Read Online Wish by Barbara O'Connor - Free Book Online

smelled like grass and sawdust and gasoline all mixed together.
    â€œHey, there,” he said, and his big booming voice bounced around that little garage, practically shaking the saws and shovels right off the walls.
    I’d seen him at church, mopping his sweaty face with a handkerchief while he belted out “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” but I’d never talked to him. While most folks were drinking coffee and chitchatting in the fellowship hall, Mr. Odom and some of the other men were outside inspecting each other’s truck engines or watching teenagers play basketball in the parking lot.
    â€œWell, look at you,” he said to me. “You know, you are the spitting image of your mama.”
    My mama?
    I hadn’t expected that .
    â€œI am?” I asked.
    â€œYou sure are. Look just like her.”
    â€œYou mean Bertha?” I said.
    â€œNaw, Carla,” he said. “Your mama.”
    â€œYou know her?”
    â€œDon’t really know her,” he said. “Only seen her a time or two.”
    â€œIn Raleigh, you mean?”
    â€œNaw, up yonder at Gus and Bertha’s.” He brushed sawdust off the front of his shirt. “Seems like just yesterday, but I reckon it wasn’t,” he said.
    â€œOh,” was all I could think of to say, but my mind was racing. When had Mama been at Gus and Bertha’s? How come nobody’d ever told me that?
    â€œOld Howie here has been talking about you nonstop,” he said, winking at Howard.
    I felt my cheeks burn.
    Then Mr. Odom said, “So, y’all gonna catch that mangy old hound, are you?”
    â€œYessir.”
    â€œThat mutt’s a rascal. I can tell you that. Been chased away from every chicken coop and garbage can in Colby.”
    â€œHis name is Wishbone,” Howard said.
    Mr. Odom chuckled. “Well, that’s a fine name.”
    â€œHe likes me,” I said.
    â€œCharlie’s gonna keep him,” Howard said. “But we have to catch him first.”
    So Mr. Odom showed us how to staple chicken wire to wood and how to screw on hinges for a door, and before long, we had a trap perfect for catching a dog. When Burl got home from his job pumping gas, he helped us load the trap into the back of his truck and drove us to Gus and Bertha’s. My thoughts kept flitting around all over the place, sometimes thinking about Wishbone and sometimes thinking about Mama being up there at Gus and Bertha’s. But Burl played the radio so loud none of my flitting thoughts had a chance to settle down in one place.
    When we got to Gus and Bertha’s, we set the trap up over by the bushes at the edge of the yard. While me and Howard gathered leaves and branches to stick through the chicken wire, Bertha kept Burl busy with all her questions.
    Did he think his mama would like some pickled okra from the garden when it was ready?
    Was Lenny still in the marching band?
    Had his grandmama had that hip surgery yet?
    Burl said, “Yes, ma’am,” “No, ma’am,” “Yes, ma’am.”
    Finally me and Howard finished and, I swear, you couldn’t hardly even see that trap nestled there in the bushes. I ran inside the house and got the pie tin of table scraps I’d been saving. A piece of bacon. A biscuit. Some tuna noodle casserole. I pushed the pie tin way back up into the corner of the trap and said, “Okay, now all we have to do is wait.”

 
    Twelve
    Me and Howard waited and waited but Wishbone never showed up. Gus had come outside a couple of times and sat with us, chewing on a toothpick and stroking the scrawny black cat curled up in his lap. Every now and then, Bertha would stick her head out of the front door and call out, “Catch him yet?”
    We’d put our fingers to our lips and shush her and she’d slap her hand over her mouth and go, “Oops. Sorry.”
    When the sun began to disappear behind the mountains and the