you okay?" screamed both sisters at once.
"I’m all right." Dad was puffing hard yet shook off their concern. "But do me a favor and put those seeds in the glove compartment. I don't want them falling every time you get out of the car." He sounded irritated, although it was he who hadn't shifted the van into PARK.
"I thought you had bad knees, Uncle Dawson," said Will. His voice had acquired a manly deepness.
Surprised Will had offered a comment, everyone turned to him.
"In an emergency one tends to forget things like that, Will. But I'll bet I'm going to feel it tomorrow," Dad replied, chuckling. He flexed each leg several times.
Will spun away and leaned against their car as though embarrassed he had spoken. Pierson could now study him without being accused of staring. His coal black hair was straight and thick. Although long and layered, it fell neatly around his head. Will had grown since their last meeting. He was at least a foot taller than Pierson. Under the snug tee shirt, his rigid back was muscled within a well-proportioned physique. Obviously getting into fights was good for body-building.
As if he could feel Pierson gazing at his back, Will suddenly turned. There was tension in the clover green eyes that narrowed to return the stare; a severe crease etched the high forehead. Pierson felt it was a challenge of sorts. Will had pitched the ball, and Pierson knew the next move was up to him. He decided to bunt.
"Well, here we are!" he said, putting his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. He added a toothy grin to complete the picture.
Seemingly disarmed for the moment, Will made a disgusted click with his tongue, pushed past them and headed for the cabin. Aunt Maggie, wringing her hands, cast a pleading glance at her sister and followed him. With the dog leaping and nipping at her heels, Mom took two packages from the van and walked through the doorway.
Dad had the queer smirk on his face he always got when he seemed amused by something he shouldn't be. He winked at Pierson and shook his head. "Let's go inside and see what other surprises are in store for us!"
CHAPTER THREE
"What I did on my summer vacation," recited Pierson to himself, preparing to face the first night of exile. "Against my will I existed in a prison-like cabin, performing hard labor side by side with a fellow inmate who hated me. Adding to my misery was slow starvation. This happened because the guard, alias my mother, could not operate a cast iron stove."
That should be good for an A for originality, thought Pierson, providing I live long enough to write it!
He was hiding out, dreading going up to the loft, the soon-to-be hostile environment he had to share with Will. As primitive as it first appeared, he had to admit the cabin did have a certain coziness. It had only one bedroom and one bathroom, both located off the main room. His parents were lucky; they claimed the bedroom before Pierson found it.
The main room was an ‘L’ shape, part being the kitchen area, part the living area. The loft sported a single window. One reached it by a wooden ladder from the main floor. It housed two platforms, each with a thin mattress. Pierson had gingerly tested his mattress, and it had crunched. He was sure the stuff inside was corn stalks and straw. Will had simply grunted, thrown his duffel bag underneath his bed and flopped down facing the wall. Aunt Maggie had pleaded to sleep on the overstuffed sofa by the big stone fireplace in the main room. She said she enjoyed reading in bed and didn't want to disturb anyone with her light. At the mention of reading, Pierson had rejoiced—there was electricity. He'd had his doubts at first because of the abundance of oil lamps he had seen throughout the room.
Dinner had been an experience. The difficulty in using the cast iron stove clearly shocked Mom. At home she normally nuked everything but, as usual, she took it in stride. However, even her optimism could not help create an edible meal. Unable to adjust the heat properly, she had burned everything. The unrecognizable charcoal pieces found their way into the woods, and dinner had consisted of leftovers in the cooler brought in from the van.
Pierson couldn't believe he was hiding out in the bathroom, but it was the only room with a door other than his parents' bedroom. The alternative was the red shack out back, the one with a small half-moon cut out of the top of its door. Exploration of the shack earlier in the evening proved it had been used for the same purpose as the room he was presently occupying. Thank Heaven Uncle Sam did not consider indoor plumbing too much of a luxury.
He shut the lid on the toilet, sat down, and looked around the tiny room. The tub looked like a soup can cut in half lengthwise, with specially cut blocks of wood placed underneath to keep it from shifting. Two spigots rose from the floor and leaned over the long side. There was no curtain because there was no shower.
"Dad's going to hate this. He's a bear without his morning shower."
A loud bang on the door startled him. He indignantly opened it and stood face to face with Will. The intimidating figure filled the doorway and Pierson felt trapped.
"It's about time you stopped primping," Will said. "Why don't we put a mirror in the outhouse? You could stay there for hours, and no one would care."
"Look, Will, I don't want to fight. I just want to go to bed," Pierson answered.
Will mimicked Pierson in a sticky-sweet voice. "Look, Will, I don't want to fight, I just want to go to bed!” He snorted. “So go to bed. Who's stopping you? But I warn you—if you snore, I'm putting a pillow over your face." He shoved Pierson aside and disappeared into the bathroom.
"And it was nice chatting with you, too!" Pierson said to the closed bathroom door. He turned and saw Aunt Maggie sitting on the sofa. She had obviously heard every word. He smiled and tried to look as if nothing had taken place.
"G'night, Aunt Maggie; I hope you sleep well. G'night, Ma, Dad," he called to his parents, who were in the other half of the L- shaped room, the part jokingly called the kitchen.
"Pierson, would you come here and sit with me for a while?" asked Aunt Maggie quietly. "I want to talk with you."
"Uh...sure," answered Pierson, unable to think of an excuse. He casually walked over to the wooden chair opposite her and sat. Wouldn't do to get too comfortable. He didn't want this to be a long conversation—not with Will coming out of the bathroom any minute.
"Pierson, I'd like to thank you for allowing Will to come this summer. I'm sure it wasn't your idea, even though my sister keeps insisting it was." She leaned closer to him and whispered. "But I'm also sure your mother wouldn't have pressured you if you had had strong objections."
Wrong! Pierson tried not to let his expression change.
"I think," she continued, "this summer will mean a lot to Will, although he doesn't realize it yet. I know it's a gift for me, a time to settle things in order to help and understand Will better." She paused. "You know, Will admires you."
Aunt Maggie caught Pierson off guard with that statement. He had to stifle a laugh and pretended to cough. I'm sure he does. He shows it in so many little ways! Pierson rose, thinking she might end this conversation, but she leaned over and took his hand. "Honey, I'll be leaving tomorrow. I told Will he was here to act as a companion to you, to be with you when your parents went out. He grumbled a bit, but Will has never refused to help when he thought he was needed." She pulled Pierson closer and whispered again. "In truth, it's Will who is in need. He needs a part of family life I can't give him right now." She put her hand on his arm. "I know the time spent with you and your family
