“I really, really wish I could believe Benji snuck in here and did that,” I say as I hold Aimee pressed hard against my chest. She shakes her head.
“He wouldn’t.”
“No.” This seems way too much for an ornery little brother. At the same time, as weird as it is, it seems kind of tame for the thing that attacked us in the tree house. “Aimee, is it possible that was done by somebody else?”
“Gramps? No, he wouldn’t—”
“Not Gramps. I was thinking … well, maybe your mom?”
She raises her head, her big green eyes wide, but doesn’t say anything.
“If it was our friend from the river, don’t you think he would have done something … I don’t know, more physical? Like in the tree house? This is messed up, no doubt, but maybe it’s your mom’s spirit telling you something.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” she says. “But I don’t see why she’d say you aren’t supposed to be here. Plus, red paint looks like blood. I wish she’d used blue or something.”
“Well, you did leave the red tube open. I saw that when I came in.” She just stares at me, and it’s so obvious that she’s trying really hard not to freak out, so I try to ease the tension. “Maybe she knows that I have to get out of here before I get you in trouble. My mom’ll have a cow, too, if she wakes up first and I’m not home. I saw a doughnut shop. I’ll take some doughnuts home, eat, and come back to get you.”
“School?” Her perfect little nose wrinkles up and I almost laugh out loud.
“I think we need to carry on as close to a normal routine as we can so the parental units aren’t hovering over us. They probably won’t like what we’re going to try to do. We need to be normal, get Courtney home, and then we can fight this thing.” I go to the window.
“Okay.” She’s still looking up at me. “Maybe she means him—the River Man thing isn’t supposed to be here.”
“You should put that painting away so no one sees it,” I say, then move as lightly as I can over the short stretch of roof to the edge and jump to the ground below. I stay low and run from the yard, hoping none of Aimee’s menfolk look out their windows at that particular moment.
I drive to the little doughnut store and buy a dozen assorted doughnuts, then race home. Mom and Aunt Lisa are both up when I get there, but it looks like they haven’t been up long. “Alan, where have you been?” Mom asks. “I thought you were still in bed.”
“Couldn’t sleep. I got up early and went out. Thought I’d take care of breakfast today.” I put the doughnuts on the table. Aunt Lisa’s face is pale, with dark circles under her watery eyes. “Any news?”
“She was awake this morning,” Aunt Lisa says. “She talked to me a little, and she seemed like the old Courtney. She asked about you.”
“She did?”
“Yes.” Aunt Lisa hesitates, like she isn’t sure she should say anything more.
“What did she say?”
Aunt Lisa looks to Mom, then back at me. “She asked me to tell you to be strong. To do what needs to be done.”
That stands up the hairs on my arms. “She said that?”
“Alan, what’s going on?” Mom asks. “What did she mean? What are you doing?”
I think about it. I tried to tell her already, and she wanted no part of it. Would she believe me now, with Courtney’s cryptic message? Probably not. I shrug and shake my head. “I don’t know what she means. She probably had some kind of dream.”
“That’s what the nurse said,” Aunt Lisa tells me.
“Are you going to work today?” I ask. Both women nod.
“Lisa, you shouldn’t,” Mom says. “You should take a nap. Go to the hospital.”
“They told me there’s nothing I can do there,” she says. “We need the money. If—if something is seriously wrong … well, I might need my sick leave then.”
“Aunt Lisa, she’s going to be okay,” I promise.
She nods, then comes around the table and hugs me.
“Thank you, Alan. Thank you.” Her voice is husky and thick in my ear. “What would I do without you and your mom here?”
“Move to Oklahoma and watch me play football, probably,” I say, trying desperately to lighten the mood while I hug her back.
I grab a couple of doughnuts and a bottle of OJ from the fridge and run out the front door, pretending I don’t hear Aunt Lisa telling Mom what a great kid I am.
Aimee’s dad meets me at the front door of the house. He’s not a big man. I mean, he’s tall, but average build. I suppose the intimidation factor comes from just knowing he’s Aimee’s dad. He opens the door and waves me in.
“Come on in, Alan,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you last night. I heard you choked down one of Aimee’s veggie burgers, though. It must be love.”
“Uhh.” Okay, I wasn’t ready for that, and he has a good laugh over my dumbfounded look before holding out a hand. I shake it, and it’s probably the weakest handshake I’ve ever given. He laughs at me again.
“I was only kidding,” he says. “I’ll tell you, though, Aimee really seems taken with you. I appreciate you coming up to the house to pick her up and being here to meet the family last night.”
“I, umm, was glad to do it,” I manage to stammer out. “She’s a great girl.”
He nods, then his face gets serious. “She’s having a bit of a rough spot right now. Bad dreams and stuff. I don’t know what she’s told you about her mother. We lost her a while back, and it’s been pretty hard on Aimee.”
