Picture Perfect Page 5

  We got into the car. Zane scooted over to make room for me, then plugged into his music. Beverly tuned the radio to a slow-jazz station, stuffed her scarf into her bag, and let the summer wind tangle her hair. She and Daddy talked and talked as the convertible ate up the miles and the sun went down over the bayou in a blaze of pink, purple, and gold.

  I listened to the rise and fall of their voices mixing with the lonely strains of the saxophone and watched the flat green land gradually go dark. My mind filled with bittersweet memories of the way our lives had been when we were a whole family, back before the Great Divide. The remembering hurt so much I tried to concentrate on other things, such as the fact that freshman year was just around the corner, a new beginning with new adventures that would shape my life before. But my thoughts always came back to my mother and the way her absence was turning all of us into totally different people.

  Daddy cracked a lawyer joke and Beverly laughed. I imagined her husband in some far-off place, uncovering the evidence of old battles and old wounds, and I thought: Maybe digging up the past, trying to save some piece of it, is a bad idea. Maybe it’s better just to let it go.

  After the trip to Shreveport my mother started calling home more often. Maybe she was missing us after our short reunion, or maybe she was worried Beverly was taking her place in our lives. It was hard to tell because Mama mostly talked a mile a minute about everything that was happening with her Bee Beautiful career. The next big thing on her agenda was an infomercial on one of those home shopping channels.

  “That’s great, Mama,” I said when it was my turn to talk. “Speaking of shopping, I’m going to need new stuff for school soon. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m not sure, honey. It depends on how the TV spots go. Have you talked to Shyla? Maybe she’ll come home and take you shopping. That would be more fun anyway, wouldn’t it? Just the two of you?”

  It most certainly would not. When it came to picking out clothes, Shyla was way too conservative and way too opinionated. Mama had her opinions too—remember her comment about my Tiffany necklace—and we usually fought about at least one item on my shopping list, but since seventh grade she had let me make most of my own fashion choices, even when they turned out to be unqualified disasters. Now that I was getting ready for high school, I didn’t want to start off with the wrong look. It irked me that when I really needed Mama’s fashion sense, she was too busy to help.

  “I’ll see if Shyla can squeeze me into her schedule,” I said, and handed the phone to Zane, who told Mama not to worry, that if she couldn’t make it home, he was sure Beverly would take me shopping.

  But Beverly had virtually disappeared following our trip to Louisiana. I figured she was working hard writing her book. Once or twice I heard her car coming in late, and one night I caught a glimpse of her standing at the stove in her kitchen wearing a red caftan, stirring a pot with one hand and sipping wine with the other. She looked so lonely I felt sorry for her, and sorry I’d suspected her of going after Daddy.

  One morning just before the Fourth of July weekend, Zane and I spent a couple of hours working on his car. After lunch he discovered he needed a part that Threadgill’s didn’t have, so we drove to a big autoparts place out on the Dallas highway. We were on our way home, and about an hour outside Eden, when the driver of the pickup truck in front of us hit the brakes and swerved.

  “What the …” Zane hit his brakes too and pulled over. A flash of gold caught my eye.

  “It’s a puppy!” I yelled.

  “Where?” We skidded to a stop. Dust billowed up all around us.

  “There! I hope that truck didn’t hit it.”

  I ran to the side of the road and knelt beside the quivering ball of golden fur.

  “Careful,” Zane said, coming up behind me. “If it’s hurt, it might bite.”

  But the puppy stirred and licked my hand. I picked it up and it settled against my neck like it knew that’s where it belonged. I had wanted to get a dog forever, but Mama wouldn’t let me. There was no way I was letting this one go. “I’m keeping it.”

  “Hold on, kiddo,” Zane said. “It may belong to someone. Is there a tag or anything?”

  But the little golden retriever wasn’t wearing anything except an eager expression.

  Zane took the puppy from my arms and turned it over. “It’s a boy. And he doesn’t seem to be hurt or anything.”

  “That truck almost smushed him. He was lucky.”

