Me and Howard waited and waited but Wishbone never showed up. Gus had come outside a couple of times and sat with us, chewing on a toothpick and stroking the scrawny black cat curled up in his lap. Every now and then, Bertha would stick her head out of the front door and call out, “Catch him yet?”
We’d put our fingers to our lips and shush her and she’d slap her hand over her mouth and go, “Oops. Sorry.”
When the sun began to disappear behind the mountains and the lightning bugs twinkled out in the garden, Gus stood up in that slow way of his and said, “Want me to drive you home, Howard?”
“No, sir,” Howard said. “I’ll walk.”
I wondered if Gus was thinking what I was. That it was liable to take him all night to get home with that up-down walk of his. But Gus just stretched and said, “All righty, then,” and ambled off toward the house.
“See you,” Howard said, and headed up the driveway toward the road.
I sat there by the trap and looked over at Gus and Bertha’s little house nestled on the side of the mountain. How come Bertha hadn’t told me Mama had been here? Had Mama liked it here? Had she picked pole beans out in the garden with Gus? Had she helped Bertha make bread-and-butter pickles? Had she sat on the porch at night, gazing up at Pegasus? Had she slept in that room with those canning jars?
Finally I got up and went inside. I looked around the living room at Gus’s old easy chair, the dusty table covered with magazines and coffee cups, the TV with a bowl of plastic fruit on top. Had Mama sat in that chair? Propped her feet on that table while she watched soap operas on that TV?
I could hear Gus and Bertha out on the porch talking. Every now and then, Bertha’s laughter danced through the screen door. Finally I went out there and sat in the lawn chair next to them. Light from the kitchen sent a soft glow over the porch. I took a deep breath and said, “So, Mama came here one time, right?”
The two of them looked at each other. Gus cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Bertha reached over and put her hand on my arm.
“Yes, she did,” she said.
“Oh.” I watched one of the cats swatting a moth that was flitting around the porch. “When?”
“A long time ago,” Bertha said.
“But when?”
“When you were just a baby,” she said.
“So I came, too?”
From somewhere down in the woods, a bullfrog croaked, sending an echo across the mountains. Below us, crickets chirped in the tangled weeds under the porch.
Bertha gave me a sad-eyed look. “No,” she said. “You didn’t come.”
“What about Jackie?” I said. “Did she come?”
“No, Jackie didn’t come either.”
“But where were me and Jackie?” I asked. “And Scrappy? What about him?”
Bertha leaned over closer to me. She smelled like talcum powder. “Charlie,” she said. “Your mama came here and left you and Jackie and Scrappy behind. Showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night with a garbage bag full of clothes.”
“Did she just come to visit?” I asked. But in my heart, I knew the answer to that question.
“No, Charlie,” Bertha said. “She just up and left y’all without looking back.” Bertha’s voice suddenly had an edge to it. Sharp and angry sounding. I would’ve never guessed Bertha could sound angry like that.
“Oh,” I said.
Bertha continued, her voice getting sharper and angrier. “When I asked her what in the world she was doing running off like that, she looked me right in the eye and said, ‘I’m tired of my old life. I’m startin’ a new one.’”
A flash of heat lightning lit up the sky over the mountains and there was a low rumble of thunder.
“Then what happened?” I asked.
Bertha let out a big sigh. “Her new life didn’t last too long.”
“How long?”
“A couple of months.”
“But what happened?”
“I told her what I thought about her new life and I reckon she didn’t like it. She didn’t want to hear what I thought about a mama who up and leaves her children behind. She stormed out of here like a freight train and hightailed it back to her old life and I haven’t seen her since.”
Another rumble of thunder echoed across the valley below us.
“I tried to call but she wouldn’t even talk to me,” Bertha said. “I sent you and Jackie cards and gifts but she sent ’em right back. After a while, I gave up.” She patted my knee. “I’m sorry to tell you these things, Charlie.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal but my quivering chin must’ve given me away. Bertha knelt in front of me and took both my hands in hers and said, “Your mama loves you very much, Charlie. But sometimes, she just loses her way.”
Loses her way? I’d be happy to draw her a map to show her the way back to being my mama again.
I stared out into the dark woods below us and sent my laser thoughts zipping through the trees and over the creek and down into the streets of town to wherever Wishbone was. I wanted him to know how much I needed him and what a great life he would have with me. And I didn’t even care one bit if Mama had a hissy fit about him.
