Take Me With You Read online

  “Walt and Velma Begay?”

  “Now how on earth did you know that?”

  “He knows that,” said Emory, who was suddenly at August’s shoulder, “because he has a real good dog.”

  “Thank you so much, Officer,” August said. “I’m so sorry I put you in this position.”

  “These things happen,” the man said.

  Chapter Four:

  LAST STOP

  “I’m thinking maybe I should just take you boys straight home,” August said.

  It was first thing in the morning. The first words August had spoken. They were still in bed. Still parked on that patch of Navajo Nation dirt, because August had been too entirely exhausted and wrung out to drive again.

  Seth sat up fast. “What? Why?”

  “I just don’t like the idea that he could take off again. I can’t be responsible for that.”

  “But we were gonna see that canyon. You said we could take a ride in a four-wheel-drive thing and see cliff houses and cave paintings and stuff. And Spider Rock. Why can’t we see Spider Rock? And you said maybe even the Grand Canyon as a last stop. I’ll never be out here again, August.”

  “I don’t know. I think we’re skipping Canyon de Chelly and the Grand Canyon. I think I just lost my stomach for all this.”

  August threw the covers back, disturbing Woody. He got up and walked to the tiny bathroom, closing himself inside. He heard the voice of Seth filter in, and he moved his ear closer to the door to hear what he was saying to his brother. It wasn’t hard to do that and pee at the same time. It was a very small space.

  “This is all your fault, Henry. I can’t believe you did that. What a bonehead move. You could’ve killed that dog, you know. He could’ve been eaten by coyotes and it would’ve been all your fault. Why do you always have to ruin everything? I wanted to see that Navajo canyon. That Canyon . . . de. . . whatever.”

  August opened the door a crack and peered out before even washing his hands. Just in time to see Seth punch his brother on the arm. It looked like a pretty solid punch, but Henry didn’t let out so much as a peep.

  “There will be no hitting,” August said, and Seth startled.

  “Sorry, August,” he said quickly.

  “No matter how anybody behaves. No matter what anybody thinks anybody else has done. No hitting.”

  “Sorry,” Seth said again.

  August washed and dried his hands and then stepped out of the bathroom and began making a pot of coffee.

  “August?”

  “Yes, Seth.”

  “If we go back now we’ll be a few days early. And our dad won’t be home. Then what’ll we do?”

  “I won’t just leave you there, if that’s what you mean. We’ll park the rig outside the shop till he gets back.”

  Silence for a long time. Long enough that August could hear the coffee maker begin to sigh and spit.

  Then Seth said, “August? Couldn’t he pretty much run away from there, too?”

  “Oh,” August said. And sighed. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”

  They rode down the middle of the flat, winding wash on the back of a strange and ancient vehicle. It was something like an old four-wheel-drive construction truck, but converted to a flatbed with six rows of seats, protected by railings. Their Navajo guide, Benson, had already announced that this was informally called the Shake and Bake Tour. Benson had a canvas roof over his cab area. August and the boys and the other sightseers just had to sit out in the hot sun.

  The truck lurched as their guide downshifted the gears, then wobbled wildly as it climbed the bank out of the wash again. Six horses made their way hock-deep through the wash of Canyon de Chelly, completely unaccompanied.

  August looked over at the boys, neither of whom had said much all day. Well, Seth hadn’t said much. Henry hadn’t said anything at all since Moab.

  Seth looked up and caught August watching.

  “I liked the native rock paintings best. Or carvings. Or whatever they were. Or . . . best so far, anyway.” He waited, a bit awkwardly, then added, “The ones that looked like people on horses hunting a deer were my favorites.”

  “You haven’t seen White House yet.”

  “Is that one of the old dwellings?” Before August could answer, Seth suddenly shouted, “Emory!”

  August could not imagine why and was too surprised to answer.

  “Look, August! It’s Emory. Hi, Emory!”

  August looked up just in time to see Emory driving a tour truck full of sightseers in the opposite direction, passing them in the wash. A Navajo man on a paint horse rode through the water behind.

  Emory tipped his hat to them as he passed, with a broad smile. August raised his hand in greeting, then felt a pull at his heart as the deeply familiar man drove away again.

  A woman sitting in front of Seth turned around and said, “You know that other tour guide? Where do you know him from?”

  August elbowed Seth in the ribs. He had no idea if Seth would know what the elbow stood for. He had no idea if he had properly educated the boy regarding the anonymity of the people he saw in meetings.

  “He helped us when my brother got lost,” Seth told her.

  She smiled thinly, nodded, then looked forward again, as if she hadn’t cared all that much to begin with. August wondered why she had even asked.

  “I wasn’t going to forget,” Seth whispered in his ear.

  They stood out in the sandy dirt by the White House ruins, a partially collapsed ancient dwelling, some parts built in front of the vertical canyon wall, some seemingly carved right out of it. They were taking a break from the shaking but not the baking.

  A big, tall Navajo man with a big, round belly was playing haunting tunes on hand-carved wooden flutes. More flutes were for sale on a table in front of him, as were CDs of his music.

  Henry was staring up into the man’s face, listening with rapt attention, something akin to pained bliss on his face.

