Hideout Read online

  Dad reached for his glass of water and nodded considerately.

  “That must have been hard,” Mom said.

  “It’s not something I wish on anyone,” Officer Stockton replied.

  Dad sipped his water and set it down. Officer Stockton picked up his fork and looked down at his plate and cut another precise bite of lasagna.

  Mom broke the silence. “Where is your wife from?” she asked.

  “Janet’s from Biloxi,” he said. “We grew up together.”

  “I’ve known Roger since middle school,” Mom said. “I suppose some of us find each other early. Roger, why don’t you tell Jim how we met?”

  Dad appeared relieved to have something to say. He set his fork down and began telling the story I’d heard before. He’d missed the football team’s bus and had to ride to the game in the bus with the cheerleaders. He’d never been so embarrassed and humiliated in his life, but he decided to make the best of it and sit next to Mom, who he thought was the prettiest girl in school. When they got to the game the rest of the team was waiting in the parking lot to tease him. He said he smiled and didn’t hear a word they said.

  Officer Stockton chuckled. “Sounds like a good way to travel,” he said.

  “Roger has a way of accidentally being at the right place at the right time,” Mom added with a half smile. I couldn’t help but think she was referencing the incident Dad had had at the gas station.

  “Hey,” Dad said jokingly, “I try.”

  Mom rolled her eyes at Dad and smirked. “But he always seems to come out of it okay,” she said. “Somehow.”

  Apparently Mom wasn’t upset with Dad anymore.

  I thought about being trapped on a school bus with Julia. And sitting next to her. Then I imagined the other kids murmuring and pointing at me and her scooting away from me like I had a disease.

  Dad told Officer Stockton about moving down from McComb when he got the job as chief of police and renting a cottage in town until we got our house built on the bayou. Finally they began to discuss the new liquefied natural gas facility being built at the mouth of the river. Dad felt it was a likely target for terrorism, and he had some ideas on how their two organizations could work together to keep it secure.

  I hurried through the rest of my supper, then leaned over and told Mom I was tired.

  “Go on,” she said. “I think these two might be a while.”

  I stood to go, and Officer Stockton stopped talking and I felt him watching me.

  “Nice meeting you, Sam,” he said.

  “You too,” I said.

  “Be safe out there in your boat,” he said. “And keep your eyes open.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I will.”

  * * *

  I lay in my bed that night listening to the rain, unable to sleep. I imagined the wind tearing the roof from the swamp camp and Davey clinging to the bunk bed, fearing for his life. Until I had to get it out of my head, and I couldn’t think of anything to distract me but turning on the Xbox and playing Demon Quest until I fell asleep. Then I thought about Grover and told myself that I wasn’t going to feel guilty just because of him. That I needed to do it just to spite him.

  I got up and flipped on the television and the Xbox and grabbed the controller. I fully expected Grover to see me come online. His Xbox was never turned off. He was always online, even when he wasn’t playing. And I made up my mind that I was going to have to ignore him if he started texting me. I signed on, but to my disbelief and relief, Grover wasn’t logged in.

  13

  The next morning it was still raining. I kept reminding myself that the swamp camp had been through storms as bad as Hurricane Katrina, that Davey might get wet but wasn’t in any immediate danger. But I couldn’t imagine him being anything but miserable.

  Even if he wants to leave, he can’t, I thought. Not now. If he tries in that canoe, he’ll die.

  More than once it crossed my mind to tell Dad about him and get Officer Stockton to go and help him. But I’d told Davey I wouldn’t tell anyone. And I tried to recall just why it was he was so scared of being discovered. I knew it was illegal for Davey and his family to live in the camps, but they’d surely be found out eventually. So maybe Davey was just staying for a while, until his dad and brother got there. Then what? If I tried to think it all through too much, it didn’t make sense. The only thing I felt certain of was that Davey was still out there alone and probably needing more help than ever.

  Between being worried over Davey and stuck helplessly in my house, it was torture. And there was no one I could talk to about it. I reminded myself that the storm would pass and I could race out there and check on him as soon as it did.

  Stay there and hang on, Davey … Just hang on.

  * * *

  The skies finally cleared that evening, but it was too late to go into the swamp. At the dinner table that night I told Dad that I wanted to get up early and go fishing.

  “I think we’re all getting a little stir-crazy,” he said. “You need me to help you get the boat down before I leave for work?”

  “No, sir. I can do it. And I might leave before daylight. Before you get up. You said the fish bite best at sunrise.”

  Mom looked at him. “Is that safe, Roger?” she said.

  “You test the navigation lights?” he asked me.

  “Yes, sir. They work.”

  He looked at Mom. “He’ll be fine. He needs to practice running in the dark sooner or later, and it’s better when the sun’s about to come up than go down.”

  I could see by Mom’s expression that she didn’t fully agree, but she just raised her eyebrows and didn’t say anything.

  Dad saw she wasn’t going to object and turned back to me. “Just take it slow, son. Make sure you wear the kill-switch lanyard on your wrist.”