“I wonder if Wishbone will come get that food in the trap tonight,” I said.
“He’d be a dern fool dog if he didn’t,” Gus said. “And something tells me that dog is no fool, Butterbean.”
This time, when he called me Butterbean, instead of feeling like a baby, I felt a tiny smile tugging at the corners of my mouth even though my insides were twisted up knowing my mama had just up and left me like that.
Then I said good night and went back to my room. I sat by the window and watched the heat lightning. Where was Wishbone? Chasing somebody’s chickens? Fighting with that little black dog down by those trailers? Or maybe he was out there in that trap this very minute eating tuna noodle casserole.
I climbed into bed and thought about Mama. What was her new life supposed to be? Was she going to stay here in Colby forever? Was she going to be a schoolteacher or a librarian or maybe open a beauty parlor down there on Black Mountain Road? Was she going to find a new husband who didn’t fight so much? Was she going to have new kids and give them cake with pink and purple flowers when they got home from school?
But what was the use of thinking about that? She had gone back to her old life and there she is and here I am, with my family all broken and scattered every which way.
Outside, the rain had started, slow and soft at first and then faster and louder. The wind picked up and blew cool and damp through the screen. Suddenly I sat up, my heart pounding. I hadn’t made my wish today! My mind raced, thinking about my list of things to wish on. Too late for stars. No ladybugs in here. No four-leaf clovers or pennies or dandelions. And then I couldn’t believe what happened next. From far off in the trees outside the window came the song of a mockingbird. Hearing a bird sing in the rain is on my list of things to make a wish on. So I closed my eyes and made my wish.
And so my life in Colby, North Carolina, marched on. Rumbling down the mountain on the school bus beside Howard. Ignoring those hillbilly kids who wouldn’t give me the time of day. Playing Bible Detective at church. Waiting for Wishbone to eat hot dogs from the pie tin. Gazing up at the stars on the porch with Gus and Bertha. Making my wish every day.
Jackie called every once in a while to tell me about her happy life back in Raleigh. She was going to the prom with that boy Arlo. She and Carol Lee might work at the Waffle House this summer. She got a fake tattoo of a butterfly on her ankle.
I told her about Wishbone and how he was going to be mine and she asked me if I really thought that was a good idea. I told her, yes, it was a very good idea and that was that.
I’d seen Wishbone three more times. Sniffing at trash in the parking lot of the Dairy Freeze. Trotting along Highway 14 in the rain. Eating something out of a paper bag under a picnic table beside Brushy Creek.
Twice I’d found the pie tin in the trap empty but I hadn’t seen him anywhere nearby. Luckily, there were only two more weeks of school left and then I would have my days free to spend more time by the trap, but I was beginning to worry that Wishbone was never going to be mine. Maybe I was wasting my time even thinking about it.
“I heard Wishbone barking last night,” Howard said one day while we sat on the old couch on his front porch eating Popsicles.
“How do you know it was him?” I asked, watching Cotton jumping onto a milk crate in the yard with orange Popsicle juice running down his chin and onto his bare stomach.
“I just know,” Howard said.
“We’re never gonna catch him,” I said. “Gus was right. He likes being a stray.”
“Don’t be a quitter,” Howard said.
“I’m not a quitter.”
“Yes, you are.”
I stamped my foot. “I am not!”
Howard licked melted Popsicle off the side of his hand and said, “Pineapple.”
I flopped back against the sofa and hurled my Popsicle stick out into the yard. That pineapple plan of his was starting to get on my nerves.
“Oh, good gravy, Charlie,” he said. “Don’t be a baby.”
“I’m not a baby!” I hollered.
Howard shrugged. “You sure are acting like one,” he said.
Just then Mrs. Odom came out on the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel. But my temper had a hold on me and I could not shake it. I also could not stop myself from yelling, “Well, at least I’m not a squirrel-eating hillbilly like you.”
Then I stomped down the steps, marched across the yard, climbed on Lenny’s bike, and raced up the road toward Gus and Bertha’s. When I got there, I dropped the bike in the yard and headed for the house. But as I reached the front door, I heard something over by the trap. I turned to look and couldn’t believe my eyes. Wishbone was in there gobbling up meat loaf and french fries.
I didn’t waste one more second. I raced across the yard and slammed the door of the trap shut with a bang. Wishbone let out a yelp and jumped clear up off the ground. Then he slinked back into the corner and hung his head, dragging his ears on the ground. He looked so scared it like to broke my heart.
