The Mealworm Diaries Page 9

  “I should have guessed that you were blaming yourself. It’s not your fault,” she said for the fourth time. “Even if…” She wiped her eyes. “Even if…I could never hate you Jeremy. Never.”

  TWENTY – FOUR

  They were in the truck on their way to the airport when Jeremy said, “Do we have time to pick up apples?”

  Grampa and his mother exchanged glances. “You sure about that?” his mother asked.

  “Yeah. I told Milly our apples were the best. If she doesn’t taste them, how will she know?”

  “One road’s as good as another,” Grampa said. He turned left at the next corner and started along the road that ran past their old house.

  Jeremy sat, his chin high, his eyes straight ahead, until he saw the Apples For Sale sign, and he glanced to the left in time to see a flash of blue roof between the trees. Home?

  Grampa turned the truck into the lane and stopped beside the house. It looked the same—but different.

  A woman came out and greeted them. She led Grampa and his mother to the back where the apple shed was. Jeremy stayed in the driveway and looked around. The dog run was gone, replaced by a long, lower shelter that he recognized as a chicken coop.

  Chickens, he thought. No dog.

  An unexpected voice made him jump. “I know you,” the voice said. “You’re Jeremy.”

  He turned to see a small girl on the other side of the screen door. He knew her from somewhere. School maybe?

  “You’re Joanne,” he said.

  “I know,” said the girl, and she came outside to stand beside him. “I’m in grade one.”

  Jeremy smiled. “Yeah. I remember.”

  She was dressed in blue corduroy overalls that had a turkey and some corn sheaves embroidered on the bib.

  “You have chickens,” Jeremy said.

  “I know,” said the girl. “You wanna see?” She was already walking toward the henhouse.

  When she opened the door for him he bent to look inside. The henhouse held about a dozen young chickens, all past the cute chick stage, but bits of yellow down still stuck out in patches between their sprouting feathers.

  “Your chickens are teenagers,” Jeremy said.

  “I know,” said the girl.

  He closed the henhouse door. “There used to be a dog run here,” he said, and then stifled the urge to laugh when she said, “I know.”

  “It died,” she said. “You wanna see?”

  Jeremy frowned. “See what?”

  She took his hand and led him to the old apple tree beside the house. His tree.

  “There,” she said, pointing to a large rock. “Daddy says he’s under there.”

  “The dog?”

  “Your dog.”

  For a long moment Jeremy stared at the gray boulder. Henry’s stone.

  The sound of his mother’s voice made him jump. “You found it,” she said.

  He turned to see her standing with legs braced, as if she was fighting a wind. Her arms were wrapped protectively around a bag of apples. Grampa stood beside her.

  “He died that first night,” she said. “You were in the hospital.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was…I should have told you.”

  “I knew. I didn’t want to hear.”

  She took a deep breath, and when Jeremy didn’t say anything else she went on. “Grampa buried him. We thought that was a good place.”

  Jeremy nodded.

  “You didn’t ask…I didn’t know…I was…”

  “His name was Henry,” the little girl interrupted.

  “I know,” said Jeremy, but he was answering his mother.

  On the flight home, Jeremy talked about his father for the first time since the accident. “You know what I remember?” he began. He went on to tell his mother about sharing an apple; about finding Henry and how he thought the pups were a bear; how he had a fishhook stuck in his thumb; how much he loved camping. He talked on and on while his mother listened. She had heard all the stories before, but it didn’t matter. She was happy to hear Jeremy share them again.

  When they walked through the door of Milly’s house, he called, “We’re home,” and Milly came from the kitchen and welcomed them back with a hug. This time Jeremy didn’t mind. In fact, he hugged Milly back before they gave her the bag of apples.

  “I guess I’m making pies tomorrow,” she said with a smile. “Do you want a plain or crumble topping?”

  “Make them the way Fred liked them,” Jeremy said. “I think that’s the kind my dad liked too.”

  At bedtime he was tired and his bed seemed to welcome him. He fell asleep easily and slept well—until the dream returned. The good part was better than ever. He watched his father pull off the helmet and smile. He felt the wind from the sea, smelled the leather of his father’s jacket and the nose-biting sting of gasoline. He heard the roar of the motorcycle’s engine as it kicked in, and his body vibrated with happiness—until the bad part started. He could feel it in the rhythm of his heart, which began a painful drumming.

