You'll Just Know

Chapter 4

The rest of the evening following dinner was thankfully relaxing and completely enjoyable. My mom's cherry pie was a hit, and Mr. Cameron even had three pieces of it before getting up and lumbering off to some other corner of the huge house.

After leaving the table, Josh went into the garage and dug up an old soccer ball. For the next couple of hours, we played a viciously competitive game of one-on-one soccer between two cardboard goals set up in the backyard. Near nine, when the Indiana twilight had painted the sky a deep purple, the score was 138 to 126, my favor. Conceding that we both had played our guts out, though, we declared it a draw and collapsed in sweaty heaps on the cool grass. After a few minutes of easy conversation, we agreed to call it a night. As we pulled ourselves up, shaky and grass stained, Josh told me that my bike was in the garage if I still wanted to take it home tonight.

After that exhausting game, I sure didn't want to walk home across town. He pointed me in the direction of the detached garage, then said goodnight and walked up the stairs of the back deck. I heard the backdoor close as I rounded the side of the house.

The circular driveway had a little connection that led into the side garage. Its door was open, and in the dim evening light I could see the shadowy outline of tools and lawn equipment and shapeless junk filling the shelves that lined the walls. In the center sat the darkened bulk of what could only be a car, covered with a dusty canvas cover. The garage smelled of old motor oil, sawdust, and gasoline. Humid, stale garage smells. Along the far back wall, I instantly recognized the familiar outline of Flash, leaning patiently in the shadows.

I walked quickly to it, not really wanting Mr. Cameron to glance out the window and think that there was a prowler in the garage. I began to worry about this and wished suddenly that Josh had come with me.

I was in the darkest shadows, and had just laid my good hand on the cold steel of Flash's handlebars, when a gunshot exploded from outside. I half-dove, half tumbled to the ground, pulling myself into a fetal position in the corner.

Mr. Cameron is going to shoot me as a burglar!

Then there was another loud shot, closer this time. I jumped, on edge, and then recognized the sputter of an old and ill-tuned car engine. Another backfire flashed a gunshot bang. I knew it must be Wendy and her Gorilla date returning from a night of wild abandon. The thought made me cringe.

Peeking out from the shadows, I saw the old black Thunderbird rounding the driveway and come to a screeching halt just outside the garage door. Instantly, the passenger door flew open and Wendy stepped out as I dug myself deeper into the shadows. Then I saw the furious expression on her face as she spun back around and yelled something at the driver of the car. Her angry words were lost in another backfire from the tailpipe.

Without another word, she slammed the heavy door with such force that it almost threw her off balance. With that, the back wheels of the Thunderbird spun and squealed on the driveway, finally found purchase, then rocketed away, leaving Wendy standing there in a cloud of noxious fumes. She watched the car as it drove away, looking like she wanted to kick it even as it disappeared from sight. Clenching her fists, I saw her struggle to contain a frustrated, maddening anger.

Instead of walking back up to the house, she stomped toward the open garage and right toward me. My heart raced and I struggled and twisted to pull myself into a smaller, unnoticed shape. She hadn't seen me yet.

She walked to an old tire that was no more than ten feet from where I was crouched in the shadows. She looked down at it, and at first I thought that she was going to kick it and send it bouncing off wildly in some direction to vent her anger. Instead, she stood there, an unsteady silhouette, her long hair tossed over her eyes and hiding all emotion. Then she spun around and plopped Indian-style into the center of the tire. She put her face in her hands and, quietly, in the hot darkness of the garage, I heard her start to cry.