“She told me,” I say.
He looks at me in a weird way, like he’s surprised Aimee would have already mentioned that. “She told you, huh?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve, well, we’ve talked a lot.”
“I see. Well, okay then.” He pauses, and his forehead wrinkles up. He’s wearing a white dress shirt and dark slacks. I suppose he’ll have a tie and suit coat on pretty soon. “Alan, will you promise me something?”
“Sure.”
“Be … be good to Aimee, okay?”
“Yes, sir, I will. I mean, I would never do anything to hurt her.”
“It’s just that, you’re new here, and I don’t know you,” he says. “It isn’t personal. I trust Aimee’s judgment, and, like I said, she’s really taken to you, so I have to trust you’re a good kid. You seem like a good kid. Just, please understand, she’s still my little girl.”
“I know,” I say. “I promise, nothing will hurt her while I’m with her.” He gives me a really strange look then, and I realize how dumb that was. Not at all what I meant to say. He just wants me to promise to stay out of her pants. “I just mean, you don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Avery. Aimee is safe with me.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he says, and offers his hand again. This time I grip it hard, like a man is supposed to, and pump it quickly a couple of times.
“What did you two just agree on?” Aimee asks from the stairs. “Dad, did you just sell me for a goat and a couple of chickens?”
“You’re worth much more than that, honey,” he says, releasing my hand and turning to face her.
“I had to throw in a whole cow,” I say. “Gramps wanted it for the steak.”
Her dad gives a short bark of laughter that he covers up real fast with a hand while winking at me. Aimee just sticks out her tongue.
“Your colon will thank me for that veggie burger, you know,” she says. “And for all the ones to come.”
“You two better get to school,” her dad says.
“Sir, can you tell me anything about my cousin? Aunt Lisa said she was awake and talking this morning.”
“Sorry, Alan, there’s not much I can say. Regulations and all.” His face tells me he really is sorry he can’t give me any news. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to help her, though.”
By now Aimee is off the stairs and standing beside me, her backpack strap held loosely in one hand. I scoop the pack off the floor and throw it over my shoulder.
“I can carry my own backpack,” she protests.
“I know,” I say. “But that veggie burger gave me so much energy that my colon said I have to carry your backpack to say thank you.”
Her dad laughs again and says, “I think he’s going to keep you on your toes, Aim.”
She gooses me in the side and I can’t help but flinch. “I think I can handle him,” she says. “Now let’s go, Alan. I heard Benji brushing his teeth. Or sharpening them to get whatever Dad left of you.”
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Avery,” I say, then open the door for Aimee. She doesn’t seem to consider that an affront to her feminist side, but her dad notices and smiles at me. I give him one more wave, then follow Aimee to my truck.
I want to put an arm around her shoulders as we back out of the driveway, but instead I ask if she’s okay.
“I am now,” she says.
“Well, Aunt Lisa told me Courtney was talking this morning.”
“She was?”
I tell her what my aunt reported.
“Do what needs to be done?” she asks.
“Yeah. That was freaky.”
“Do you think she knows what’s going on?”
“Probably. I don’t know. Maybe. I think she knows there’s some kind of spirit taking possession of her sometimes. Has it told her to stay away from me? Does she know that it believes I’m some kind of threat? I don’t know. From what she said, I think so. I think she senses something.”
“It might try to hurt you?”
We pull into the school’s parking lot and I start looking for an empty space. “You mean it might try to throw me across the school cafeteria or something?”
“Or something worse.”
“I’m more worried about you.” I ease the truck into a slot between a Camaro and a Saab. I kill the engine and we sit quietly for a minute.
“I’m not going to be able to concentrate on school today,” she says.
“Me, neither. But we’re running a little late, so we better do the best we can.” I open my door to get out. We’re almost to the front door when I hear a voice behind us.
“It’s the slut and her Injun chief who skipped practice yesterday.”
Aimee and I stop in our tracks. We both know who it is.
“Ignore him,” Aimee says in a whispery hiss. “He’s not himself. I’m positive. He would never say that, not normally.”
“Aimee, it’s going to come to fists eventually,” I say. I start to turn around, but her grip on my arm becomes frantic. It turns out that I don’t have to go to them; Blake and two of his friends come around in front of us.
“What’s the matter, Parson? Your slutty white squaw already got you whipped?” he asks. His friends laugh. I recognize one of the guys from my algebra class. The other one might be in German with me; he’s a bigger guy with broad shoulders and a square jaw. The algebra guy is like Blake, tall and lean.
“Shut up, Blake,” Aimee says. “I can’t believe you’ve turned into such a jerk. What happened to you?”
The air vibrates with something hard and evil.
