We didn’t have a plan. Instead, we stood on the edge of the dock and listened to the water move with the wind. Birdie wore his ice cream backpack (which Patrick fixed and gave back to him, right after talking to Mrs. Cross-Hams.) He also wore his favorite purple jacket, his milk-and-cookies charm necklace, his cupcake ring, and a new pair of jeans with rhinestones along the pockets.
Uncle Carl was the first to say something. He held out a cup of coffee from the Stop-and-Go. “This one’s for you, Sis. Special from Juan.” Then he poured the whole cup into the lake.
Uncle Carl told me that him and Juan fought together in the war and that Juan had stayed behind to protect Uncle Carl, and then got injured. So Uncle Carl carried Juan three miles through the jungle to camp and that because of that, Juan said when they got back home, he’d take over his parents’ store like they wanted, and Uncle Carl could have free coffee for the rest of his life. Uncle Carl said that Juan was the only person on earth who truly knew the real him—pre-war, at war, and after. Uncle Carl keeps a bunch of pictures on his fridge now, including one of him and Juan in Vietnam, with big goofy smiles on their sweaty faces. Uncle Carl put the junk-drawer picture of Mama into a frame he got from Rosie. He keeps it on the coffee table where Marlboro used to be.
At the lake, Birdie spoke next. “It’s hard without you, Mama.”
To be honest, I didn’t hear everything Birdie said because so many memories flooded in and it was hard to concentrate with so much sadness at once. Birdie’s purple nail polish flashed as he sprinkled a pinch of gold glitter into the wind. Then, on the end of the dock, he placed a collage he’d made, using a painted rock to keep it from blowing away. He ended by saying that she shouldn’t worry because Rosie was continuing his sewing machine lessons.
Patrick cleared his throat right after that and said, “Beth, as you can see, you have a couple of good kids.” He took his hat off and rubbed his neck and kind of laughed. “I’ll do the best I can, even if I’m not as fun—or sparkly—as you. But send me some help, okay? I’ll need it. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say that.” He paused. “Jack and Birdie will be okay with me. They’ll be fine. Actually, I think we’ll be more than fine.”
I waited before saying anything to make sure Patrick was done. Then I said: “Mama, you are a dragon! And so is your brother Patrick! That’s something I’ve learned here. I miss you and your games, and so many things from our life, but I am also ready for this new one.” I took the Skittles bag out of my pocket and let the pinch of ashes go without a second thought. “Like Patrick said, we’ll be more than fine. There will probably be some really hard days, but Birdie and me have so many people around us here. There are lots of people looking out, not just me. And guess what? We’re even going to plant a fig tree in the front yard. So we’ll have the figs you always loved. And I guess Grandma loved them too, Patrick said. Yeah, we’ll be okay.”
The best part of the day was that Mama was still there. She sent us a Wolf Day to let us know. It happened when we were at the Sweet Potato Shop after the lake and two couples drove up in a shiny black car. They were talking loudly and one of them was on their cell phone. They were lost, trying to make their way to the balloons. Uncle Carl and Patrick took turns trying to tell them how to get there. And then it turned out that there were two other couples who were supposed to go up in the hot-air balloon with them. But they got food poisoning from some bad stir fry at the mall, which meant they had four extra tickets and did we want them?
There were a lot of questions and then Patrick said, fine, let the kids go! But the balloon people said there had to be a guardian.
Birdie and me begged and begged Patrick. He said Uncle Carl and Rosie should take us, but Rosie shook her head and said she’d have her own balloon ride someday soon.
And so, after a lot of sighing and rubbing his neck, Patrick said, “Oh, all right. You knuckleheads win.”
And Birdie danced around chanting, “Knuckleheads win! Knuckleheads win!”
The view from the balloon was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. And when I looked around at Uncle Carl, Patrick, and Birdie, I saw that we were all experiencing our own feelings as we stood together in the basket.
Writing this now, I realize maybe that’s what Wolf Day is really about—not some spontaneous adventure, but something else entirely.
Turning islands to archipelagos.
– Jack
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book is like climbing a mountain. It’s hard work, yet enjoyable, and you come out the other side exhausted, but feeling accomplished and maybe a hair wiser too. Writing this book was a lot like hiking to the top of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park in California. On the way, I kept thinking I was nearing the peak and every time I arrived at a crest, there was another peak to climb.
As this is my first book, there are a lot of people to publicly thank.
The first has to be my editor, Kathy Dawson. Like all great editors she has a talented eye, a nose for details, an instinct for story. What you don’t know is how great of a writing companion she is.
