The Old Wheel, page 12
part #2 of The Adventures of Holloway Holmes Series
The knock at the door made me swipe at my face and clear my throat. “Come in.”
Light from the hallway silhouetted Dad. “You ok, buddy?”
“Yeah.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he stepped into the room, closed the door, and crossed to the bed. He stumbled a few times, nickel-and-dime swears escaping him as he tripped on clothes. Finally, though, he reached me, and he sat on the edge of the mattress.
“So, what?” I asked. “Is he arresting me for obstruction of justice?”
“Uh, no,” Dad said, and his tone was strange—almost amused. “He asked if he could get you a sandwich.”
“A sandwich?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he get me a sandwich?”
Dad laughed softly, and after a moment I laughed too.
The silence sharpened to a point. In an unbearably kind voice, Dad said, “Jack—”
“I’m fine. Honest. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I don’t—I don’t need anything, I guess. I don’t need a sandwich.”
But this time, Dad didn’t laugh.
“I just—it was a lot today.”
“I’m sure it was.”
The next moment, and the next, and the one after that—they took on a new edge. I rolled to face the wall.
“I won’t force you to see someone,” Dad finally said. “But I’m worried, Jack. What if next time, you run and you don’t have a friend with you? What if you can’t take care of yourself because you’re upset, and it means you make a mistake?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Not to mention you don’t have a driver’s license, which don’t think I’ve forgotten. You’re an amazing human being, and you’re the best son anyone’s ever had, and God knows you’ve been through more than what some people deal with in their whole lives. But nobody’s made of steel.”
I shrugged.
His tone became unreadable again. “I’ve been thinking about talking to someone.”
I flopped onto my back again to look up at him.
“Now that we have insurance,” he said.
He was nothing more than a shape in the darkness. I thought about the nights he stayed up watching TV. I thought about all those nights alone.
“Oh no,” he said with that same soft laugh. “Wipe that look off your face, my son. I don’t need you worrying about me; it’s my job to worry about you. I’m telling you that because I hope it’ll help you realize that there’s nothing wrong with, I don’t know, talking to someone. With needing a little help.”
“I’m fine, Dad. I promise. It was—I mean, it’s not like I get shot at every day, you know?”
He was silent so long that I thought it was coming again, another of those homing missiles of kindness and compassion, and this one would be too much and blow my self-control to hell. But all he said was, “Your friend is still here, if you want to see him.”
“H?”
“Detective Rivera said he’d be happy to talk to you later. He left after finishing his conversation with your friend.”
“But H is still here?”
“That boy—” Dad stopped. “It was like trying to get a very polite boulder to move. ‘Yes, sir. No, sir. I’d prefer to wait for Jack, Mr. Moreno.’”
I groaned. “He’s such a nerd.”
“You’re still in trouble for taking the truck without asking, and for driving with only your permit, and more importantly, for lying. We have each other, Jack. That’s all, in the whole world. We have to be able to trust each other.”
I blinked through the sting in my eyes and nodded.
“But your friend can stay for a little while,” Dad said.
My throat was tight. “Thanks.”
I thought he smiled in the dark. “I’d have to get a backhoe otherwise.”
“Thanks, Dad. Thank you.”
“Until eight.”
I half sat up. “Eight?”
“Eight,” he said firmly. “Give me a hug.”
So, I sat up the rest of the way and gave him a hug, and if he noticed I was still crying a little, he didn’t say anything. He hugged me until I let go, and then he ruffled my hair and eased himself up from the bed. A couple of sweaters and loose sneakers tried to take him down on his way out, and when he got to the door, he opened it and said, “And pick up your room, please. This is turning into a biohazard.” Down the hall, he said, “Go on in.”
Holmes said, “Thank you, Mr. Moreno,” and his steps came toward my room.
I scooted to the edge of the mattress and sat there, pulling off Holmes’s borrowed chukkas. A moment, later, Holmes appeared in the doorway. He studied me from the doorway.
“See?” I said. “I’m totally fine. No schizo break. No psychotic episodes. Only a hysterical meltdown.”
“A psychotic episode does not entail—” He stopped and bit the corner of his mouth; his lip was raw from him worrying it.
“I’m fine. I didn’t expect—I don’t know, it just hit me.”
Holmes nodded.
“Thanks for, you know, waiting.”
“You’re my friend.”
I cocked him a smile and rolled my eyes.
After a quick glance out into the hall, Holmes eased the door shut—quietly, so that my dad wouldn’t hear the latch catching. “Jack, Emma didn’t tell Rivera why we approached her. She said we had joined them for their self-defense practice.”
“Huh.” I started to unbutton the oxford. “Why?”
Holmes was trying not to look at me, but his eyes kept sliding back. “That’s an excellent question.”
After shucking the oxford, I undid the waistband of the chinos. “She didn’t want Rivera to know about the blackmail.”
“Jack, you have to wait—”
“You already saw me in my boxers once today.” I kicked free of the chinos and padded around the room, trying to find something to wear. “And you’ve seen me buckass before.”