“Hey, Wishbone,” I whispered.
He pushed against that chicken wire so hard I was afraid he might bust right through it.
“I got more meat loaf,” I said.
He cocked his head.
“Wait right here,” I said. “I’ll be back.”
I closed the latch on the door of the trap and hurried inside the house, calling for Bertha. We nearly collided when I darted into the kitchen.
She clutched her heart and said, “Charlie! Lordy! You scared the dickens out of me.”
“I got him!” I hollered. “I got Wishbone!”
I yanked the refrigerator door open and took out a foil-wrapped slice of meat loaf and ran back out to the yard. Bertha ran after me, calling, “I knew it! I knew my meat loaf would do the trick.”
When we got to the trap, Wishbone was digging at the ground beside the wire like he was trying to dig a hole clear through to China. Dirt and pebbles flew out behind him. When he saw us, he stopped and backed up into the far corner of the trap again.
I unwrapped the foil. “I brought you more meat loaf,” I said.
He let out a little whine, soft and pitiful. I could hear Bertha telling me to be careful and don’t stick my fingers through the chicken wire and stuff like that. But I kept my eyes on Wishbone and told him not to be scared. Then I stuck a piece of meat loaf through the wire near him and waited.
His nose twitched as the meat loaf smell drifted his way. He stood up and sniffed some more.
“Come on, Wishbone,” I said. “It’s for you.”
He took one step forward, keeping his eyes on the meat loaf. He took another step and then another till he was right at my hand. Then he snatched that meat loaf, swallowed it in one gulp, and wagged his tail.
Wag.
Wag.
Wag.
Three tiny wags like he was thanking me.
I turned to Bertha. “Did you see that?” I asked.
Bertha nodded. “I sure did. I confess I thought you were going to lose a finger or two.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out two saltine crackers. “Give him these,” she said.
I gave Wishbone the crackers, and after he gobbled them up, he looked at me and wagged his tail again.
Then Bertha helped me look for the collar Gus had made from an old leather belt of his. We got rope from the garden shed and tied it to the collar. I ran back inside and got more food. Some cereal. A piece of raisin bread. A couple of slices of bologna.
Then I raced back out to the trap with Bertha not far behind, calling, “Wait for me!”
Wishbone didn’t like that collar one bit. He bucked like a bronco when I put it on him, flinging his head this way and that. Then he sat down and dug his feet in like a mule when I pulled on the rope to get him out of the trap. But after leaving a trail of bologna like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs, I managed to get him to follow me, step by step, to the house. Once we were inside, Bertha locked the screen door and I untied the rope. Then we sat on the sofa and watched him.
He sniffed everything that was worth sniffing in that house. The shaggy green rug by the front door. Gus’s easy chair. Bertha’s basket of yarn. Then he made his way cautiously through the rest of the house, inspecting the coatrack by the back door, licking crumbs off the linoleum floor under the kitchen table. When he spied one of the cats up on the windowsill, he let out a bark. The cat arched his back and hissed. I was relieved when Wishbone just walked away. Bertha had been worried that he was going to chase the cats, and I have to admit I had worried about that a little bit, too.
After a while, he got tired of sniffing and laid down next to the sofa and went to sleep. I tiptoed over and sat beside him, stroking his fur and whispering his name. I couldn’t hardly believe I had my very own dog.
When Gus got home that night, he seemed pleased as punch to see Wishbone sitting there in the kitchen while Bertha cooked chicken fried steak and black-eyed peas.
“Well, don’t that beat all?” he said.
I couldn’t keep my hands off of Wishbone. I petted his head and stroked his ears and scratched his belly.
“Isn’t he something?” I said.
Gus nodded. “He sure is.”
“He smells like something, too,” Bertha said, making a face. “You’re gonna have to give him a good bath out in the yard tomorrow.”
“I will.”
Tomorrow was Saturday, so I had all day to spend with him. I’d bathe him and walk him. Maybe I’d teach him a trick, like to sit or lay down. I might even take him to Howard’s house if I decided not to be mad at him anymore for calling me a quitter and a baby. And then I remembered calling him a squirrel-eating hillbilly with Mrs. Odom standing right there on the porch. My stomach squeezed up and my face burned just thinking about that. I knew Howard wouldn’t be mad ’cause that was his way. But I bet Mrs. Odom hated me now. I bet she wouldn’t want me in her house messing up their goodness with my hateful words.
