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Authors: W. Bruce Cameron
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thinking of you as a food source and will follow you home,” I warned. “A grizzly can kill a man with a single swipe of his paw—you’ve seen his teeth, his claws? The only safe thing to do is to stay as far away from that bear as you can.”
But there was no one there to give eighth-grade Charlie Hall that sort of advice.
That day I made four trips up to the pole barn, returning each time laden with frozen dinners the bear crunched up as soon as I pried them out of their pans. Each time I came back the bear was wading around in the water, jumping fruitlessly on fish I couldn’t even see.
“You probably ought to give up on trying to catch a fish. It doesn’t look like it’s working out for you,” I told him.
The bear gave me a look that I swear contained a little bit of irritation. I decided to let him go about his business without the commentary.
After I handed over a cheese-and-noodle dish that rained macaroni like little dried-up worms when the bear bit into it, I told him that maybe that should do it for the day.
“I don’t know that my dad won’t notice if I keep giving you stuff at this rate,” I explained apologetically.
I figured there must have been something in my tone that the bear understood, because we stood there regarding each other for a minute and then he lumbered off. When I yelled, “Bye!” at him he did not look back.
I was in a good mood when I walked in the house, totally unprepared for the expression on my father’s face. He was standing in the kitchen by the sink.
“Hi, Dad,” I said cheerfully, unaware. “Did you finish rebuilding the corral?”
“Charlie,” my father said gravely. He held up the pan that had contained the lunch that Yvonne had made for the bear. A little of the slimy casserole still clung to the sides—I’d been planning to wash it when I got around to it.
“What’s this?”
Uh-oh.
chapter
SEVEN
“YVONNE called a minute ago to tell me I should put this in the oven for half an hour and then it’d be ready.” My dad set the pan in the sink and then crossed his arms, facing me. “You want to tell me what you did with our dinner?”
“I put it in a bag and threw it away,” I said, which, though not the exact truth, was practically truth’s identical twin. Or similar-looking cousin, anyway.
“Why did you do that?”
“Dad, it was tuna noodle. ” What more defense did a man need?
My dad regarded me gravely. I fidgeted under his gaze. He drew in a deep breath and let it out as a whistle through his nose.
“Sit down, Son,” he said to me. We settled in at the kitchen table and he stared at me, searching for words. The fact that he was wrestling with what to say caused me to feel a rising dread. This was going to be about more than just kidnapping a casserole. Suddenly I flashed on what life would be like if Yvonne were sleeping down the hall from me in Mom and Dad’s room, if Yvonne cooked dinner at Mom’s stove, if Yvonne stopped in to try to give me a kiss every night.
If that happens, I decided to myself, I will run away. I would run away with Kay, who had a driver’s license. We would drive to some place in Canada, where it would probably be legal for us to get married—it was Canada where they let people do whatever they wanted because it was too cold to bother stopping them.
“Charlie, when a man…” He reconsidered and started over, correcting himself. “Charlie, there are things a man needs.…”
I stared at him in alarm. We weren’t seriously going to talk about this, were we?
“Everyone thinks of me as being this lonely man who needs to have a woman around. They respect your mother, but they feel that time enough has passed and that I should have someone like Yvonne in my life, someone I can…” He sighed again. “So I’m really sort of helpless, here. I don’t really like Yvonne. She’s fine; don’t get me wrong. But I don’t like her in the girlfriend sense of the word.” He shook his head in wonder.
But there was no one there to give eighth-grade Charlie Hall that sort of advice.
That day I made four trips up to the pole barn, returning each time laden with frozen dinners the bear crunched up as soon as I pried them out of their pans. Each time I came back the bear was wading around in the water, jumping fruitlessly on fish I couldn’t even see.
“You probably ought to give up on trying to catch a fish. It doesn’t look like it’s working out for you,” I told him.
The bear gave me a look that I swear contained a little bit of irritation. I decided to let him go about his business without the commentary.
After I handed over a cheese-and-noodle dish that rained macaroni like little dried-up worms when the bear bit into it, I told him that maybe that should do it for the day.
“I don’t know that my dad won’t notice if I keep giving you stuff at this rate,” I explained apologetically.
I figured there must have been something in my tone that the bear understood, because we stood there regarding each other for a minute and then he lumbered off. When I yelled, “Bye!” at him he did not look back.
I was in a good mood when I walked in the house, totally unprepared for the expression on my father’s face. He was standing in the kitchen by the sink.
“Hi, Dad,” I said cheerfully, unaware. “Did you finish rebuilding the corral?”
“Charlie,” my father said gravely. He held up the pan that had contained the lunch that Yvonne had made for the bear. A little of the slimy casserole still clung to the sides—I’d been planning to wash it when I got around to it.
“What’s this?”
Uh-oh.
chapter
SEVEN
“YVONNE called a minute ago to tell me I should put this in the oven for half an hour and then it’d be ready.” My dad set the pan in the sink and then crossed his arms, facing me. “You want to tell me what you did with our dinner?”
“I put it in a bag and threw it away,” I said, which, though not the exact truth, was practically truth’s identical twin. Or similar-looking cousin, anyway.
“Why did you do that?”
“Dad, it was tuna noodle. ” What more defense did a man need?
My dad regarded me gravely. I fidgeted under his gaze. He drew in a deep breath and let it out as a whistle through his nose.
“Sit down, Son,” he said to me. We settled in at the kitchen table and he stared at me, searching for words. The fact that he was wrestling with what to say caused me to feel a rising dread. This was going to be about more than just kidnapping a casserole. Suddenly I flashed on what life would be like if Yvonne were sleeping down the hall from me in Mom and Dad’s room, if Yvonne cooked dinner at Mom’s stove, if Yvonne stopped in to try to give me a kiss every night.
If that happens, I decided to myself, I will run away. I would run away with Kay, who had a driver’s license. We would drive to some place in Canada, where it would probably be legal for us to get married—it was Canada where they let people do whatever they wanted because it was too cold to bother stopping them.
“Charlie, when a man…” He reconsidered and started over, correcting himself. “Charlie, there are things a man needs.…”
I stared at him in alarm. We weren’t seriously going to talk about this, were we?
“Everyone thinks of me as being this lonely man who needs to have a woman around. They respect your mother, but they feel that time enough has passed and that I should have someone like Yvonne in my life, someone I can…” He sighed again. “So I’m really sort of helpless, here. I don’t really like Yvonne. She’s fine; don’t get me wrong. But I don’t like her in the girlfriend sense of the word.” He shook his head in wonder.
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