Cheeks red, Holmes faced the door. Then he folded his arms. Then he curved his shoulders.
“Maybe she doesn’t want Rivera to know about it because she’s involved.” I snagged a pair of cutoff sweats and hiked them up. “I mean, she was believable when she told me she wanted to be left alone, but maybe she’s a really good liar.” I found a Stream Queens tee and a hoodie, wriggled into them, and said, “Ok, I’m decent.”
Holmes cast a single, burning look over his shoulder. “Socks.”
“Seriously?”
“Socks, Jack.”
I found a pair of socks and pulled them on. “What do you think?”
“I think that it’s unusual for someone to lie to the police unless they have something to hide. And I think it’s even more unusual if they’ve been the target of attempted murder.”
“Ok. So, she goes back on the list of suspects.”
“You should wear pants in the winter.”
“I almost got blown up today. And shot. That means I can wear shorts.”
“What logic—”
“Do you want to wear shorts? You can borrow a pair.”
His face caught fire again. “No.”
“All right then; we’re both happy.”
Holmes looked distinctly unhappy about my choice of—bottom? That sounded weirdly sexual. My choice of shorts, I guess. But he didn’t press the issue, and when Dad called, “Sous chef, you’re up,” we trudged out to the kitchen.
“Since I got shot at today—” I tried.
“No,” Dad said and slid an onion, knife, and cutting board toward me.
I sighed. “It was worth a try.”
“I’d be happy to help, Mr. Moreno,” Holmes said.
“Thank you, but it’s Jack’s responsibility—”
“Dad, H wants to help. He’d feel more comfortable helping. Right, H? And, I mean, he’s a guest, and I’ve had such a hard day.”
“No—” Dad tried again.
But Holmes had already taken the knife and was trimming the onion. His movements were as precise and controlled as anything else he did.
Dad gave me a look. And then, in case I’d missed the nonverbal your ass is toast, he looked at Holmes and then back at me.
“Great,” I said. “I’ll let you guys get to work. Anybody want a beer?”
“Funny,” Dad said and elbowed me away from the fridge.
I dropped onto the couch and took out my phone. Dad had a basketball game on—BYU at San Diego State—and combined with the chopping and sizzling and occasional quietly exchanged word, it made for pleasant background noise. I messaged Ariana a couple of times, but she didn’t reply, so I gave up and started down the various internet rabbit holes that were always waiting for me.
In the time that I’d been out of school, I’d tried—with more or less effort, at various points—to make sure I was still learning. Not falling too far behind kids my age. Not getting stupid. And two big parts of that had been YouTube, which had videos on everything, and Wikipedia, which had articles on everything.
I liked reading the article of the day on Wikipedia, even though sometimes they were stubs and sometimes they were way too long and a lot of the time, they were super boring. But they made me think about things I’d never thought about before, and I figured that had to be good for something. Today’s was about Mount Takahe, which was—I learned—a shield volcano in Antarctica. It had parasitic vents (ok, I admit, I had to click that one because the name was too good), and the volcano’s name referred to a flightless bird (a takahe, which apparently lives in New Zealand).
Oh, parasitic vents? Not as cool as they sounded.
I’d followed the link to the takahe, which was wild—Europeans thought it was extinct because they could only find fossils of it, but then they found a few birds, and then the birds died and they thought it was really extinct, and then, a lot later, they found them again. Oh, and then one of the two subspecies did go extinct. So, you know.
When the conversation began in the kitchen, I pricked up my ears. I couldn’t help it.
“How are your classes going?” my dad asked over the sizzle of ground beef in the frying pan.
“Very well, thank you,” Holmes said.
“And how’s your family?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“And how are you adjusting to Walker?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“He gets stuck in a loop sometimes,” I called without looking up from my phone. “Ask him why In-N-Out is better than Burgers Supreme.”
Over the top of my phone, I didn’t miss my dad and Holmes giving me identically scary glares.
A lull opened, and the sounds of the basketball game filtered in. Then Holmes said, “I’m very grateful I met Jack, Mr. Moreno. He is a good friend.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” my dad said.
“If I’m not mistaken, you may have some reservations about our friendship because of the events that transpired today and, of course, in light of everything that happened in September.”
“Well,” Dad began.
“I’d like to offer you my personal assurance that nothing will happen to Jack.”
It was kind of nice seeing it happen to someone else, when they clearly had no idea how to respond to the stuff that came out of Holmes’s mouth.
“While my own resources are limited,” Holmes said into the void, “I promise you they are fully dedicated to keeping Jack safe.”
“That’s nice,” Dad mumbled. In a louder voice, he said, “Jack, did you talk to Ariana?” At the same volume, he said to Holmes, “You’ve met Ariana, haven’t you? She’s a great girl. She’s fantastic. Jack did good.”
“I understand this conversation may be uncomfortable because the topic is sensitive,” Holmes said, “but it’s important to me that you know that I value Jack’s safety as much as you do.”
“Thank you,” Dad said, and the cringe was so epic that I actually squirmed down into the sofa cushions, grinning and pulling up my phone to hide my face. “These days,” Dad said in that same cringiest voice, “I’m more worried about Jack failing chemistry.”
