"It was my idea, Mom, not his."
"And I'm sure your heart was in the right place," she said, "but it was still a lie, technically speaking. Providing false information, or whatever. It's a serious matter, honey-"
"I know."
"-and it's just, well, your father and I don't want to see you get in trouble. Even for the sake of a friend."
Roy raised himself up on one elbow. "He would've run away before he'd give out his real name, and I couldn't let that happen. He was sick. He needed to see a doctor."
"I understand. Believe me, I do."
"They were asking him all kinds of nosy questions, Mom, and meanwhile he's about to keel over from the fever," Roy said. "Maybe what I did was wrong, but I'd do it all over again if I had to. I mean it."
Roy expected a mild rebuke, but his mother only smiled. Smoothing the blanket with both hands, she said, "Honey, sometimes you're going to be faced with situations where the line isn't clear between what's right and what's wrong. Your heart will tell you to do one thing, and your brain will tell you to do something different. In the end, all that's left is to look at both sides and go with your best judgment."
Well, thought Roy, that's sort of what I did.
"This boy," his mother said, "why wouldn't he give out his real name? And why did he run away from the hospital like that?"
Mullet Fingers had escaped through a window in the women's restroom, next door to the X-ray department. He left his torn green shirt dangling from the antenna of Officer David Delinko's patrol car, which was parked outside the emergency room.
"He probably ran," Roy said, "because he was afraid somebody would call his mom."
"So?"
"So, she doesn't want him anymore. She'll have him locked up at the juvenile hall."
"What?"
"His mom sent him off to military school," Roy explained, "and now she doesn't want him back. She said so herself, in front of Beatrice."
Roy's mother cocked her head, as if she wasn't sure that she'd heard him correctly. "His mom doesn't want him?"
Roy saw something flash in her eyes. He wasn't certain if it was sorrow or anger-or both.
"She doesn't want him?" his mother repeated.
Roy nodded somberly.
"Oh, my," she said.
The words came out so softly that Roy was startled. He heard pain in his mother's voice, and he felt bad for telling her that part of Mullet Fingers' story.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Roy said. "I love you."
"I love you, too, honey."
She kissed his cheek and tucked in the sheets one more time. As she was shutting his door, he saw her hesitate and turn back to look at him.
"We're proud of you, Roy. You need to know that. Your father and I are both extremely proud."
"Did Dad tell you about the owls?"
"Yes, he told me. It's too bad."
"What should I do?"
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing," Roy said, sinking into his pillow. "G'night, Mom."
She'd already answered the question, anyway. All he had to do was settle the argument between his heart and his brain.
FOURTEEN
Luckily the next day was Saturday, so Roy didn't have to get up early to catch the school bus.
As he sat down for breakfast, the phone rang. It was Garrett. He'd never before called Roy, but now he wanted him to go skateboarding at the outlet mall.
"I don't have a skateboard, remember?" Roy said.
"That's okay. I got an extra."
"No thanks. I can't make it today."
The true reason that Garrett had called was, of course, to find out what had happened to Dana Matherson at Trace Middle.
"Dude, somebody tied him to a flagpole!"
"Wasn't me," said Roy. On this topic he couldn't talk freely in front of his parents.
"Then who? And how?" Garrett demanded.
"No comment," said Roy, echoing Mullet Fingers.
"Aw, come on, Eberhardt!"
"See you Monday."
After breakfast his father drove him to the bicycle shop to pick up his new tire, and by noon Roy was fully mobile again. An address for "L. B. Leep" was listed in the phone book, and Roy had no difficulty locating the house. It was on West Oriole Avenue, the same street as the bus stop where he'd first spotted the running boy.
In the Leep driveway sat a dented old Suburban and a shiny new Camaro convertible. Roy leaned his bike against the mailbox post and hurried up the sidewalk. He heard voices bickering inside the house, and he hoped it was only a TV show with the volume turned up.
After three firm knocks, the door swung open and there stood Leon Leep, all six feet nine inches of him. He wore baggy red gym shorts and a sleeveless mesh jersey that exposed a pale kettle-sized belly. Leon looked as if he hadn't spent five minutes in the exercise room since retiring from pro basketball; all that remained of his NBA physique was his height.
Roy tilted back on his heels in order to see Leon's face. His expression was perturbed and preoccupied.
"Beatrice home?" Roy asked.
"Yeah, but she's kinda busy right now."
"Only take a minute," Roy said. "It's about school."
"Oh. School," said Leon, as if he'd forgotten where his daughter went five days a week. With a curious grunt, he lumbered off.
A moment later, Beatrice appeared. She looked stressed.
"Can I come in?" Roy asked.
"No," she whispered. "It's a bad time."
"Then can you come out?"
"Nuh-uh." Beatrice glanced anxiously behind her.
"You heard what happened at the hospital?"
She nodded. "Sorry I didn't get back in time to help."
"Is your brother okay?" Roy asked.
"Better than he was," said Beatrice.
"Who's there? Who is that?" demanded a chilly voice from the hallway.
"Just a friend."
"A boy?"
"Yeah, a boy," Beatrice said, rolling her eyes for Roy's benefit.
A woman not much taller than Beatrice materialized in the doorway behind her. She had a sharp nose, beady, suspicious eyes, and a wild fountain of curly auburn hair. Blue smoke curled from a cigarette poised in glittering fingertips.
It could only be Lonna, the mother of Mullet Fingers.
"Who're you?" she asked.
"My name's Roy."
"What do you want, Roy?" Lonna took a noisy drag off the cigarette.
"It's about school," Beatrice said.
"Yeah, well, it's Saturday," said Lonna.
Roy gave it a try. "I'm really sorry to bother you, Mrs. Leep. Beatrice and I are doing a science project together-"
"Not today, you're not," Lonna cut him off. "Miz Beatrice here will be busy cleanin' the house. And the kitchen. And the bathrooms. And anything else I can think of."
Roy believed Lonna was skating on thin ice. Beatrice was obviously the stronger of the two, and she was seething mad. Lonna might have softened her tone had she seen what her stepdaughter's teeth had done to Roy's bicycle tire.
"Maybe tomorrow," Beatrice said to Roy, her jaw set grimly.
"Sure. Whatever." He backed down the steps.
"We'll see about 'tomorrow.'" Lonna's voice was snide and croaky. "Next time, call first," she grumped at Roy. "Ever heard of a telephone?"
As Roy rode away on his bike, he pondered the possibility that Mullet Fingers was better off roaming the woods than living at home with a witch for a mother. Roy wondered what made a grownup turn out so ill-tempered and obnoxious. It wouldn't have surprised him if one day Beatrice literally chewed Lonna's head off.
His next stop was Dana Matherson's house, where another shaky example of motherhood lived. Roy had a feeling that Dana's father was no prize, either, and it was he who answered the door. Roy had expected another Neanderthal hulk, but Mr. Matherson was thin and jittery and unhealthy-looking.