That night, I took Wishbone out on the porch with us. Every now and then, he perked his ears up at the sound of a rabbit or something rustling down in the woods. But eventually, he laid down and rested his chin right on top of my foot. He didn’t even pay any mind to the cats strolling around him.
“I think you got yourself a good one, Charlie,” Gus said.
I smiled down at Wishbone. “I bet he’ll be as good as Skeeter,” I said.
Gus nodded. “I bet he will.”
“You know what I like best about dogs?” Bertha said.
Gus and I waited.
“They love you no matter what.” Bertha smiled down at Wishbone. “Shoot, I know folks who are cranky or stuck up or bold-faced liars and their dogs love ’em like they’re saints or something. Know what I mean?”
Gus nodded and said, “Yep.”
“I hate to admit it,” Bertha went on, “but I bet half these cats of mine would run off and never look back if somebody came along with a can of sardines.”
I leaned down and ran my hand down Wishbone’s side. His fur was soft and warm and he snored real soft while he slept. Then I gazed up at the starry sky and had a feeling I hadn’t had in a long time. Thankful. I felt thankful that I had my very own dog who would love me no matter what.
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was look for Wishbone to make sure I hadn’t just dreamed he was mine. Sure enough, there he was, curled up on the floor beside me. I’d put one of my pillows there for him and he hadn’t wasted one minute flopping down on it.
I spent the morning bathing him and combing him and picking burrs out of his tail and ticks off of his ears. I knew he didn’t like it much but he let me do it. When I was done, he looked so handsome and smelled so good that Bertha kept making a fuss over him and running back into the house to get him another chicken liver. He was so skinny you could count his ribs right through his fur.
“We need to fatten him up,” Bertha said.
After lunch, I practiced walking him with the rope tied to his collar. At first, he’d made it clear that he didn’t like it. He’d jerk his head this way and that or sit down and refuse to budge. But I kept a plastic bag full of tiny pieces of cheese and bacon and stuff to lure him along, and after a while, he was trotting right beside me. Around the yard. Through the garden. Up the driveway and back.
I let him take a nap tied up in the shade of the big oak tree on the steep slope by the back porch. Bertha brought a tablecloth outside and spread it on the ground next to him. Then the two of us had pimiento cheese sandwiches and sweet tea for lunch. Bertha told me a story about some old man named Cooter who used to be the mayor of Colby.
“He carried a gun,” she said. “And if anybody parked in front of Town Hall where they weren’t supposed to, he’d shoot their tires out.”
“Really?”
“Really. And his wife used to wash her underpants and hang ’em on the antenna of her car and then drive around town till they were dry.”
I wrinkled my nose and said, “Eww.”
Bertha laughed. “I know! That big ole underwear looked like the national flag of the Land of Big Behinds flapping in the breeze like that.”
Me and Bertha had a good laugh over that. Every now and then, Wishbone’s feet jerked and he let out a little yip while he slept. I wondered if he was dreaming about running free again without a rope tied to him. I hoped not.
I took a gulp of sweet tea and watched the honeybees flitting over the clover beside us.
Clover! Maybe I could find a four-leaf clover. So while Bertha told me about how Cooter and his wife bought a gold mine in Nevada and moved away, I searched and searched. Sure enough, I found one. But I didn’t pick it. If you pick it, it will bring you good luck, but if you leave it growing there, you can make a wish, which is exactly what I did.
After lunch I decided I wasn’t mad at Howard anymore, so I tied Wishbone’s rope-leash to the handlebars of Lenny’s bike and pedaled down the road to the Odoms’. Wishbone seemed to love that, racing along beside me with his ears flapping and his tongue hanging out.
When I got to Howard’s, he and Dwight and Cotton were in the front yard playing some game that involved throwing tin cans and punching each other.
“Hey, y’all!” I called. “Look what I got!”
They raced over and gathered around Wishbone, stroking his back and patting his head.
“Wow, Charlie,” Howard said. “You did it!”
I couldn’t stop myself from beaming at him. “I know!” I said. “And isn’t he great?”
Howard scratched behind Wishbone’s ears. “Looks like he’s got some beagle in him,” he said. “I like his ears.”
While the Odom boys made a fuss over him, Wishbone sat there with his eyes closed and a doggy smile on his face.