  “Look at the paws on this guy,” Zane said. “He’s going to be huge when he grows up.”

  “Give him back.” I took the puppy, and it laid its wet nose in my palm. “I’m going to name him Lucky.”

  “That’s not the most original name I’ve ever heard.”

  “Well, what would you call him?”

  A car whizzed by us, stirring up a shower of loose stones.

  “We’ll Figure it out later. Let’s get out of here before we get smushed.” Zane opened the car door and I got in with Lucky.

  I nuzzled the puppy’s warm face. He still had the milky smell of a newborn, although he weighed too much to be brand-new. Plus his eyes were open and everything.

  Zane started the car and pulled back onto the road. “Don’t get too attached to him, Phoebe. Dad may not let you keep him. And when Mama comes home …” He let that sentence trail away.

  When we got to Eden, Zane pulled into the grocery store parking lot. “He needs food and stuff, but it’s too hot to leave him in the car. You wait here and I’ll get it.”

  I was so in love with my puppy and so eager to get him home that it hadn’t occurred to me he’d need puppy chow, a bowl, a leash. I watched Zane head toward the entrance, thinking about how much I loved my brother. He always thought of everything.

  Zane had left the engine running so Lucky and I could have the AC on. I turned on some soft music and held him up to the window so he could start getting used to his world. He pressed his nose to the window and licked it, smearing it with doggy slobber.

  When Zane came out twenty minutes later carrying two plastic bags, Lucky let out a little yip and wagged his fuzzy tail. Zane tossed the bags onto the backseat and grinned at Lucky. “Don’t try to snow me, buddy. I can already tell you’re Phoebe’s boy.”

  We circled the parking lot and pulled up to the stoplight at the corner. We were waiting for the light to change when a familiar blue convertible whizzed by, my daddy at the wheel. Beverly was sitting next to him, her long dark hair blowing around her face, and they were laughing like they’d just heard the world’s funniest joke.

  “Did you see that?” I asked as the light turned green and Zane shot onto the street.

  “I saw.” Zane glanced into his rearview mirror.

  “What is he doing with her?” All my anger and suspicions came roaring back.

  “He’s lost his mind.” Zane floored the gas pedal and we tore down the street. Stores, houses, telephone poles, passed in a terrifying blur.

  “Slow down!” I yelled.

  But Zane just kept driving like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic, taking the turns so fast the tires squealed and the Ford’s frame shuddered.

  “Zane! You’re scaring me!”

  He sped past a delivery truck, past the courthouse, made a hard right onto our street, and skidded to a stop in the driveway. He killed the engine, gave me a blood-chilling grin, and said, “We’re home.”

  I had never seen him act so out of control. I wasn’t sure which was scarier—his recklessness behind the wheel or the rage coming off him like waves of heat. “What’s the matter with you?” I yelled. “Are you crazy?”

  I unfastened my seat belt and cradled my puppy.

  “Get off my case.” He grabbed the plastic bags off the backseat and slammed the car door shut.

  We went up the steps and into the kitchen. Zane dumped the bags onto the counter. “There’s his stuff. Knock yourself out.”

  “Why are you mad at me? It’s not my fault.”

>   I set Lucky down and rummaged in the bags for his new bowl. I filled it with water, and Lucky lapped it up.

  Zane turned around, his keys still in his hand.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m not hanging around here, that’s for sure.” He headed for the door.

  “What’ll I tell Daddy?”

  “Tell him whatever you want. He won’t care anyway.”

  Zane ran out to his car and sped away. I put on Lucky’s collar, snapped on his leash, and took him outside. At first he pulled and balked at every step, but finally he got interested in his new surroundings. He sniffed around and peed on Mama’s pink hydrangea bush, which for some reason made me feel good.

  I took Lucky back inside, gave him some puppy chow, and made myself a sandwich for supper. Then I got his new squeaky ball and rolled it across the floor.

  “Go get it, Lucky,” I said. “Get it, boy.”