  “Now that I see it,” Seth said, “I’m not sure why they call it White House. It’s not really white.”

  “Once again we’ll have to refer to the brochure. Or you can ask Benson when the break is over. Is Henry mad at me?”

  “No,” Seth said. Simply.

  “Seems like he’s mad at me.”

  August watched Henry the whole time he talked. August watched Henry constantly. He was beginning to find it tiring.

  “No. He thinks you’re mad at him. He always tunes people out when he thinks they’re mad at him.”

  “I’m not mad at him.”

  “Really? Seems like you are. I sure am. Oh! Look, August! A snake!”

  August looked away from Henry for the first time in a long time. The snake twisted through the tan dirt near where they stood. It was more than three feet long, an intricate series of black and tan diamond patterns. Then August looked up again, relieved to see Henry right where he had left him.

  “He’s pretty,” Seth said. “Can I pick him up?”

  “No! Don’t, Seth!”

  “I don’t think he’s poisonous.”

  “Snakes can bite without being poisonous. Don’t touch it.”

  “Okay. I’ll just take his picture, then.”

  He snapped off a few shots with August’s camera. Seth always had August’s camera now. He paid better attention to the scenery than August did, had a better eye, and his pictures turned out better anyway.

  Then Seth said, “Don’t tell Henry. He’s scared of snakes. You sure you’re not mad at Henry? Kind of seems like you are.”

  “Does it?”

  August breathed the question in. Resisted the temptation to slough it off again. Let it sit inside him for a minute.

  “I don’t mean to be,” he said, because it was the most honest thing he had. “I think he’s mad at me because he thinks I shouldn’t take you guys home. But I don’t have any choice. I’m not your father. Legally there’s nothing I can do.”

  Seth looked away from the snake fo
r the first time since he’d spotted it.

  “August,” he said. “I can’t believe you thought that. Nobody’s mad at you for that.”

  “He seems mad.”

  “He’s mad that the summer’s almost over. And that our dad’s telling lies. But he doesn’t blame it on you. How could he? Jeez, August, you took us all summer. Nobody else would have done that. We knew you’d take us home when it was over. Who could get mad at you for that?”

  Probably no one, August thought. Other than me.

  “So, have you been there before?” Seth asked.

  He was belted into the passenger seat, watching through the windshield as the I-40 gained altitude.

  “The Grand Canyon?”

  “Right.”

  “Several times. Phillip and I even hiked a big piece of it. Not all the way down to the river. Just a day hike. But it was quite an adventure all the same.” Silence. Then he wondered if there was more subtext to the question, if it was less just small talk. “Why do you ask?”

  The boy shrugged, and August thought he would add no more to the discussion. A good five miles later, Seth said, “It just seems awfully nice. That you would take us to see it. You know. If it’s really for us.”

  “Summer’s almost over,” August said. “And I just think we should end it at the Grand Canyon.”

  August parked the motor home in a pullout on Desert View Drive, the east side of the Grand Canyon. Shut off the engine. This would be their first view. Well, the boys’ first view.

  “Whoa,” Seth said, stretching the word out long and low.

  They stepped out through the back door, leaving Woody inside. August reached down for Henry’s hand, and Henry instinctively reached back. It was the new rule.

  They stood at the low stone wall together, absolutely silent. The often vibrant shapes and curves and colors of the rock canyon had a dusty look in the midday sun. August made a mental note to take the boys to the lookout tower at Desert View so they could look down into the canyon from the top of it and see the Colorado River snaking below.

  “I’ve seen lots of picture of it,” Seth said. “But it’s better.”

  “Pictures don’t do it justice.”

  “But I can take some anyway?”

  “Sure.”

  Seth sighted through the lens of August’s camera and said, “The colors are not really that much better than Zion or Bryce Canyon. But I think what’s so amazing about it is that it’s so huge.”

  “Grand,” August said.

  “Oh,” Seth said. “Right.”

  “I’m sorry this has to be such a quick visit. It’s too late for any first-come, first-served camping. And we can’t wait outside the park till morning and snag one like we usually do, because we have to get you guys home.”

  Seth let the camera down to the end of its strap again. His shoulders lost their usual straightness.

  “I still think it was nice of you to bring us here, since you’ve already seen it. I can’t believe this is it for our summer.”

  “I know,” August said.

  “You’re gonna stay and help us talk to our dad, right?”

  “I am.”

  “Maybe we should practice what we’re gonna say.”

  “I don’t think so,” August said.

  “Really? Usually practice is good.”

  “Remember what Emory told you at the meeting?”

  “No. Oh! Yeah! I do! He said I should tell whatever I believe in that I’m going to open my mouth. And then ask what I should say to my dad.”

  “Right. Straight from the heart without rehearsal is usually best. Otherwise it just comes out sounding rehearsed. Instead of heartfelt.”

  “Too bad. I’m better with things I get to practice. But so long as you’re there, August . . . I never did anything like this before, and I think if I was alone with just him and Henry like I always was before, I might chicken out. How long will you stay?”

  “As long as it takes, I guess. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two to talk to him, right?”

  “Oh. I was hoping you’d stay longer.”

