All That's Missing (24 page)

Mama Reel wrinkled up her face, as though she were trying to figure out how to deliver delicate news. “Sometimes the family's already on its way before the wedding comes along, if you know what I mean.”

Arlo felt a hollowness spread inside. He looked from Mama Reel to Maywood, watching as Maywood's eyes grew rounder by the second.

“So, that's why Ida . . .”

Mama Reel interrupted Arlo before he could finish. “Your mama and daddy eloped a few weeks before you were born,” she said. “Slocum was furious. Ida was heartbroken. She thought your daddy was too young to start a family.” Mama Reel paused for a moment, gazing off toward the patio and then turning back to Arlo. “Ida needed someone to blame, Arlo, so she chose your mother.”

“But my mom didn't do anything wrong.”

“No, of course she didn't.”

“Then, why . . . ?”

Mama Reel reached over and patted Arlo on the knee. “All either one of those people was ever guilty of was loving you too much.” She shot a sideways glance at Maywood. “Mothers can be hard on the girls their sons marry. Especially if they think their sons got married too young or were trapped in some way.”

“Trapped?” Arlo asked.

“Never mind,” Mama Reel said. “Ida's not the first woman to make life difficult for a daughter-in-law. Unfortunately, in the process, she made an enemy of your grandfather. Can't blame him really. She treated his daughter shabbily. And, before you know it, nobody was talking in your family. Then the accident happened and . . .”

“It was too late,” Maywood finished.

“I'm afraid that's right.” Mama Reel leaned back in her chair. “Not long after that, the government shut Slocum down for good. Darn near lost everything he had. Somehow he managed to hang on to the house. That and your daddy dying are what broke him finally. He died a couple of years later.”

“That explains a lot,” Arlo said.

“The truth's kind of difficult to hear sometimes,” Mama Reel said.

Arlo thought about Bernice's cross-stitch again. He felt lighter already. All the terrible things he had imagined drifted out of his mind. The message in the cross-stitch was right. The truth could set you free.

Lucius gave Arlo a ride home. Maywood came along for the ride.

“It looked like you and Mama Reel were settling all the problems of the world back there,” Lucius said while the truck idled at the light.

“Only the important ones,” Maywood said.

Arlo turned around in the front seat and looked at her. She gave him a sly smile.

When they reached the house, Ida was sitting on the granite bench in the front yard.

“What's she doing?” Maywood asked.

“I don't know. She told me she'd be in a meeting with Mr. Tretheway till dinnertime.” Arlo scanned the yard. “Do you see Steamboat?”

“No,” Lucius said.

He parked the car and the three of them hurried to the bench.

“I've done something stupid,” Ida said, shaking her head as she looked from Maywood to Lucius to Arlo. Her cheeks were pink. “I was on my way outside to pick some mint. Just as I came through the door, the wind gusted and blew it shut. Now I'm locked out.”

“That's not stupid,” Lucius said. “That's just bad luck.”

“The worst part is, I have a chicken in one oven and a pie in the other. They'll burn to a crisp if I don't get inside soon.” She stared bleakly toward the window.

“I don't suppose you have a spare key hidden someplace?” Lucius asked.

“Not since the neighbors had a break-in,” Ida said. “I decided it was better to risk being locked out than to be broken into.”

“Any windows unlocked?” Lucius asked.

“No,” Ida said. “I used to leave two of them open upstairs, but I quit doing that because —”

“Of the break-in,” Maywood finished for her.

“That's right.”

“That's too bad.” Lucius stroked his beard. “Anybody have any other ideas?”

The wheels were turning in Arlo's head. Ida's lock didn't require a key to unlock it from inside. All you needed to do was push on the doorknob and turn it slightly to the left. If there was someone to bump against it . . .

“I could pick the lock if you have a coat hanger,” Maywood offered.

Ida smiled. “I suppose we could borrow one from the neighbors.”

“Wait a minute,” Arlo said.

Everyone looked at him.

“Where's Steamboat?” he asked.

“Inside,” Ida said.

“You don't have any food out here, do you?” Arlo asked.

Ida gave him a curious look. “You might find some apples in the orchard. . . .”

“I was thinking of something more like hamburger,” Arlo said.

“Really, Arlo. I know you're a growing boy, but this is hardly the time. And besides, there's a lovely meal waiting for you inside if we can get to it soon enough.”

“The food's not for me,” Arlo said. Pictures of Steamboat jumping against the door on the day he first arrived were running through his mind.

Lucius tugged at his beard. He looked at Arlo. Then he looked at the door.

“We need something for Steamboat,” Arlo said. “To make him jump against the doorknob.”

A smile started spreading across Lucius's face. He moved his head slowly up and down. “That might work,” he said.

Ida looked puzzled. “There's a freezer in the garage,” she said, studying the two of them.

Arlo followed her across the lawn. She stopped in front of an old white Kelvinator freezer that took up half of the right-hand wall. “Nathan sent me some of those Omaha steaks for my birthday,” she said. “I'm not much of a meat eater, so I stuck them in here. Would they work?”

Arlo opened the freezer. The first thing he pulled out was a plastic bag with something white inside.

“Not that, Arlo,” Ida said.

“What is it?”

“My grandmother's tablecloth.”

“You keep it in the freezer?”

