Chapter One: Billy
Patch jumped up and balanced on his hind legs. He hopped, paws thudding a drumbeat on the faded blue linoleum floor. His kangaroo nose sniffed the dog food bag on the countertop back out of reach. Carol Moreno held a biscuit in her hand. “Only one more biscuit, so stop begging,” she scolded. The dog danced in a circle, lifted paws toward her and barked. Patch seldom barked. “Patch, you take care of my boys.” She tossed him the third biscuit and the dog snapped his teeth on the morsel. Bad weather kept the boys and dog in-doors all week. They deserved a break before school started. She deserved a break. The boys and Patch planned a four-day campout. She turned back to the sink and looked out the window. She watched the boys check backpacks on the front porch while she finished drying the breakfast bowls. Oatmeal with cinnamon was everyone’s favorite. If Allen were here he would go camping with the boys and she wouldn’t worry. If Allen were here, he would be all smiles; he loved the rugged outdoors. If Allen were only here. After Allen’s death she forbid her sons to camp alone. Last year she relinquished her restriction. This year she couldn’t refuse because they proved themselves last year. They were good boys. Good campers. Well trained by Allen. “They will be fine, God watch over them.” Carol whispered a prayer. Patch placed one paw on the countertop and looked around for any scraps. Carol was a slender woman and barely out weighed Patch. She tilted her head and looked eye-to-eye with the dog. “Down, Patch. You know better.” Half his time he spent sleeping under the kitchen table; half his time he spent trolling after the boys. The dog whined and obediently removed the big paw from the countertop. “Watch out for my boys, Patch.” She tousled the fur on the back of his neck. “Time to go camping.” She picked up the two cooler bags on the table. Hotdogs, tuna, and bologna cooled by a dry ice packet. Enough food for four days. They would eat fish one day. Two thick slabs of leftover meatloaf in foil insured against failure to catch trout, an unlikely possibility. Mustard, catsup and mayonnaise mini-packs she’d filched from Cindy’s Café. Cool-aid, oatmeal and cocoa were in the bags side pocket. Rolls and bread were stashed in the backpacks. The coolers had shoulder straps for carrying. A sack of apples was attached to Karl’s pack. She knew they would eat wild berries all day long. They both loved apples and would appreciate the alternative. Patch followed her out the front door. Carol stifled a laugh. The dog’s walk was funny. He had a particular waddle to his walk. His body rolled out like a caterpillar humps. The tail kept perfect meter to his steps. The rump wiggled. He loped like a wolf at his faster pace, which he seldom used. “You boys, ready to be going? You leave your room in good order?” Carol shot questions at her sons. “Yes, mom.” Karl and Davy responded simultaneously. “And set out the trash?” “Yes… Yes.” Slight delay between replies. “Brush your teeth?” “Ah, mom.” Two groans. Carol laughed. Davy stuck his diving mask inside his backpack. He liked to look underwater in the river. He loved to swim. Karl, the oldest boy, he loved to fish. “You stay out of the rapids.” She remembered a long ago campout. She remembered the boy’s chests and legs, all cuts and bruises. We were bodysurfing the rapids, they explained. Never again, she warned. They were lucky they didn’t lose the family jewels, Allen had said. “You boys have books to read on the campout?” “Mom, we’ve read all summer long,” Karl said. “Give us a break.” “You have to read to get to college. Take this book. CAMPER’S BIBLE, your dad’s favorite. Teach you a few new camping tricks.” Tucked into the book were three new comics. Davy’s passion. He had a growing collection. Karl owned baseball cards. The boys were collectors like Allen. Allen’s baseball card collection was locked in a safety deposit box. Karl took the book and stuffed it in his backpack. “We’ll probably just skip stones.” Karl sometimes felt he was a five-year-old child in his mom’s eyes. “Looks like you’re all ready. Weather still might turn ugly.” Carol shaded her eyes and looked south at the lumpy clouds. The summer months were unusually dry. The northwest needed the rain. The storm last week was a blessing. “We waited for the weather, mom. A week of storms. Now, the isolated thunderstorm will pass in an hour. Perfect fishing weather,” Davy said and cinched the straps on his backpack. “Weatherman says nasty thunderstorms south of us. Compared to last week’s storm, the passing thunderhead will seem friendly. Especially if they miss us by a friendly mile. You boys will be fine. No foul weather. I’ll give you a ride over to Andy’s house in Stayton.” “He’s picking us up, mom.” Karl lied to his mother and felt immediate remorse. He adverted his eyes, checking the straps on his backpack. It was best his mother remained in the dark about her sons travel plans. “I can save him some gas money. “Hop in the truck.” She looked at her watch. “Let’s go boys.” “Really, mom. Andy don’t mind. He’s probably on his way. Besides, you’d have to double back, maybe be late for work.” Karl smiled, hiding his impatience. “Okay, okay. You’re on your own.” She leaned forward and kissed Davy on the cheek. She gave Karl a hug, barely able to wrap her arms around his chest. He kissed her cheek. “We’ll be safe, mom, promise.”
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