“Aimee, you just sick of white guys or something?” the algebra guy asks. Blake grins real slow, and I visualize my fist busting those lips wide open. There would be so much blood.
“You’re being an idiot, Chris,” Aimee says. She whispers to me. “He’s normally nice. Really. They aren’t acting right.”
“You not speak English today, Tonto?” Blake asks.
“Don’t do it, Alan,” Aimee warns, obviously sensing the tension in my body.
“Not here,” I promise. It’s the best I can offer. Getting suspended from school wouldn’t bother me. It’s happened before. But I can’t do that to Mom. Not so soon here in a new place. Not with Courtney in the hospital.
“He speakum English!” Square-jaw exclaims.
“Does Lauren know you’re acting like a dumb-ass, Noah?” Aimee asks him. “Or are you just worried she might decide she likes Alan better than you, too? Jealous?”
“I don’t have to be jealous of anybody, especially some stupid Indian,” Noah says with an edge in his voice that tells us he’s lying.
“Come on, Alan.” Aimee pulls on my arm. I glare at Blake, ignoring his henchmen, and take a reluctant step behind Aimee. Back in OKC the girls I knew would have demanded I fight in this situation. All this is more than a little confusing and frustrating. I know I could take Blake, probably without breaking a sweat.
Aimee thinks she can push right between them and on toward the school. They move to let her pass, but the three of them close around me and I’m convinced we are going to get physical right here and now, until another voice stops everyone.
“You young men better not show up in the office needing a tardy slip,” Mr. Everson announces. At some point he’s come out of the school and is just ten yards from us. I see Blake’s face flush up to his hairline. He steps away from us.
“We won’t,” Blake says. His friends look like sheep caught on a highway.
Aimee is still pulling at me, so I follow her. We pass the vice principal, who turns and falls into step with us. He opens the door and follows us in.
The first bell rings and neither of us have our books for first hour. “Go to class,” she says, pushing me away. “I’ll see you in bio. But that was not normal. They’re not usually like that.”
Focusing on algebra is impossible. Thinking about Blake’s friend sitting three rows over and two desks ahead of me is useless. Keeping an eye on the teacher and my book open to the problems I’m supposed to be working on, I begin writing a note to Aimee, since the algebra teacher is tough on cells.
We need some things. We need real sage and sweetgrass. And rocks. We can’t use river rocks. Not because they’re from his river, but because river rocks get air pockets in them and can explode when they get hot. Where can we get some granite rocks? And the other stuff ? And we need a place where I can build a sweat lodge and keep a fire going. Like a campsite or something. Any ideas?
I fold the paper and slide it under the front cover of my biology book, which is under my open algebra book. Then I try again to focus on the math problems. I still don’t see the point of this, but Aimee can’t date a loser who can’t pass his algebra class.
Back in Oklahoma, my sophomore English teacher made us read a short story called “The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky,” all about how a sheriff in the Old West brings his wife to town and then won’t fight the local bad guy.
“Man is a barbarian at heart,” Mr. Walker had said. “Women bring a civilizing influence. When a woman enters the picture, men behave differently. Even Scratchy Wilson recognizes that.”
I hadn’t at the time. It was just a dumb story. But now … I look at the back of Chris’s head and think about how I would have fought him and Blake and the other guy, Noah, if Aimee hadn’t stopped me.
Finally, the bell rings and we’re free to get out of this class to shuffle off to the next one. I get there before Aimee. She smiles at me when she comes through the door, and I pass her my note as she walks by to sit behind me. I hear her unfold the note, then scribble something with her pen. She hands the paper back to me.
Craft Barn probably has the sage and sweetgrass. It’ll be dried. People use it to make potpourri and stuff. They might have granite rocks, too. If they don’t, Bergerman’s Lumber sells rocks for people to use as lawn decorations, so they might.
The bell hasn’t rung yet, so I risk turning around before Mr. Swanson comes in. “Sounds good,” I say. “I also need a tarp, or something like that. Something that will hold in the heat. Heavy canvas.”
“You’re living in a place where shipping used to be everything,” Aimee says. “I think we can get some canvas like they use in sails. Will that work?”
“Front and center, Alan,” Mr. Swanson calls. “We’d all like to spend the hour gazing at Miss Avery, but we wouldn’t learn much about photosynthesis that way.”
“I bet he’s learning a lot of biology from her,” some girl across the room says in a joking tone that gets most of the class to laugh. I don’t laugh, and I know Aimee isn’t laughing. I’m sure she’s blushing.
“Blake’s going to kill him,” some guy mutters, and then Mr. Swanson gets the class back under his control and begins a discussion about water treatment plants pumping waste water back into rivers.
“The moral of the story,” he says as the bell rings to end our time together, “is to live as close to the head of the river as you can.”
I take Aimee’s hand as she gets squished among all the students trying to squeeze out the door. “See you at lunch,” she says before we have to go our separate ways.