“Only when I don't have time to iron it. It's still damp when you thaw it out. Best way to get rid of the wrinkles. Oh, never mind that. Let me have a look.”

She lifted a metal basket and reached underneath. “Here you go.” She held up a T-bone. “What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Arlo said. He carried the steak back to the kitchen door, tapped on the glass, and called for Steamboat. “Come on, boy. Look what I've got.”

Steamboat looked up at the glass. His tongue lolled out and he wagged his tail.

“Looks good, doesn't it?” Arlo said.

Steamboat barked. Then he sniffed around the bottom of the door.

“No, Steamboat. Don't sniff. Jump.”

Maywood came up behind Arlo. “Come on,” she said through the glass. “We need your help, boy.”

Steamboat scooted back from the door. He sat down and gave Arlo a puzzled look. He tilted his head, as if he couldn't understand why Arlo didn't hurry up and open the door.

“This will never work,” Maywood said.

“Give him a chance to figure it out,” Ida said. “Steamboat's smart.”

Time was running out. Arlo caught Ida checking her watch.

“Come on, Steamboat,” Arlo pleaded.

On the other side of the door, Steamboat lifted his chin.

“Come on,” Arlo said.

Steamboat hunkered down.

“That's it,” Arlo said.

Then he jumped.

“Good boy!” Ida yelled.

“But he missed,” Maywood said flatly.

“One more time, Steamboat. Please,” Arlo said.

They gathered around the door. Arlo held his breath while Ida checked her watch.

“Come on, Steamboat,” Ida prodded gently.

Steamboat looked straight at her. She gave him a smile and then a nod. “I know you can do it.”

And Steamboat jumped again. And this time there was a lovely click as his paw made contact with the doorknob and an even more satisfactory bump and louder click as the lock released.

Arlo pushed the door open and rushed inside. Ida was right behind him. She went straight for the pot holders and pulled the pie out of the oven.

“A little browner than I'd like around the edges,” she said, “but an extra scoop of ice cream should take care of that.”

Maywood hugged Steamboat around the neck. “Smart dog,” she said.

Arlo stroked Steamboat's head. “Thanks, Steamboat,” he whispered.

Steamboat's tongue hung from his mouth. He panted as if the excitement of opening the door had worn him out. Then he sat down in front of Arlo and held up his right paw.

“You want to shake hands?” Arlo took Steamboat's paw and gave it a good shake. “You deserve more than a handshake for that.”

“There'll be a special treat this evening,” Ida said.

“That's some dog,” Lucius said.

“He's a genius.” Ida rubbed his ears. “Aren't you, Steamboat?”

Steamboat wagged his tail. He trotted from Arlo to Ida to Maywood to Lucius, accepting head rubs. Then he walked back over to Ida and sat up and begged.

“A biscuit for now,” she said, plunging her hand into the cardboard box of dog treats. “And something special for dinner.”

Later that evening, as Ida and Arlo sat around the kitchen counter eating ice cream and pie, Ida asked Arlo about his afternoon.

“Aurelia said you were gone a long time. Where did Maywood take you?”

“Nowhere much.”

Ida rolled her eyes. “Just like your father, aren't you?”

Arlo looked up from his apple pie. “What do you mean?” he said.

“I used to ask Wake what he and Matthew had been up to, and all he would say was,
Oh, nothing much. The usual.
”

“Oh.” Disappointment spread through Arlo's body. He had hoped for something more, a real story about his father like the ones that Matthew told. He took another spoonful of ice cream, allowing it to melt slowly on his tongue.

“We explored the old cemetery,” he said finally when she failed to offer any more information about his father.

“Maywood and her ghosts,” Ida said. “That girl has an imagination, doesn't she? Don't let her get you into trouble.”

“I'll be careful,” Arlo said, smiling to himself.
Too late now,
he thought, staring at the Band-Aid on his ankle.

Almost as if she could hear his thoughts, Ida fired a question at him. “She didn't take you in that old house, did she?”

Arlo choked on a piece of apple. “We just looked at it from the outside,” he said. “Maywood told me it was too dangerous to go inside.”

“The old Stoneham place makes me nervous,” Ida said. “The county ought to board it up. Or better yet — tear the whole thing down.” She took another nibble of pie.

“How was your meeting with Mr. Tretheway?” Arlo asked, anxious to change the subject.

“Fine,” she said. “Better than I'd hoped, really. We made good progress.” She looked at him oddly. “We accomplished so much . . . Well, I was thinking we might go see your grandfather tomorrow . . . if the doctor says it's all right, of course. How would you feel about that?”

Arlo froze with the spoon poised halfway to his mouth. If she'd said they were boarding a rocket ship for Mars at sunrise, he couldn't have been more surprised.

“Really?” he said.

“I think it's time, don't you?”

“Yes.” Arlo's mind raced. He conjured images of Poppo in his room. He imagined a trip back to the house to retrieve some of his things — his favorite T-shirts, jeans, video games, and,
yes,
the family album. He could see Sam and find out what they were saying about him in school.

“Is the house . . . livable?” Ida asked. “Because if it is, we could stay there. It's only for one night.”

The idea of Ida seeing the way he and Poppo used to live made Arlo squirm.

“It's not as neat as your house,” he said. “I mean, Poppo doesn't . . . you know.”

Ida smiled. “Are you trying to tell me that Albert's not a housekeeper?”