I hear the second door squeak open and Janet goes outside.
Ross says, “Well, of course it’s you! Still haven’t straightened out that gay boy, I see.”
Then, in his booming mountain voice, I hear Patrick yell, “Birdie! Jack!”
I burst out of the room, holding Birdie’s hand tight, and open the front door.
There’s Patrick, his hat pulled low like normal, his flannel shirt tucked into his jeans. He looks exactly like he should.
“Seriously, Patty,” says Ross. “What is wrong with you? You know Teddy can barely concentrate in school because of that freakish kid?”
“Stop, Ross,” says Patrick. “Just stop talking.”
“Who are you to tell me that?” He points at Patrick and scowls.
“Just go home. It’s late and this is not the place. You need to sleep.”
“Don’t tell me what I need!” Ross slaps the side of his truck. “You’re just making excuses for that little gay boy and you know it.”
Suddenly, Patrick slams the door to his truck closed and takes a couple steps forward. It happens in a flash, almost in a single motion. It’s the quickest I’ve ever seen Patrick move. “Don’t call him that again. You don’t address that boy by anything but his name: Birdie. He doesn’t need your fixing or anyone’s. Now get in your truck and leave.” Patrick’s voice is the lowest I’ve ever heard it. “Or I will call the police.”
Ross goes to say something, but then stops and cuts the air with his hand. “Screw all of you!” he yells as he stomps across the yard. He gets into his truck and peels out, leaving more dust in his wake.
After his taillights have disappeared, Patrick looks over at us and says, “Birdie! Jack! Come here.”
Holding hands, we run outside.
I try to get Janet to come with us back to Patrick’s house, but she waves me off, saying she has to stay and help her mom. Even Patrick tries to get her to come, but she just shakes her head.
As we get into Patrick’s truck, I watch Janet walk toward the trailer with her mom—side by side, conjoined twins disappearing in the dark.
• • •
Patrick doesn’t say anything until we walk into the house. Birdie and me start up the stairs and Patrick says, “Let’s meet in the kitchen.”
We wait at the table while Patrick makes a fire in the wood-burning stove. Duke sits by Birdie’s feet.
Patrick comes in and he’s silent as he boils water and gets the bread down from the shelf. He makes three mugs of hot chocolate and tops some sliced bread with his homemade cheese and honey. He sets everything in front of us at the table.
He sits down and says, “Well, don’t let it get cold.”
I think that Patrick is going to tell us that it’s not safe at Janet’s. That now we aren’t allowed there, either.
Or maybe he’s going to lecture us about not coming straight home after school.
“I want to make this absolutely clear,” says Patrick in his serious mountain voice. “You guys are not problems to be fixed or issues to be solved. You’re not slack. You’re a couple of kids who have had a hard time, but you belong here. In this house. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear about that before.”
He looks at the bread and rubs his neck. Then he takes a piece and eats.
I also take one
So does Birdie.
“Ross is not a good person to be around. Don’t listen to anything he says, because it’s usually nonsense. This is not the first time he’s stumbled around and caused himself and others trouble and it probably won’t be the last. But he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so don’t pay it any mind.” He finishes his hot chocolate and looks at Birdie. “Okay, Birdie?”
“Okay,” Birdie says back in a small voice.
Patrick nods. “Don’t stay up too late.” He picks up his mug and a slice of bread. “Good night.”
Him and Duke walk out the front door.
Birdie and me watch him go and then take our hot chocolate and bread into the living room.
I wonder what could be in that shed that would make Patrick want to be out there in the cold instead of in here with the fire.
I think about Rosie and her truck.
I think about Janet and her mom and their tiny trailer heater.
I think about Mama and how she’d say that when toast and poetry and notebook writing don’t help, warm mugs and a fire could at least give you a chance to close your eyes and breathe.
**Observation #788: Patrick’s Truck
A red & tan Chevrolet pickup truck.
By the doors in shiny letters it says SILVERADO 20.
The motor rumbles like it’s bringing a far-off thunderstorm.
But it must have some sort of magic too.
Because how did it know to show up at Janet’s trailer?
CHAPTER 16 AN ENIGMA
Before the sun is fully up, I find Patrick standing in the living room without his shoes on, looking out the large front window, which isn’t curtained for once and the dawn light comes through. The house is completely silent, like it hasn’t realized that anyone is awake yet.
From the top of the stairs I can see the steam from his coffee rising into his face as he takes slow sips. Without his hat, the scalp on the very top of his head shows through his thinning hair and all of a sudden I feel like it’s probably wrong to spy on him—even though it wasn’t like I’d planned to spy. I want him to put his hat back on, but I don’t see it anywhere.
I should go to my room, but I’m afraid if I move the floor will creak and he will notice me. So I hold real still and