  Lucky just stared at me.

  “Hey, you’re a retriever,” I told him. “You’re supposed to go get stuffand bring it back.”

  He squatted and peed all over the carpet.

  “No, Lucky! You’re supposed to go outside. Not in the house!”

  I got some paper towels and blotted up the mess. It smelled awful, so I put a couple of drops of vanilla flavoring on the wet spot and opened the windows, even though it was still ninety degrees outside and the AC was going full blast. “Money out the window” was what Mama always said when Zane or I left a door open in summer. But Mama was gone, along with everybody else. I figured if I was going to live there by myself, I’d do as I pleased.

  Finally Beverly’s car swung into her driveway next door. I heard Daddy tell her good night, and he came inside, carrying his jacket and briefcase, whistling to himself. When he saw me and my new dog, he stopped midnote and tossed his stuff onto a chair.

  “Phoebe! What in the world is this?”

  “He nearly got killed on the highway. His name is Lucky. I’m keeping him.” I picked Lucky up and held him to my chest.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You’ll be going back to school soon, and there won’t be anyone here during the day to look after him. And you know how your mother feels about dogs.”

  “Since when do you care one iota about Mama’s feelings?”

  “Keep a civil tongue in your head,” Daddy said, “or else go to your room.”

  “You can’t make me.”

  I had never spoken to him that way before. Talking back to my father made me light-headed.

  For a moment we stared at each other, realizing for the first time that what I’d said was true. But like a clever prosecutor examining a witness, Daddy abruptly changed direction.

  “Where’s Zane?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Daddy unbuttoned his shirt collar and loosened his tie. “Suppose you tell me what’s gotten you so upset.”

  “Where were you tonight?” Lucky was scrambling to get down, so I turned him loose. “It’s after eight o’clock.”

  “Not that I’m obligated to account for my whereabouts,” Daddy said, “but I called here around six thirty, and you didn’t pick up. I figured you and Zane weren’t back yet, so I finished up some paperwork, ran an errand, and grabbed a bite to eat.”

  “Oh. Did you eat by yourself, or did you have company?”

  “Don’t go there, Phoebe.”

  Until that moment Sumner Trask, with his absolute faith in truth and justice, had been my do-no-wrong hero. Even though I didn’t have the brains or the motivation to follow him into law like Shyla, I admired him more than anything. Now my faith in him was seriously shaken.

  “I’m going to change clothes,” Daddy said, picking up his coat and briefcase, “and then we’ll discuss the dog situation.”

  “Daddy!” I didn’t realize I was crying until my voice cracked.

  He turned around.

  “Please let me keep him. I know a puppy is a lot of work, but I’m a responsible person. It’s almost two months till school starts, and by then I’ll have him house-trained and everything.”

  Lucky seemed to know that his future was in jeopardy. He waddled over and sat down on Dad’s shoe, his fuzzy tail scrubbing on the floor. The judge bent down to pat his head, and Lucky looked up and smiled his goofy puppy smile. I knew then he was mine.

  Zane stayed away all night. We looked everywhere for him. We drove out to the lake. We checked the pizza parlor, the movie theater, and the campground at the state park. We talked to the guys on his swim team and everyone at Threadgill’s Garage. Daddy called around to all of Zanc’s friends’ houses, but nobody had seen him.

  Daddy kept questioning me, but I didn’t tell him why Zane had taken off. I was still mad at Daddy too and wanted to see him suffer for the heartache he had caused me.

  “That’s it,” Daddy said. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning, and neither of us had slept a wink. “This has gone on long enough. I’m calling the police.”

  But then the phone rang, and Daddy snatched it up. As he listened, the color drained from his face.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  He shook his head to silence me and scribbled on his yellow legal pad. “Tell Zane I’ll be right there,” he said, and hung up.

  “What happened? Where is he?” I asked. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s in jail.”

  “Jail? Why?”