  I nodded, trying not to appear too eager.

  * * *

  I woke before daybreak, grabbed my pack, and stuffed a towel into it. Then I walked through our quiet house into the kitchen. I took a few more cans of food and filled a plastic milk jug with water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten up before Dad, and I kept looking around like he’d appear behind me at any minute.

  The air was thick and heavy, and a thin layer of fog lay over the swollen bayou. I let the Bream Chaser down and loaded my fishing rod and pack. Then I got into it, put on my flotation vest, and pulled the knob for the navigation lights. The single green and red bulbs on the bow came on, and I turned and saw the white stern light working as well. Then I put on the wristband that attached to the kill switch by a cord, which would disconnect the switch and cut the engine if I went overboard. I cranked the motor and sputtered out into the fog.

  The waterway was eerie and exciting. I traveled slowly, occasionally looking up at the trees to make sure I was in the middle of the creek. Once I built my confidence, I sped up until the Bream Chaser was cutting smoothly through the dark water.

  I slowed at the mouth of the river. The fog had thinned, and the sun bled cool red through the tops of the swamp trees; overhead the sky was cloudless. The water before me was swift and heavy with floating logs and tree branches. I sped up again and made my way upriver through the storm debris.

  It took me nearly a half hour to make it to the mouth of Ware Bayou. I slowed to idle speed, swung wide of the deadhead, and sped up again. I hadn’t gone far before I saw the canoe sunk to the gunnels and lodged under a cypress branch. I stopped and called for Davey, thinking maybe he was nearby. There was no answer, and I saw nothing to indicate a trail that he would have taken into the swamp. I wondered if the canoe had drifted there with the floodwater and filled with rain. Then I had a horrible thought.

  Davey tried to leave. And didn’t make it.

  “Davey,” I called once more. Again there was nothing but the silent swamp.

  I grabbed a small piece of rope tied to the bow of the canoe and fastened it to the stern of the Bream Chaser. Then I motored slowly the rest of the way, towing
it behind. When the camp came into view I saw the two catfish jugs drifting against the creek bank. But I didn’t see Davey waiting for me as he usually did. I expected him to have heard me and already be standing on the deck, watching with that excitement in his eyes.

  As I came closer I saw the grill outside. Several pieces of scrap wood and wet newspaper lay next to it. The remaining windowpanes of the camp were pasted with leaves, and a few branches lay on the roof. Otherwise, it looked intact and was leaning no more than it ever had. Then my eyes wandered down to a small mound before the grill. In a moment I realized it was Davey, lying there in his same clothes with his knees pulled up against his chest. His glasses were gone and his eyes were watching me. They had a tender, dulled look to them.

  “Davey?” I said.

  He blinked.

  I pulled up to the dock and got out, looping my line around the nail. I stepped onto the deck and knelt before him.

  “Davey?” I said again.

  He cocked his eyes at me.

  “Are you okay?”

  He shivered and pulled his knees tighter.

  “Davey, are you sick?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Hold on,” I said.

  I went back to the Bream Chaser and returned with my pack. I took the towel out of it. Then I helped him sit up and put it around his shoulders. He was stiff and trembling.

  “I found your canoe.”

  He nodded weakly.

  “You need to get dry,” I said. “What’d you do, lie out here in the storm?”

  “I stayed inside, mostly,” he muttered, staring at the deck.

  I pulled the towel tighter around his shoulders, then glanced at the grill. “Have you eaten anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why haven’t you eaten anything?”

  He looked up at me. Tears were running down his face. “They didn’t come,” he said.

  14

  I didn’t know what to tell Davey to make him feel better.

  “You have to eat,” I said.

  “I tried to start a fire this morning. Everything’s wet.”

  “Why didn’t you take the grill inside?”

  “Everything’s wet,” he said again.

  “Your sheets, too?”

  He nodded.

  “All right,” I said, thinking. “I brought some chicken noodle soup. I’ll open it and you can drink it cold.”

  “Why didn’t they come?” he said.

  The soup can had a pull-tab lid, so I didn’t need any tool to open it.

  “Sam?” he pleaded.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know why they didn’t come.”

  I took the soup and put it up to his mouth and tilted it. He took a small swallow.

  “Come on, Davey. You’ve gotta eat more than that.”

  He pushed my hand away and lay on his side again.

  I set the can down. “What are you gonna do, die out here?”

  He blinked and didn’t answer.

  “I’m gonna take you to my parents’ house,” I said. “This is crazy.”

  Davey suddenly sat up and scooted against the wall and stared at me like I was threatening his life.

  “I’m not goin’ back,” he said.

  “It’s just my parents. What are you so scared of?”

  “Somebody’ll put me in another foster home.”

  Now I was even more confused.

  “If you have a dad, then why were you in a foster home?”

  “He went to jail at Parchman,” Davey said.

  “For what?”

  “He got in a fight with somebody,” he said. “But now he’s out.”

  “So why would they send you to another foster home?”

  Davey didn’t answer me right away. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “But they might.”

  Then I understood. “Because maybe your dad isn’t coming for you?”

