Me & Jack by Danette Haworth

Author:Danette Haworth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Walker Books
Published: 2011-08-21T04:00:00+00:00

chapter 17

We sat on the beach at Harveys Lake, sand crunching into our shorts because we didn’t have a blanket or even towels. When we headed out, Dad just wanted to drive; we didn’t know where we’d end up. At least he’d thought to change out of his air force clothes.

Jack lifted his nose in the air, sniffing different gusts. The fishy odor of the lake, the buttery popcorn scent from the concession stand, and the whiff of hot dogs breezed over us—a smorgasbord that smelled like summer.

Towels carpeted the beach. Brightly colored umbrellas looked like happy mushrooms sticking out of the sand. So many people laughing, playing, splashing in the water. Jack yanked at the leash. No sitting around for him.

“You want to go for a walk?” I asked.

He barked and jumped in answer.

“Dad?”

“Yep.” He pushed himself up and dusted off his shorts. He always looked younger out of his uniform, especially in shorts and a T-shirt. Sometimes people thought he was my bachelor uncle instead of my dad.

As we walked, I kept Jack close by. We stuck to the loose, white sand, away from the actual shoreline so as not to bother people. Jack zigzagged on the leash like a divining rod—nothing was getting by him. He’d smell every smell on this beach before we left. I grinned, but when I looked up at Dad, I saw he was lost in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” I bet I knew.

He shrugged.

We passed a huge building with white letters on the roof: SANDY BEACH. Good thing they spelled it out for me—I never would’ve known. Jack snarfed up the ketchupy leftover of someone’s hamburger without even stopping. His ears were erect, his step bouncy.

Dad sighed as we passed under the shade of the building. “I’ll be going to the funeral.”

I’d been to only one funeral, and I always tried not to think of it. Not to think of all the other ladies crying, not to think of the pastor who spoke but didn’t really know my mom. Not to think of her body lying there with everyone staring at her. Her favorite flowers rested on top of her coffin. Dad had bought them. She would have liked that, everyone said. No, she wouldn’t, I wanted to yell. It means she’s dead.

When someone dies, it’s weird because then there’s a kind of party afterward. People eat and some drink beer and then they actually tell stories and laugh. Laugh—while you sit there knowing that even right now, a hoist is lowering your mother into the grave. A backhoe is pushing dirt over her. I swiped at my eyes. I must have gotten some sand in them. “I’ll go with you,” I said to Dad.

He didn’t argue.

Jack pulled us along. Speedboats zipped out on the lake. The farther away we got from the building and paddleboats, the less populated the beach became. The arches of my feet were getting sore from pushing through the sand.

Dad pointed to some patchy grass and a lone tree.

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