  “Why? You need me there longer for something?”

  “Not exactly,” Seth said. “I just hate to see you go.”

  Henry said nothing at all.

  After quite a few more minutes staring into the vast, silent void Seth said, “I wonder if all this stuff we saw, this really big, pretty world, will keep seeming real to me. Or if after a while I’ll remember it but kind of far away, like in a dream. Like I know it happened but it doesn’t feel like it really did. Know what I mean?”

  “You’ll have all the pictures.”

  “That only helps a little,” Seth said. “I mean, at first it helps a lot. But then you look at ’em every time you want it to feel real. And then after you do that a bunch of times it turns out you looked at ’em too much. So then after a while they’re just more like pictures of a thing and not the actual thing. After a while you look at a picture and all it helps you remember is the picture. And then it gets kind of memorized and you hardly even see it. I have lots of pictures of my mom. But it only helped for a while. You know what I mean, August?”

  “Unfortunately,” August said, “yes. I do.”

  Chapter Five:

  SOME KIND OF IT

  “His car is here,” Seth said.

  “Did he drive himself to the jail?”

  “I dunno. I was with you.”

  August was surprised by how much his heart and gut sank as he drove into the familiar dirt lot of the mechanic’s shop. It had that sickening familiarity of something you got stuck with for many interminable days against your will. Like driving all the way across the country with only one music CD. Especially if the CD was one you hadn’t liked much to begin with.

  They all piled out the back of the rig and into the most oppressive midday heat. Much worse than the weather when they’d left in June.

  Woody ran around sniffing and lifting his leg on every interesting bush.

  “The shop is closed,” August said.

  “That doesn’t mean he isn’t home. That just means he doesn’t have any cars to fix.”

  August followed the boys around to the back of the shop, a place August had never seen. Purposely. It hadn’t been his business, when the rig was in for repair, where these people actually lived.

  It wasn’t a house exactly. It was a wing of the same sheet metal, high-windowed building as the shop. But the door was wide open, and through it August could see that it had been decorated as a simple, functional home inside. At least, from what he could see of the living room.

  Wes stood in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, his shoulder leaned against the jamb. August expected him to greet the boys before anything else, but instead he looked directly into August’s face and narrowed his eyes in a way that made August uneasy.

  Henry pushed past his dad and trudged inside. Seth stopped and waited. For something.

  “I don’t even get a hello?” Wes shot over his shoulder as Henry disappeared from sight.

  “Let him go, Dad,” Seth said.

  Wes and Seth regarded each other for a long moment. Then Seth’s eyes moved down to the level of his father’s shoes. Wes was wearing baggy cargo pants. Much baggier than anything August had seen him wear before. There was a definite unnatural bulk around his left ankle.

  “Is that it?” Seth asked.

  “What else would it be?”

  “Can I see it?”

  “No. You can’t see it. Why would you need to see it? What would the point of that be? You know what it is. What it looks like has nothing to do with anything. It’s what it does we got to worry about. You’re gonna have to walk to the store for us all, you know. I know it’s a long way, but maybe they’ll let you borrow a cart if we promise to bring it back. You’re responsible to bring back everything we all need.”

  A brief silence. Seth was still looking down at his father’s shoes. Or maybe at the brown dirt right in front of them.<
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  “Fine,” he said. “But I’m not buying you any liquor.”

  Wes straightened up and rocked back a little but said nothing at all.

  Seth broke free from his statue pose and pushed past his dad into the house. “August’s coming in,” he said on the way by.

  Wes’s eyes came up to meet August’s again. Woody sidled up to Wes and wagged his tail, but Wes ignored the dog or failed to even notice.

  “There’s a lot I appreciate,” Wes said. “A lot I have to thank you for. Putting ideas like that in my kid’s head is not one of ’em.”

  “We didn’t talk about that. That was Seth’s own idea.”

  “Yeah. Interesting coincidence. Goes off on a trip with a man who never takes a single drink at all and comes back with ideas like that.”

  “If it helps any to know,” August said, “I drank more than my share in my life. I just don’t anymore.”

  “Oh, an ex-drinker. The only thing that could be worse.”

  “Do you honestly believe that before Seth met me he was happy with how things were going around here? You really think that dissatisfaction is coming from me? Like if I hadn’t told him to mind, he wouldn’t?”

  “Why’re you coming in again?”

  “Because I promised Seth I would.”

  Wes took another draw on his cigarette, then stamped the butt out in the dirt just in front of the doorjamb. And left it there, with dozens of others.

  “I have a feeling I’m not gonna like this much. But you gave your word to Seth, and I owe you a debt of gratitude. So I guess you best come in.”

  August sat in the living room—or, anyway, the main area of the house—uncomfortably and silently perched on the edge of one of two sofas. Both were covered with blankets that hid some but not all of their age and defects. Wes sat across from him, also silent.

  August had returned Woody to the motor home and left the air conditioning running, because he wasn’t sure whether the dog was welcome in the mechanic’s home. Seth was off in another part of the house trying to talk Henry into joining them. Time was stretching out painfully, so August could only assume the fetching of Henry wasn’t going well.