Burke’s hand stroked me in a way I had learned to mean he was sad.
“Wish I could help, Dad.”
“Oh, you will someday, Burke.”
I saw those same machines cruise by every day Burke and I were out in the yard working on Get It. I learned to follow Burke’s pointed finger gesture and do Get It on the glove; the ball; and sometimes, thankfully, the stick. Then other things in the house, like pillows, a shirt, a dropped fork. “Get It” just meant I should keep picking up things and doing Leave It until I finally selected something that earned me a treat.
Not my favorite game.
No one ever played Get It with Judy the old goat—or anything else, as far as I could see. Everyone petted Judy, even though she was not a dog and probably didn’t even enjoy such treatment, but it was only Grandma who would go into the pen and sit and talk to Judy. Judy didn’t wag or seem to respond, though she did cling to Grandma’s side.
“Oh Judy, you are such a sweetie; I remember when you first came to us as a baby,” Grandma said. “Miguel couldn’t wait to show me; he knew I would love you. He was a good man, Judy.” I wagged at the affection I could feel, which seemed shadowed with melancholy.
When Grandma wasn’t sitting in the chair in the goat’s pen, Judy would often climb up on it. I wondered if Grandma knew that.
Burke liked to spend time at a table in his room, silently taking little pieces of plastic and dripping a pungent liquid on them. The stuff was so strong it made me sneeze.
“What are you working on?” Burke and I looked up. Grant was leaning in the doorway.
“It’s a solar energy plant. I’m going to use it to power the whole town.”
Grant shoved himself out of the doorway. “Show me.”
Burke looked his brother up and down. “Okay,” he agreed slowly. “These are the houses I built. And this is the hotel, the city hall…”
“What have they been doing for power all this time if they didn’t have solar?”
“It’s not a story, Grant. I’m not building a town in chronological order. I just like laying it out so it will all make sense when it’s finished.”
“If that’s how you want to do it, sure. Seems like it would be more fun to have a farm, and then housing for the workers, and then businesses on Main Street. Like, with kerosene, then coal, and horses and then cars. Your way is boring. At least my way there would be an adventure, a purpose. What’s the point of any of it if it never evolves?”
“So if you wanted to put in a trolley system, would you start with a town hall meeting? Do an environmental impact study?”
“You’re playing with dolls. It’s stupid,” Grant sneered.
When Grant and Burke spoke to each other, I often sensed an irritated anger rising off both of them. I felt it now.
“So you need something, Grant?”
Grant took in a breath, regarding his brother carefully, then nodded and blew it out. “So I want to go with my friends and play basketball this weekend and as usual Dad tells me I have to work. So I said I was going to go help the Millards pick strawberries—you know how big Dad is on having us help thy neighbor and all that.”
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
“Just, you know, when Dad comes back, tell him Mr. Millard came to get me. He’ll believe you.”
“I don’t get why I should do that. Lie to Dad.”
“Don’t I do all the work around here? Do you have a single chore? No, you just sit here and build a crappy pretend city with Barbies.”
“Don’t you think I would help Dad if I could?” Burke hit the arm of his chair in real fury. I flinched and then nosed his arm.
“Okay, just … Sorry. I’m just a little pissed because I only want to play basketball and I know Dad would say no. Can I count on you?”
“So Dad goes, ‘Who picked up Grant?’ and I say, ‘It sure wasn’t a bunch of guys for basketball.’”
“God, Burke.”
Later, while Grant was outside stacking firewood with Dad, I helped Burke climb the stairs and then did Assist as he steered my harness into the room where Grant slept. My boy was laughing but also oddly tense, and he froze at the sound of Grandma opening a cupboard. He guided me to the closet and pulled out some shoes and put a few drops of the really smelly fluid in each one of them, the air filling with an eye-watering tang. What was he doing?
{ SIX }
We were downstairs when Grandma came out of the kitchen and told Burke, “I just put some cookies in the oven.” I was very interested in “cookies.”
I heard pounding steps on the front porch. “I’m late!” Grant called as he burst in.
Grandma held up a hand. “Take off those muddy boots, please.”
“Sorry, Grandma.” Grant reversed course and sat and yanked off his boots. I went over to sniff at them, delighted at what he had tracked in.
“I just put in some cookies. Why are you in such a hurry?”
There was that word again!
“I, uh, told the Millards I would help pick strawberries this afternoon and they’re going to meet me at the end of the driveway in like five minutes.” Grant shot past me and up the stairs.
Grandma stared after him and then turned to Burke. “Do the Millards have a daughter?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I’ve just never known Grant to be so excited about picking strawberries.”
“Burke!” Grant’s yell seemed to shake the house. “What did you do to my shoes?” He came thundering back down the steps. “There’s like rocks glued into them or something!”
Burke was laughing.
“Burke, what did you do?” Grandma asked.
People are like that. Cookies had been mentioned, but now they had stopped talking about them completely.
Grant stalked over to Burke and shook a shoe. “I need these shoes!”
I lifted my head because I heard a car coming up the road. After a moment, Grant heard it, too. “They’re coming! I gotta go!”
Grandma was shaking her head, but she was also smiling. “You should wear your work boots anyway, Grant.”
“My work boots?” He stared at her in disbelief.
“It’s been raining. The strawberry fields will be muddy.”
“Really muddy,” Burke chimed in. “Boots are by far the best choice. You’d just get your basketball shoes all mucked up, out there helping the Millards with your love-thy-neighbor efforts.”
Grant narrowed his eyes at his brother. We all looked out the front windows when we heard the honk of a vehicle. I could tell it was down where the driveway met the road.
“That’s them.” Grant thrust his shoes at Burke. “Fix it!” he hissed in tones I am not sure Grandma could hear. He went to his work boots, struggled them on, and then clomped down the ramp and down the driveway toward the road.
“Can whatever you did be undone?” Grandma asked.
“What do you mean, Grandma?” Burke asked innocently.
“No cookies until you’ve fixed the shoes.”
Burke laughed and had me Get It on Grant’s shoes, though I would rather have done Get It on the cookies, whose sweet odors were tantalizing me with every sniff.