• • •
We head back toward the bus stop along the highway and I notice Patrick’s Chevy Silverado on the side of the road right away.
He leans against the truck and doesn’t move.
Birdie says to me, “Are we in huge trouble?”
“Probably.”
“Should we make a run for it?”
“Probably. No stopping until we reach Canada, okay?”
“Except there’s no way I can run in these dumb baggy jeans. Stupid Norman clothes haven’t solved any of our problems.”
“Yeah, maybe you should tell Patrick about that.”
“Maybe I will.”
When we’re about a hundred feet from Patrick’s truck, Birdie shouts, “I’m not wearing these Norman clothes anymore! They’ve made everything worse! Besides, Norman’s all better now, so he can shop for his own clothes! I quit!”
Patrick shouts back, “Do you want a ride home?”
“Do we have a choice?” I yell.
When we reach the truck, Patrick shrugs, but his face and voice are serious. “If you want to ride back on the bus in the cold, be my guest.”
I don’t answer him and Birdie follows me to the passenger side of the truck. We get in.
Duke sits in the back part of the cab and pokes his head forward by Birdie’s face. Birdie leans his head against the old dog.
We drive for a few minutes and Patrick blasts the heater and no one says anything at first.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about the shed,” Patrick says. “I always meant to. But I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to start that conversation.”
“‘I saved your mama’s stuff’ would have worked,” I tell him. “‘I have secretly hoarded all of your things’ also would have done the job.” I fold my arms.
“I know,” says Patrick.
“I don’t think anyone heard me earlier,” Birdie interrupts, shouting toward the windshield. “I said I’m not wearing these clothes anymore. So I hope my dresser and everything else is in the shed.”
Patrick re-grips the steering wheel. “I heard you, Birdie.”
But is he listening? I wonder.
After a while, Patrick tries again, “Look, this is all new for me too. It’s my job to keep you guys safe. I’m doing the best I can. But . . .” He stops and lets out a sigh. “But maybe I’m no better at this than my idiot brother.”
“It’s only because Uncle Carl actually likes us and you don’t,” I say. “We’re pretty sure you even like Duke more than you like us.”
He glances over at me and for once he looks totally shocked. “What are you talking about?”
“We know you don’t like being around us. And you bring Duke everywhere. You’re around him all the time. You’re only with us for like two hours in the backyard. That’s it.”
“That’s not true,” Patrick says.
“Yes, it is.” He doesn’t understand. So there’s no point in saying anything else.
When we get back to Patrick’s house, he parks the truck but leaves the engine and heater running. All three of us look over at the silo shed. I want to know what is in there. I want to open every box, bag, and drawer.
But it’s like there are ghosts in the shed. They are friendly ghosts, for the most part, and I do want to meet them. But they are still ghosts and how are we supposed to fit ghosts into this new life?
“Look, it’s probably hard for you to understand. But I’ve been dealing with my own feelings regarding your mama. We had an argument a very long time ago. She needed my help and instead of supporting her, I pushed her away. She left, never returned, and it was my fault.”
I want to know what the argument was about, but something tells me that’s not the important question right now.
“So what are your feelings toward us?” Birdie suddenly asks.
Patrick pushes his hat up and sighs.
“At first they were tied up with your mama. I was mad at her. And I was mad at myself because you two reminded me that I’d made a big mistake.” He rubs his jaw. “But I guess now, I just want to get to know you guys.”
A light comes on in the house.
“Okay. Well, I’m Jack, and this is Birdie,” I say.
Duke nudges the back of Patrick’s neck. “And I’m Patrick, Beth’s brother. Your uncle.”
**Observation #798: Silo Shed
Birdie was sort of right about the silo shed: It’s a grain bin, not a silo (according to Patrick)
18-foot diameter
3 windows (1 still broken)
1 large door with a padlock
Made of corrugated metal
The silo shed looks like a spaceship, especially when it’s lit up at night, its cone roof seeming to hover in the trees & bushes. In a way, it’s like something from outer space, from some other place.
Wherever Mama is.
CHAPTER 20 WHAT HOPE LOOKS LIKE
In the morning, me, Patrick, and Birdie go out to the shed and begin bringing everything inside the house. Uncle Carl is still asleep upstairs in an extra room that’s always been locked.
No one talks as we go back and forth between the house and the silo shed, and part of me wishes that Patrick would leave us alone to do this. Because as I carry the boxes and bags, I see a piece of fabric sticking out, or the handle of a mug, or the cover of a book, and I know exactly what it is, and all I want to do is feel the weight of it in my hands and know it’s real.
But rain is supposed to come soon
