“They’re hitting up on us, Dean,” plaid pants said.
The man named Dean stared at CJ the same way childless people looked upon a kid having a meltdown in a store, though CJ was completely calm.
“Dean! C’mon, you can drop a ball where I am.”
“All right, all right.” Dean jogged back to the cart. He shot a quick hard look at CJ one more time before speeding off.
When the sound of the golf cart hushed, CJ pulled the ball from the cup holder and inspected the St. Andrew’s insignia. “Maybe Dad will give me a dollar for this one,” she said, tossing the ball in the air and cupping her two hands to catch it. She bolted inside to add the new treasure to her collection.
“Her mouth is going to get her in real trouble someday,” Peter said.
Uncle Herb looked at Peter but said nothing.
“They knew she was lying, Uncle Herb. She shouldn’t have done it. What would happen if he jumped over the fence and started looking for the ball? He could have seen it in the cup holder.”
Peter crossed his arms and waited for a reply, but Uncle Herb just smiled at him.
A thunderous rumbling came from the front of the house as a flatbed truck plodded down the street carrying stacks of lumber. The truck’s hydraulic brakes screeched to a stop in front of Josh’s house.
“Can I take a look, Uncle Herb?”
Uncle Herb nodded, yes.
Peter watched as the truck driver, a stubby guy in a baseball hat and T-shirt with wet stains under the arms, stepped down from the truck and pulled leather gloves from the back pocket of his dirty jeans. He squinted in the direction of the sun, then at Josh’s front door. A shirtless Josh appeared in jeans with similar grime as the driver’s. Josh pushed his hair back and tied a bandanna to his head.
“Where do you want it?” Peter heard the trucker ask.
“I’ll be working here on the driveway, makes sense to keep the wood close. Let’s drop it all on the front here, the neighbors will go ballistic. Have you ever seen such manicured lawns?”
The trucker nodded and wiped his brow with his forearm. Peter found himself making his way to the front yard, hugging the perimeter of his house. Josh and the truck driver unloaded long planks of wood from the back of the truck, two or three at a time. They worked in silence, and Peter studied them as he moved closer, not stopping until he reached the giant pine tree. He squatted and peered from behind it, nibbling at a fingernail as he watched.
The trucker broke the silence by asking Josh what in high heaven he was building with all this wood. Josh found this to be the most hysterical question for reasons beyond Peter and, by the confused look on his face, beyond the trucker. The trucker stepped back and stared as Josh’s body quivered, then erupted again in laughter. This went on for a couple of minutes. The trucker distanced himself from Josh. When they continued unloading, the trucker worked with newfound energy.
Peter waited, but Josh never did answer the question.
After the truck was empty and the front lawn layered with stacks of wood, Josh had to chase after the trucker to tip him, and the trucker accepted the crumpled bills at a trot, heading quickly back to the truck’s cab.
Peter slid further behind the tree and sat down, his back against the bark. With the trucker gone, there was no longer safety in numbers. It was the middle of the day, but the nighttime-roaming, prayer-chanting Josh was not far from the front of Peter’s mind. However, Peter couldn’t get himself to leave; he was drawn to Josh, an invisible pulling, but maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. The trucker sure sensed something and couldn’t leave fast enough.
Peter heard the sound of a twig snap and looked up to see Josh standing above him. The sun behind him shaded his face.
Peter scurried to his feet, his height barely reaching Josh’s chest. “Oh, hi.”
Josh looked around Peter’s yard. Peter maneuvered his body to see the expression on Josh’s face. There was none.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked.
Peter fought the initial and strong urge to lie. He figured Josh already knew the answer; the empty driveway gave it away. “She’s at work, but my uncle’s in the backyard with my sister.” He rushed the end part of the sentence.
Josh nodded, and Peter squinted up at him. Peter didn’t know why he always thought of wild animals when he saw Josh, but standing in front of him now was like crossing paths with a bear in the woods—should he make a lot of noise to show a lack of fear, or play dead?
“I forgot your name,” Josh said, not apologizing but merely stating a fact.
“Peter.”
Josh nodded again. “How old are you again, Peter?”
“Twelve and a half.”
Josh scratched the side of his face. “Wow. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a day over twelve, but a whole half.”
Peter felt his face redden. “How old are you?”
Josh leaned down toward him and whispered, “Twenty-three and three quarters.”
Peter had known older people, his parents for one, but out of uncertainty toward the person he was speaking to, he acted impressed.
A man in designer sunglasses and a black, sleeveless vest sped down the street in a golf cart. Many residents traveled this way, even if they weren’t off to a round of golf.
“Listen, Peter. I have four really long pieces of wood that I need to move from my lawn to my driveway. I should have had the trucker help, but I wasn’t thinking. He seemed in a rush anyway. I don’t think it’s a job for anyone under twelve, but maybe a really strong twelve and half—”
“I can do it.” The words rushed out from somewhere inside Peter, not his brain.
“Maybe we should wait until your mother comes home so we can ask her if it’s okay. I don’t want—”
“It’s okay, really.”
Josh puffed out his right cheek, then his left as if he was debating against himself. A slow shrug of his shoulders signaled he’d come to some sort of verdict. “Heck, I’ve always found it easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission anyway. Let’s go.”
Peter followed closely behind Josh, his two steps equaling one of Josh’s. The wood planks in question were indeed a two-person job, the length of two diving boards and as thick as Peter’s fist. They spanned most of Josh’s front lawn. Josh instructed Peter to bend down and lift with his legs for more strength and less strain on the back. Peter felt his arms quivering as they carried the first board. He studied Josh’s arms, searching for a sign of struggle, but saw only the blue veins streaking through his locked arms.
Peter’s father used the gym in the pavilion when he was home. Peter had started to notice changes in his Dad’s body. It was impossible not to, really. Peter and CJ had caught him several times admiring his shirtless body in the mirror. Sometimes he’d flex and make them grab his arm or punch his stomach. There was something different in Josh’s lean yet perfectly curved muscles, something genuine—not store-bought.
After they placed the first plank on the driveway, Peter held his one arm to stop it from shaking and asked, “Josh, how will cars get in and out of the driveway?”
“What cars? I don’t own one.”
“What about when your parents visit?”
Josh looked at Peter as though he was an old clock and his face could be easily opened to display the inner workings. A slight smile appeared on Josh’s face. “Visit? So, you know about my parents? I figured everyone must. This place is like a small town. A small, fenced-in town.” Josh laughed. “Sounds like I