Square-jawed Noah doesn’t say anything to me in our German class. I half expected him to create some kind of problem, but he’s acting calm and normal and kind of looks embarrassed. I guess him, Blake, and Chris must share one set of balls, and it takes all three of them to say anything. Or else Aimee’s right and something really is affecting people—and it’s powerful. Really powerful. Anyway, there are no fights, and we all recite the lines Fräulein Gray feeds us until class is over.
No one in the cafeteria asks me directly about what happened yesterday, but I see them looking at me and whispering about how my little girl cousin threw me over the railing and onto a table. Then Aimee grabs me by the arm and we join the chow line.
At the lunch counter, she takes a salad and I hold out my tray for a glob of mashed potatoes and some chicken fried steak fingers with a side of corn. “Maybe I should get an extra helping for Gramps,” I tease.
“I’ll have you eating healthy eventually,” Aimee promises. “It’s just a matter of time.”
I think again about the bride going to Yellow Sky and civilizing all the men. I sigh and admit, “Probably so. Seems like I’ll do about anything for you.”
She only laughs and leads me to an empty table. We sit down and people flow around us. A few wave at Aimee, but nobody makes a move to sit with us. Aimee’s friend Hayley is sitting at a nearby table crowded with people I vaguely recognize from various classes. Are they giving us space? Because they think we’re a couple? Of course not. Because of Courtney. Something’s wrong with her, centralized in her, and they know it. And we’re too close to her. It’s like the thing that has infected her has tainted us, too.
“Why do we need Court out of the hospital to do this?” Aimee asks. “I mean, why can’t we just go to the river and do … whatever it is you need to do?”
“The evil spirit has to be focused somehow,” I explain. “Confined. For whatever reason, it picked Courtney. Since she’s the focal point, we have to have her before we can get rid of this thing.”
“I wonder why it picked her?” she asks as she stabs at a tomato in her salad. She adds, “This time,” before eating the tomato.
“I don’t know. I think it has something to do with her not accepting that her dad is dead.” I push my tray away. “I can’t eat. I have to fast. I should have remembered. School just makes me feel like a dog that has to do this when one bell rings and do that when the next one sounds.”
“So you’re just not going to eat anything?”
“No. Nothing but water. I have to be ready.”
“You think it’ll be soon?”
“Yeah, I think so. We should get that stuff today. Can you come home with me after school? I want to check Courtney’s room while nobody else is home.”
“Searching for clues?”
“Yep.” I watch her eat a few bites. Her jaw is very sexy when she chews.
“What?” she asks when she sees me watching her.
“Nothing.” I smile at her. “I think I’ll go to the bathroom and see if I can text Aunt Lisa.”
I leave her there and go to the restroom around the corner from the cafeteria.
Sitting on the toilet of a closed stall with my pants up, I text Aunt Lisa. ANY NEWS?
After a few minutes I get a response. SHE SEEMS FINE STILL WAITING FOR SOME TESTS STAY AT SCHOOL!
I write back, WILL DO. I stand up and pocket my phone, then open the stall door.
The fist that hits me in the face isn’t well aimed, but it’s enough of a surprise that I stagger backward and trip over the toilet. I fall against the wall, and before I can catch myself three of them are in the stall with me, punching at my face and body. I see Blake’s face, so twisted with rage that he barely looks like himself. I can’t get my balance, can’t stand up under the attack. All I can do is cover my face, but I’ve already taken several hits and it feels like at least one of them is wearing a class ring.
Somewhere far away I hear the call: “Fight!”
The fists keep coming as people pour into the restroom, yelling and jostling to get a better view of the action.
Finally I’m able to kind of roll forward and stand up, though it offers my right side to several kidney shots. Fortunately, the confined space keeps them from getting in any really good punches. I shove at the first body I find, then drive a fist into Blake’s face. His nose crumples and blood bursts out of his nostrils, but it’s like he doesn’t even feel it.
He laughs at me, but it isn’t his laugh. It’s the River Man’s laugh. I’ve heard echoes of it before in the wind.
Then Mr. Burnham is behind Blake, his arm around Blake’s throat as he drags him out of the stall. Everson is behind him and grabs Chris and Noah by their jacket collars to pull them out.
“Come on,” Everson says. “You all can have some time off to get over this.” He turns them toward the bathroom door, ordering the spectators back to lunch, then looks at me. “Come on, Alan. You, too.”
Arguing would sound weak. Mom won’t understand. Even Aimee might not understand. I wipe some blood off my face, feeling the sting of a cut, then follow Everson and Burnham out of the bathroom.
Aimee’s there, her green eyes wide and concerned.
“Sorry,” I say as I pass her. I offer her a smile, but it doesn’t erase the worry on her face.