I was still jackassing around, laughing at the two of them, and so I realized what had happened too late.
“I’m excellent at chemistry,” Holmes said.
“No,” I said, trying to sit up and finding myself swamped in the cushions.
“Oh yeah?” Dad said, and for the first time in their history, he looked at Holmes with interest.
“No,” I said. The cushions were still sucking me down. “He’s terrible at chemistry. He doesn’t even know an atom from a—a—a—from a quark.”
Dad and Holmes gave me identical disparaging looks.
“How much do you charge?” Dad asked.
“Mr. Moreno, I’ve already been helping Jack with his homework. There’s no need—”
“Nope, we can’t afford you,” I said. I finally managed to roll off the sofa. I landed on the floor, true, but a moment later I sprang to my feet. In the process, somehow, I had lost a sock. “You heard him, Dad, he’s super expensive.”
“In a minute, Jack,” he said in the tone that meant he hadn’t heard me. “I can pay you in Hamburger Helper, but you’d probably get better food at the dining hall.”
“Yes, that’s a great idea,” I said. “H, you go get some grub at the dining hall, and—”
“I accept,” Holmes said over me.
Dad gave the Hamburger Helper an overenthusiastic stir. “Great. Since my son isn’t leaving the house again, possibly ever, you can start tonight.”
“Excellent.”
“I don’t think you two have thought this through—” I tried to say while also looking for the sock. “H is so busy, and on top of that, um, what would people think?”
“Give it up, buddy,” Dad said.
“It’s under the pillow at the far end of the couch,” Holmes said in what he clearly considered a helpful tone.
Since Holmes had betrayed me and my father had apparently been indoctrinated by a helicopter-parent cult while my back was turned, I freed my sock from where it was trapped at the end of the couch, yanked it on, and glared at both of them.
“You should have seen him when we made him try the violin,” Dad said to Holmes, and for some reason, both of them started to laugh. Even Holmes. Who never laughs at any of my jokes.
“I’m going to my room,” I announced. “I don’t even want any Hamburger Helper.”
“Set the table, please,” my dad said.
“I’ll help you,” Holmes said. “And you’ve put your sock on backward.”
“You can’t put a sock on backward,” I not-shouted at the back of his head, but I did turn it around so the stitching at the end was above my toes. “It only has one hole.”
I don’t know what my dad said, but it made both of them burst out laughing again.
“Traitors,” I said.
“Why don’t you call Ariana?” Dad asked. “See if she wants to come up for dinner.”
“We’ll be done with dinner by the time she gets here.” I took the plates from Holmes and laid them out on the counter. We didn’t have a dining table, so setting the table meant making sure there were enough clean plates and flatware and then laying them out on the counter. “And she wouldn’t gang up on me like the two of you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Dad said to Holmes. “One of the things I like about her is she doesn’t let him get away with anything.”
Holmes made a noise that could have meant anything as he laid out the forks.
“Anyway,” I said—at a not-shout volume—“I thought I was grounded, so she can’t come over.”
“Did I say you were grounded?”
It seemed safer not to answer that question.
Dad divided the Hamburger Helper across the three plates—it was called crunchy taco, or something like that, if anything can be crunchy after it’s been steaming and simmering on the stove for twenty minutes—and we ate in the living room area.
Holmes, as usual, picked at his food.
“Can I get you something else?” Dad asked.
I snorted. “We don’t have anything else. He’s fine.”
“I really am fine, Mr. Moreno.”
“He hasn’t taken two bites,” Dad said.
“It’s because he’s a pillhead.” I saw the look on Dad’s face and hurried to add, “That was a joke. He’s on ADHD medicine, and it affects his appetite.”
“Oh.”
I portioned off some of what Dad had given Holmes, pointed to it so that Holmes couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen it, and scraped the rest of his Hamburger Helper onto my plate.
Holmes opened his mouth.
“Yes, all of it,” I said.
He shut his mouth and began eating what I’d left him.
I looked up in time to see something strange on Dad’s face, but it was gone as soon as I noticed it, and then I wasn’t sure—maybe I’d imagined it.
When we’d finished, Dad said, “Maybe Ariana can come over for dinner on Sunday.”
Holmes slid to his feet and began collecting plates. “I’ll wash up.”
“Help your friend.”
“You heard him,” I said as I kicked my feet up onto Holmes’s recently vacated spot. I took out my phone. “He wants to do it. He loves things that are clean.” Which wasn’t the exact same thing as loving the cleaning process itself, but I didn’t want to get into that.
“Jack.”
“I’ll do them tomorrow. H, don’t do those.”
“Jack Sixsmith Moreno.”
I swore under my breath as I swung my feet down again.
“What was that?”
“I’m just so happy I have a helpful friend.”
Dad tried for a hardass look, but he was also trying not to smile, and they canceled each other out.
Holmes and I cleaned up, and before I could do anything smart like jump straight through a window or slam my head in the refrigerator door a few times, he said, “We should probably get to work on that chemistry now.”
