West Dex phone book for Idaho Falls and the surrounding area sitting menacingly next to the fridge, under the phone. Unfortunately, the Silver Creek City and surrounding area phone book hung on the fridge to remind him of its larger sibling. He opened the fridge, taking a glance at his dad's beers, wondering what it would be like to lose himself in one like his dad did. But he knew his dad would kill him if he did, so he put that thought aside and pulled out the gallon of chocolate milk instead. He scanned the yogurts, shuddering at the strawberry and lemon, and reaching for a blackberry.
The pickles caught his eye.
I miss pickle banana sandwiches.
He felt a chill. He hadn't been able to look at a banana for a long time. Marisol had eaten a lot of them when she was... Charlie choked up a little and closed the fridge.
He grabbed his favorite green—green, not turquoise, but very bright, friendly green cup with the funny face from the cupboard and poured a glass of chocolate milk, chugging it, then another, as he shot glances at the phone book.
It had been there since mid-January, taunting him. He had dreaded its arrival most of last year. Since the Rojas family moved in the Spring of last year, he had an excuse not to try to find them. Their new number wouldn't be in the phone book until this year. But January eventually came, and with the new year, a new copy of the Dex white-and-yellow pages for southeast Idaho. There was, of course, always a chance that they would have moved completely out of range of that particular phone book. They may have even returned to Colombia, for all he knew. But he had heard that she had a brother in Rigby, so chances were way too high that she had moved in with him and his wife, and her parents followed. Charlie looked away and shook up his yogurt, then opened the lid and the seal over the sink just enough for a whoosh of air, but not enough to cause an explosion. He chugged the yogurt down as he sorted through the freezer for a TV dinner, avoiding the frozen burritos.
Settling on what claimed to be Salisbury steak, he opened the package and grabbed a fork to pierce the plastic film on top. He'd learned not to forget that step the hard way. He tossed the meal in the microwave and waited, trying not to let his gaze wander to the phone book. Just as the microwave beeped, his dad walked in.
"Charlie, do you want to explain to me why I got a call from Mrs. Davidson at the school, telling me you didn't show up at Mr. Jolley's office after school?"
Charlie flushed and looked down at the ground. "I... had to leave quick after school, and I forgot." The microwave beeped again. Charlie opened the door.
Rich sighed and rubbed his temples. "And why did you have to go to the principal's office in the first place?"
Charlie bit his lip. "I was in the hall without a hall pass."
"Why were you in the hall without a hall pass?"
"I... had to take care of something and I was late to my class."
"You couldn't have taken care of it during lunch?"
Charlie stammered, "I... didn't have enough time."
Rich shook his head. "Charlie, you've got to plan your time better. Didn't you have finals?"
Charlie nodded.
Rich frowned. "Were you late to a final, Charlie?"
Charlie bit his lip. "Yeah." He pulled his meal out and pulled back the cover, watching the steam float away.
"Charlie! You could have been valedictorian! You could have gotten a lot of scholarships! Now... I'm seriously wondering if you'll even pass your classes! What's going on?"
Charlie set his jaw. "I don't want to talk about it."
Rich squinted, wanting to press on, but he recognized that look. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this now. "We're going to have to talk about it when your report card gets here, Charlie."
Charlie pulled his food out of the microwave. "Are we done?"
Rich sighed, then scanned Charlie. He was too clean. "Not quite. You didn't get to the rental either, did you?"
Charlie scowled. "No, I didn't. It's been a rough week, ok?" He grabbed his food and turned for the door.
Rich let out an exasperated sigh. "Charlie, you have got to start taking responsibility for your actions!"
Charlie glanced at the phone book again, then left the kitchen, shutting the door behind him, his dad's words echoing in his head.
He knew he was right. He didn't want to admit it. But he couldn't deny it either.
Charlie didn't realize he had forgotten his fork until he crashed on the couch. He moaned, then looked down at his food. Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans. An image of gravy and beans dripping on his docs flashed through his mind. He groaned again as he reminded himself he'd have to go back tomorrow to get his docs, and everything else, and check out of his classes.
He thought about eating his food with his hands, but, not wanting to be wearing mashed potatoes for the second time today, he scowled and headed back up to the kitchen to retrieve his fork. He stood at the kitchen door for a moment to make sure the kitchen was clear. When he was fairly certain, he opened the door a crack to peek inside. The kitchen was empty. He grabbed the fork and glanced at the phone book again. His dad's voice started playing in his mind again. "You've got to start taking responsibility for your actions!" He swallowed and grabbed the heavy book. It almost felt like it burned his hands, but he held on and brought it and the fork back downstairs.
He ate his food sitting on his couch, staring at the book on his little end table. The food was gone before he even realized he was eating. His stomach continued to grumble. It wasn't near enough. He'd have to find something else. But first, he had to find the number.
He looked at the book.