  “He is, too,” Davey insisted. “Slade said he was.”

  “Who’s Slade?”

  “My brother.” Davey looked at the floor again. “It was awful where I lived.”

  “It can’t have been worse than this.”

  He looked at me again. “It was.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I just want my family,” Davey said.

  “But you can’t stay out here if they don’t come.”

  “I’ll drown myself before I go back.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Somebody told me drowning doesn’t hurt.”

  “I’m here, Davey. You’re not alone.”

  “But you’ll leave me like you did before.”

  “I came back.”

  “But you’ll leave again.”

  I took a deep breath. “I think you’re just lonely,” I said. “And the storm was scary. Once your dad and brother show up, you won’t be talking crazy.”

  Davey looked at the floor.

  “Where are your glasses?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  I got up and went into the camp. Two sheets of tin were missing from directly over the bunks. The floor was still damp and soft, and the walls had wet streaks down them. I saw the sheets and pillow balled up on the bottom bunk. The mattress on the top bunk was wet as a sponge and smelled awful. I walked over to Baldy’s pot on the counter. The eyedropper and the open pill bottle lay beside it. I poked around in the stuffing until I felt the baby mouse, stiff and dead.

  I saw Davey’s glasses on the floor. I picked them up and brought them outside and knelt before him. I decided not to tell him about Baldy, although I figured he probably knew.

  “No wonder you got so wet,” I said, “with part of the roof missing.”

  Davey kept staring at the floor.

  “Here,” I said, slipping the glasses on his face.

  He looked at me and his eyes appeared slightly bigger and the old Davey was back.

  “That better?”

  He sniffled and didn’t answer.

  “What happened?”

  “I started to fix it. Then I couldn’t get the new tin up.”

  “I’ll stay here with you this morning,” I said. “Then I have to go home for lunch. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, today.”

  “What about tonight?”

  “What do you mean, tonight?”

  “Stay here with me.”

  “I can’t stay here,” I said.

  Davey looked at the floor again. Suddenly there was nothing I wanted more than to stay out there with him.

  “I’ll see if I can figure something out,” I said.

  He looked up again. “Really?”

  “I’ll see. But I don’t know how I can pull it off.”

  You’d have thought I’d said yes by the excitement in his eyes.

  “Let’s just eat right now,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said.

  I gave him the soup can, and he brought it to his mouth and started drinking.

  “Did you get anything done while I was gone?”

  “I put some of the boards down.”

  I looked at the deck and saw a few of the rotten planks had been replaced.

  “What about your catfish jugs?” I said. “They’re all in the weeds.”

  “It just rained so much,” he said. “And it was cold.”

  I stood. “I’ll get your sheets and pillow and bring them out to dry in the sun. Then we’ll pick up the trash and get your fishing jugs working again. That should make you feel better.”

  Davey set the soup can down and looked up at me. “Did you tell your parents about me?”

  I shook my head. “No. I told you I wouldn’t. Now, come on. Let’s clean this place up.”

  “We need to bury Baldy,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  15

  I dug a little hole beneath the camp and Davey passed the cooking pot to me. I put Baldy into the hol
e and covered him.

  “You can probably find another mouse,” I said.

  Davey nodded. I started to climb back onto the deck when I noticed a footpath leading out into the swamp.

  “Did you make this trail?” I asked.

  “What trail?”

  I pointed to the pressed grass leading through the vines and palmettos.

  “No,” he said. “Slade must have.”

  “I thought he didn’t come.”

  “Before I came. He was out here for a while.”

  “Have you followed it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s just a lot of muddy ground. Maybe he took some trash back there.”

  I studied the trail for a moment longer, then climbed back onto the deck with Baldy’s old pot. We spent the rest of the morning cleaning the camp and getting everything in order again. We pulled the wet mattress off the top bunk and dragged it outside. It would never dry enough to burn, so we rolled it off the deck into the marsh. Then I helped Davey collect more firewood and re-bait the catfish jugs. By the time I had to leave he’d regained a little of his spirit.

  “You better bring a pillow for yourself when you come back,” he said. “I’ve only got the one.”

  I sighed at the situation I felt myself falling into. “I really don’t know how I can do this, Davey. My parents don’t want me coming out here at all, much less spending the night.”

  “I need you to,” he said.

  I stepped into the Bream Chaser and breathed deep through my nose. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “With another pillow.”

  “Okay! With another pillow … Geez.”

  Davey smiled.

  * * *

  On the way home my mind raced with ideas of how I could pull off a night in the swamp with Davey. The obvious solution was to tell my parents I was staying over at Grover’s. There was always the risk they would call his house, but that wasn’t likely. Staying at the Middletons’ had become so routine that they didn’t usually check on me.

  As it turned out, things weren’t going to be as easy as I thought. When I got home I was surprised to walk into our house and see Dad. He told me was taking the afternoon off to work on his boat. I soon found myself sitting at the table with my parents, picking at a piece of fried chicken. I hadn’t expected to have to lie to both of them.