  No, he protested. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to see. He covered his eyes, determined not to look.

  “You don’t have to,” a voice said.

  “What?” Jeremy was confused. Aaron? Why was Aaron in his dream again?

  Aaron made one of his gargoyle faces. “Just, just turn it off,” he said, and he made a flicking motion, as if he were turning off a light.

  Jeremy, desperate to escape the dream images, reached with his finger and tried to turn them off. They didn’t stop. The motorcycle roared on and on.

  Aaron’s face appeared again. Jeremy couldn’t hear him over the roar, but he saw Aaron mouthing the words, “Turn…it…off!”

  He woke with a start, gasping, his heart beating double time, but when he checked, his bed was dry.

  He waited, listening for his mother. She didn’t come. I didn’t scream, he thought, and he turned and settled back to sleep. When he woke it was morning, and his room was filled with sunshine.

  TWENTY – FIVE

  His mother was already buttoning her coat when Jeremy came downstairs for breakfast. “Have to run,” she said. “I’ve got an early class.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye, Milly,” she called, and she was gone.

  Milly was by the window when Jeremy walked into the kitchen.

  “It’s a perfect apple pie day,” she said with a smile.

  He came to stand beside her, and they looked out, admiring the reds and yellows and greens of the autumn garden. The sun was bright, the sky a brilliant shade of blue. It does look perfect, Jeremy thought. It feels perfect too. And he was happy until he remembered that this was the day he was going to make things right with Aaron. Then it didn’t seem quite as golden.

  Milly interrupted his thoughts. “I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Aaron came around looking for you while you were in Nova Scotia.”

  “Aaron?” Was she reading his mind?

  “He didn’t seem to know that you’d be away for Thanksgiving.”

  “Yeah. I…I didn’t tell anybody. I…” He sighed, remembering how worried he had been about the trip home. Now he felt a little silly about keeping everything a secret.

  “You didn’t want to answer questions?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. Milly seemed to understand all the things he couldn’t put into words. “What did Aaron want?”

  “Oh, Aaron.” She hesitated. “He was funny. He was bouncing up and down so much he could hardly talk. Said he had good news.”

  Jeremy felt her study his face as she spoke. “His father phoned and talked to him. I didn’t get all the details because he was bubbling with excitement, but he said his dad would be coming back to Toronto sometime before Christmas.” She paused again. “I thought I should tell you. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it at school. It doesn’t seem like a secret he’d be able to keep.”

  An unexpectedly sharp stab of envy hit Jeremy, and all the good feelings of the morning oozed fr
om his body. There was nothing about Aaron he had ever envied. Nothing. Until now. But now he wished he had a father who could phone, a father who would be home for Christmas. He realized he missed his dad so much that it hurt with a deep painful ache that made him want to cry. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts, he thought. The words rang in his head as he fought back his tears.

  There was a long silence in the kitchen. When he finally looked up, he realized Milly was still watching. From the look on her face, he knew she understood.

  “It’s always a surprise when it hits you,” she said softly. “And it doesn’t go away. Not completely. But after a while, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much. Not nearly as much. You’ll see.”

  By the time he arrived at school, it was almost time for the bell. Kids were milling about, talking. They sounded excited. A long weekend always made the Tuesday back feel like a new beginning. He looked around until he spotted Horace standing with Karima and Tufan and some other kids from the class. They were in a sort of huddle around Aaron, who was talking, his hands and feet dancing with the excitement of his words. Jeremy figured he knew what that was all about, but he went to join them anyway.

  “…and he said he has a surprise for me,” he heard Aaron say as he joined the group.

  “Therapy,” Tufan said, and he snickered. “He’s heard all about you and he’s going to sign you up for therapy.”

  The excitement drained from Aaron’s face. His hands fell to his side.

  “That’s just mean,” Karima scolded.

  “What? How is that mean? You don’t think his dad’s gonna freak when he sees him? He’s either gonna spring for therapy sessions, or he’s gonna disappear all over again.”

