“By cutting her roses?”
“She’s interested, isn’t she?”
I opened my mouth to debate his point, but he actually had one. “I guess.”
He linked his fingers behind his head. He always did that when he’d won an argument. “By Christmas, they’ll be...” He wiggled his brows.
I smacked him in the arm. “They’re old.”
“Old people still get it on.”
That wasn’t a visual I wanted in my head. Mrs. Astor and Mr. Bennett, her cats watching the show. Yep, there it was. Burned into my brain. “Thanks for the image.”
He chuckled. “Anytime. Let’s go. You owe me pancakes.”
Brock sat at the table with my mom as she sewed. He was trying not to laugh, but he wasn’t trying hard enough. It was Halloween. Last year, we went to a party; this year, I wanted to trick or treat because, next year, I’d be thirteen and too old. Brock had never been trick or treating and didn’t really want to go now, but he sucked it up. We decided to do something together with our costumes. I wasn’t sure who suggested salt and pepper, but, for my last Halloween, getting all decked out worked for me. Mom was finishing my silver hat that would be the cap to my saltshaker. What did Brock wear? All black.
“Okay. Here you go, Cedar.” Mom stood and handed me my cap.
“How do I look?” I asked, walking the length of the dining room like I was a super model.
“You look like salt.” Dad said from behind me. He was dressed like a vampire, a black cape, slicked back hair vampire. He looked great. Mom was dressed like his meal: white gown, blood down the front, and puncture marks on her throat. Maybe I wouldn’t outgrow Halloween.
“Thanks for making my costume, Mom.”
She winked then turned to Brock and held up another silver cap. He looked at it like it was a snake, he even took a step back, but Mom had a way about her. He even let her put it on his head. “Thanks,” he muttered, quietly but sincerely.
Mom responded by kissing his cheek. “You two have fun.”
“You too. Don’t drink too much blood, Dad.”
We walked down the path to the sight of Dad throwing his arm over his face, covering most of it with the cape and calling after us in a terrible impression of Bela Lugosi. “I vant to suck your blood.”
We were down the street from my house, and I thought for sure Brock would take off the cap, but he didn’t. And when I glanced over, he looked thoughtful.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His head tilted to me, and he said softly, “Really glad you stepped into the fort that day.”
He didn’t let it show often, but there were times when I was reminded that his home life wasn’t good. This was one of those times. Holding his stare, I answered sincerely, “Me too.”
Seconds passed, and then he snapped out of it, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a house. “Let’s get some candy.”
“You got the wire cutters?” I asked, as Brock and I belly crawled toward the cage on the Millman property.
“Yeah, and the burlap bag.”
We both heard the sound and stopped. I did a hand motion, like I’d seen in that war movie we watched the other night. Brock lowered his head to muffle his laughter. “You’re a dope,” he whispered.
Silence followed, we continued.
“He’s going to make noise.” He warned.
“I know. That’s why I’ve got the walnuts and grapes.”
“He’s going to be heavier than he looks.”
I glanced back at him. “That’s why I brought you.”
“The Millmans are going to be pissed.”
“That’s why I brought this.” I said, dragging the bag behind me.
“You’ve thought it all through.” Brock was teasing me, but I had thought it through.
We reached the cage. I checked my wrist, even though I wasn’t wearing a watch. “We’re right on schedule.”
“How the hell do you know that?” he said, moving in front of me and cutting the cage.
“I’m using the stars as a reference.”
He glanced up; it was overcast. “Alright, Slick.”
He cut the wire. We both slipped inside. We weren’t going to have a lot of time before the one we were rescuing made a scene. I threw the walnuts. He appeared. He was bigger than I thought.
“Is he going to fit?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’ll fit.”
He pecked up a walnut then another and another. He got closer; Brock put the gloves on, came up behind him. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
I got the bag open, Brock moved in and all hell broke loose. Feathers went flying, and who knew how deafening a gobble could be. The back-porch light went on. Brock got the turkey in the bag; I left the frozen turkey in his place with a note that said, Happy Thanksgiving. Slipping through the cage first, Brock pushed the burlap bag to me before following after.
“Who’s out there?” Mr. Millman shouted.
It wasn’t easy carrying the pissed off turkey, but we were saving his life. We hauled ass into the woods and just kept going.
“I think we’re far enough away,” Brock said. We put the bag down then climbed the closest tree and watched as the irate turkey found his way out of it.
“He doesn’t look very grateful,” Brock said.
I tossed the rest of the walnuts and the grapes at him. “One day, when he’s old, rocking on his front porch with his wife, all his children and grandchildren around him, he’ll appreciate what we did.”
I felt Brock’s eyes on me. He thought I was a nut. I grinned.
“Did you save any of those walnuts and grapes?” he asked, then added, “Because we might be up here a while.”
“There’s no way. Donny is lying.” I scratched my head and pushed my glasses up on my nose. “No way.”
“You don’t want to try?” Brock said, egging me on.
“No. If it was possible, which I highly doubt, we could cause damage. I would feel awful.”
“You are a tender heart,” Brock said, pushing his hands into his