We played with him the whole afternoon. Cotton kept tossing popcorn for him to catch and Dwight led him across the yard on the leash and got him to jump up onto an old cooler and sit. Howard even taught him to shake hands in no time flat.
“He’s smart!” Howard said, and we all nodded in agreement.
“Let’s show Mama his tricks,” Howard said, hurrying to the porch in his up-down way.
With everybody making such a fuss over Wishbone, I’d forgotten about what I’d said yesterday when my Scrappy temper had grabbed hold of me. But when Mrs. Odom came out to the yard to see Wishbone, I remembered. My face burned and I couldn’t even look at her.
Howard showed her how Wishbone could sit on the cooler and shake hands.
“Ain’t he smart?” he said.
“He is smart, for sure,” Mrs. Odom said. “And lucky he’s found such a fine friend as Charlie.”
I felt relief wash over me. Maybe Mrs. Odom wasn’t mad at me, after all.
“Let’s get some treats and teach him to roll over,” Howard said.
“That’s a good idea.” Mrs. Odom ruffled my hair. “I’ve got some squirrel pie fresh out of the oven.”
I wanted to sink right into the ground when she said that. Or disappear into thin air. Poof! Gone. But of course I couldn’t, so I just stood there with my face burning and my stomach in a knot.
Dwight and Cotton hooted and hollered, slapping their knees and saying, “Squirrel pie?”
Mrs. Odom put her arm around my shoulder, and when I got up my courage to look at her, she winked at me. “I’m so glad to have a feisty female around here to help me keep these boys under control. I been needing a girl on my team.”
On her team? Mrs. Odom needed me on her team?
I wished I could’ve saved that moment there in that weed-filled yard surrounded by those good-hearted Odoms, with Wishbone sitting there on the cooler in front of us. Just pack it into one of Bertha’s canning jars to keep in my room. Then when I was feeling bad about myself or loaded down with all my troubles, I could open it up and breathe in the goodness of it and I’d feel better.
But the moment passed, and Howard brought a piece of chicken out to the yard and we tried to teach Wishbone to roll over, but all he wanted to do was eat that chicken.
“Back in Raleigh, we’ve got a fence around our yard, so he can run free back there,” I said.
Howard’s smile faded and he said, “Do you think your mama will let you keep him?”
Shoot! I wished he hadn’t said that ’cause it stirred my worries up and I’d been doing such a good job of keeping them locked in tight. The truth of the matter was, there was no telling what Mama would think about me showing up back there with Wishbone. But I managed to push that worry away and say, “Sure she will. She’s gonna love him.”
“When are you leaving?” Howard asked in a tiny, quivery voice.
I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “Soon, I bet.” But I knew in my heart that Mama still didn’t have her feet on the ground. I mean, I hadn’t even gotten so much as a postcard or a phone call from her since I’d been in Colby. I knew she was still laying around in her bathrobe in the dark, drinking diet soda for supper and not thinking about me one bit.
Howard got quiet after that, so I finally tied Wishbone to the bike and headed back up to Gus and Bertha’s. When I got there, Gus was sitting at the kitchen table while Bertha sliced green peppers from the garden and jabbered about that fancy new drugstore they were building out on Route 26.
“Well, there they are,” Gus said when he saw me and Wishbone. “A girl and her dog.” Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out something that he held out to me in his palm. A little bone-shaped dog tag with Wishbone engraved on it. He turned it over and showed me it had a phone number on the other side.
“Gus!” Bertha squealed. “You are a prince.” She kissed his cheek. “Ain’t he a prince, Charlie?”
I nodded.
“Then I might be a king when you take a look at that,” Gus said, nodding toward the coatrack by the back door. Hanging there with the raincoats and cardigans was a red dog leash.
“I figured he needed a real leash instead of that ole rope,” Gus said.
Bertha kissed him again. “Now you are a king,” she said. “Ain’t he, Charlie?”
I just couldn’t get over Gus going and doing such a nice thing for me. “Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. “He is.”
Then Gus took Wishbone’s collar off, attached the little tag to it, and put it back on. When I looked down at him with his collar on and his very own tag with his very own name, he seemed like he’d been mine forever. Like he belonged right here with me, not a stray anymore.
And in the middle of that happy moment, I had a tiny seed of a thought that I hurried to push out of my mind before it had time to grow. That thought was this: Where in the world do I belong?