The tree Lonnie had pointed out was a large pine. Depending on how it fell, it could crush the neighbor’s house. I decided to add a few words to Lonnie’s script, then sat down at the tray table and started typing. I lost myself in the legalese for only an hour this time before I smelled my rekulak. A pang of anxiety shot through my stomach. This is it. I read the letter: “Dear Rhonda: I am a breeder of schnauzers . . . . When the puppies come, should I even give my grandma one? Help me Rhonda. –Bred For Disaster.” I held up the pencil. “This pencil knocks down that tree over that fence.” And I looked at the fence between the neighbor’s yard and the golf course.
Blue scrill enshrouded and dripped from the pencil in my hand as I heard a cracking noise. Then the pencil disappeared, and the tree began to fall toward the golf course. Branches snapped off the surrounding trees as the pine fell, its descent slowed by the roots still entangled with the earth and sod. The tree landed almost gently on the fence, breaking a handful of boards.
Lonnie threw his hands up and cheered like his team had just won the super bowl on a last-second play. He high-fived me three times, then shook his arms and shouted, “I am become couch potato, the watcher of nudie channels, baby!” and slapped his thigh, tossed back his head, and croaked out a machinegun laugh.
I sat there with my mouth open big enough o catch flies. With a typewriter and a pencil, I’d tricked my rekulak into knocking down a tree.
After the astonishment wore off a bit, I was struck by how sad this man’s life was to be so happy over a few more channels to watch. He went to the living room, grabbed his remote, and began accessing his newly acquired riches, grunting now and then with satisfaction.
He’d left the ear drops on the counter, unopened. I used what was left of the potato chips to entice and subdue Shirley while I administered her medicine. She didn’t struggle too much. Lonnie didn’t even notice what I was doing.
Before I left, and without taking his eyes off the screen, he told me I was ready to cure Ghost Heart. He said to bring the person who needed to be cured next time. I stood by the door, frozen, staring at him with my eyes welling up. “Thank you,” I said.
He waved his hand.
Chapter 15
IWATCHED THE BURBLING creek on the TV and counted the trout that swam by while out-of-frame birds sang, while my hand screamed with pain from inside a tub of ice water. There was a small white glare reflecting off the backs of some of the trout as they passed, so I counted them, thinking I’d finally figured this test out. When the video ended, I removed my hand from the ice water, shook it, stuffed it in my armpit, and said, “Five rainbow, twelve cutthroat.”
Lou stopped practicing acoustic guitar from his seat against the wall, looked up, and shook his head.
“Then twelve rainbow,” I said, “and five cutthroat.”
“Nope. Try again.”
I jumped out of my chair. “How am I supposed to know how many damn trout there are? They’re all either underwater or flapping wildly through the air.” I paced back and forth with my hands on my hips. I was tired of counting fish, tired of plunging my hand into ice water, tired of failing to ride the Ghost, tired of the pain. Why was the rekulak training so much easier? I could knock down a tree with a pencil. Lou couldn’t do that.
Tonight was the night we attempted to rescue Kaliah, whether I was ready or not. Lou had a mysterious inside man who was going to separate Kaliah from Kayak Brad for a small window of time. It was our best opportunity, and there was no telling if we would ever get another like it. Lou had admitted to me, in a roundabout way, that Brad was the one who’d thwarted the first rescue attempt.
Lou looked bored with my little outburst, so I decided I shouldn’t be the only angry person in the room and said, “Why are you helping me anyways? This is a lot of work. You must really owe Kaliah. What did she do for you? You never told me.”
“That’s because it’s none of your business.”
“I think it is though. If you’re going to come on to my sister every chance you get, I think I should know a little more about you.”
“You do, do you?”
“I wonder what your ex-wives would have to say about you.”
Lou raised his eyebrows. “You want to talk to my ex-wives, be my guest, and good luck.” His eyebrows dropped. “But if you keep talking to me in this disrespectful manner, in my own house, I’ll break this guitar over your head.” He didn’t move or raise his voice, but his whole demeanor stiffened.
“So you’re a violent man,” I said.
“Sometimes.” He shrugged four or five times in quick succession, like he was having trouble shaking off a clingy shawl. “But I can respect where you’re coming from. I’ll tell you this, if your sister will have me, I’ll treat her like a queen. I’ll worship the ground she walks on. I promise you that.”
I’d heard that one before—twice, actually—blusters from blustering men who wanted to put my sister in a display case.
Lou stood up. “We good, Doughboy?”
“Sure.”
He walked away with his guitar. I was starting not to like Lou so much.
Before he reached the bottom of the basement stairs, a loud buzzer sounded, followed by another, and another, and another.
“What’s that?” I said.
“The gate alarm!” Lou said,