  “I don’t have time to explain it now. I need to bring him home. Then we’ll sort it out.” He was moving around the kitchen, picking up his briefcase, cell phone, and keys. “This may take a while. Go to bed, Feebs. The important thing to know is that your brother is all right.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No,” he said in a tone that meant I had no chance to change his mind. “You’re not.” He headed out the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I went to my room. Lucky was asleep, curled into a warm little ball at the foot of my bed. I didn’t bother undressing. I climbed under the covers, so tired my eyes felt gritty, but I couldn’t sleep knowing that my brother was in jail. It had to be some horrible mistake. Zane could be moody and impulsive sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid. I picked up my puppy and resettled him on my pillow. He licked my hand and fell back into his doggy dreams.

  I must have slept a little. I remember hearing the chime of the downstairs clock and, later, the sound of the newspaper slapping against the sidewalk and the garbage truck rumbling down the street.

  At last the garage door creaked open. I heard voices in the hallway and Zane’s footsteps pounding up the stairs.

  I switched on my lamp and looked at the clock. It was nearly eight. Another hour until Daddy was due in court. I was dying to see Zane and find out what had happened, but it was better to wait until after the judge had left. I flopped back into bed and slept until Lucky licked my face and woke me up.

  I got his leash and took him out back. He sniffed around, rolled in the grass, then finally got down to business.

  As we came back to the front porch, I saw Daddy moving Zane’s car into the garage. He got out, locked the doors, and pocketed the keys. When he saw me, he said, “Zane is not to leave this house. We’ll talk tonight.”

  Before I could ask him even one question, he headed for the courthouse. I took Lucky inside and fed him, then went upstairs and knocked on Zane’s door.

  “Go away, Phoebe.”

  But I went in anyway. Zane sat hunched on the edge of his bed, his hair lank and messed up, his eyes swollen and red rimmed from crying. He wouldn’t even look at me. “I told you to go away,” he said dully. “Don’t you understand English?”

  “Oh, I understand English, all right, and I want an explanation! Do you even care that I went totally nuts wondering if you were okay? Where were you? We looked everywhere!” I peered at him. “You look awful.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “What happened? Daddy said you were in jail.”

  “He
wouldn’t even care, except that it tarnishes his precious reputation in this town.”

  “He cares. He’s just mad.” I sat down at his desk. “It was a mistake, right? Some mix-up at the police station or something.”

  Finally he looked at me. “It was a mistake, all right, but I’m the one who made it.” He sighed. “I was out with Heyward Dupree and a couple of his buddies. They had just come from a baseball game and were messing around with the bats. They were drinking. I wasn’t. Then Heyward got the brilliant idea to knock over some mailboxes, and they talked me into driving the car.”

  “You knocked down somebody’s mailbox?”

  I was having trouble visualizing my brother, the handsome all-American swimming star, as a juvenile delinquent.

  “Not just one mailbox,” Zane said. “Six of them. Out on Morse Road.”

  “But you were just the driver, right? And you weren’t drunk. Heyward and them should be in a lot more trouble than you.”

  “Yeah. But then we went downtown and spray-painted some of the store windows on Hamilton Street. That’s when the cops showed up.” He pounded his pillow. “I was just so mad at Dad, you know? Riding around with Beverly like Mama never even existed.”

  “I know. He lied when I asked him where he’d been. He said he was running an errand. How lame can you get?”

  “He was so mad when he showed up at the jail,” Zane said. “He wouldn’t even look at me. He just talked to the officers and signed some papers and brought me home. Then he said I can’t have my car until further notice.”

  Zane raked his hand through his hair, and I could see flecks of red and green paint in it. “Two whole months of summer vacation left, and I am grounded for life.”

  Me too. Without Zane’s wheels I couldn’t go anywhere. But he already looked so miserable I didn’t bring it up.

  Zane said, “I was just getting ready to ask Ginger out on a real date, and now I can’t.”

  “So she isn’t dating Ryan after all?”

  “They went out a couple of times, but it didn’t work out. Caroline said Ginger told her that she really wants to go out with me.”

  “And now everything is wrecked.”