  “Is not! Is not! Is not!” Aaron said, his words getting louder with each repetition. “He’s coming back to stay! He said! He said!”

  “Ya, well, my old man said he’d get me a skateboard and a bicycle, but that never happened. Fathers promise all kinds of things. It’s not like they ever mean it.”

  “My dad always kept his promises,” Jeremy said, looking right at Aaron. “Probably your dad will too.”

  “Yeah,” Aaron said, his voice quiet now.

  Tufan turned to Jeremy, and in a voice filled with sarcasm he snarled, “So your dad’s perfect. Lucky you. What’s he promised you lately?”

  “Nothing,” Jeremy said. Then he added the words he hadn’t been able to say before. “My dad’s dead.”

  The circle was silent then. Not even Tufan had a smart answer for that.

  There were whispers in the classroom. Jeremy heard. He figured they were either about Aaron’s dad or his own. Sometimes he felt that somebody was watching him, but when he looked up that person always looked away fast. It was as if they wanted to ask a question, or say something, but didn’t know the words.

  Other than that, the day wasn’t too bad. Aaron sat in his chair. He did his work and hardly rocked at all. Mr. Collins noticed that there was something going on. “It’s very quiet in here today,” he said. “Is everybody in a turkey coma?” People chuckled, but the silence stayed.

  During science, Mr. Collins told them that each set of partners would have to prepare a mealworm presentation. “You’ll get planning time in class,” he went on to say, “but most of the work will have to be done on your own.”

  Jeremy took a deep breath and raised his hand. He knew what he still had to do and he figured this was as good a time as any.

  “Jeremy?”

  “Mr. Collins. There’s something I should have told before—about our mealworms,” he began. He went on to explain how Spot had died, and how he was to blame, not Aaron. Once everything was told, it didn’t seem so bad. Mr. Collins asked Aaron if he was willing to shake hands and Aaron said yes. When Jeremy sat down again, Karima smiled at him, and he felt washed clean, like the sand on a warm beach the morning after a high tide.

  After school Jeremy walked into the gym for skipping-team practice. The room echoed with voices chanting, “Jump! Jump! Jump!”

  Karima and another girl were turning a long rope for Aaron, who was skipping—or trying to. Every jump he made was higher than it needed to be. As he rose, he lifted his arms and opened his eyes and even his mouth. His knees buckled with each landing, but he looked happy.

  “I’m skipping,” he called when he saw Jeremy, and then he tripped.

  Jeremy was surprised to hear Karima say, “That was twenty-four, Aaron. You made twenty-four jumps this time. Way to go.” Then she turned to Jeremy. “You wanna help?”

  “I guess,” he said, and when the other girl held out her end of the rope, he took it. “Okay,” he said to Aaron, “let’s see if you can do it again. Only this time, try standing straighter, and remember, the rope’s skinny so you don’t have to jump so high.”

  Jeremy and Karima began to turn, and Aaron jumped. When he made it all the way to forty-six, Karima clapped for him, and Aaron was so happy he laughed out loud.

  The practice session went fast. Toward the end, other kids came over and started counting along. “Seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four…”

  “Keep going,” Karima called, urging Aaron on.

  “Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine…” The voices around them rose with excitement, and Aaron’s face glowed.

  Jeremy knew how important it was to turn the rope well, so his eyes stayed focused on Aaron’s feet.

  “Ninety-six, ninety-seven…”

  He didn’t see the body that came hurtling toward them until Tufan was in the middle of the rope, jumping beside Aaron.

  Jeremy’s first instinct was to pull back and trip Tufan, but he didn’t. “Pay attention,” he warned Aaron as he bent low to slip the rope under both pairs of feet, once, then again, and again.

  “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine…” The gathered voices rose as they counted. “One hundred!” There was a great cheer and a lot of clapping.

  Aaron raised his arms in victory. “I jumped!” he shouted. “I jumped all the way to one hundred,” and he ran celebratory circles around the gym.

  His happiness was infectious, and other kids started running with him. “You did it! You did it!” Karima said again and again, and Jeremy couldn’t help smiling. They all looked so happy.

  That day Jeremy walked Karima home. She lived up past Gerrard Street, so he went out of his way but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind one bit.

  “You know,” she said as they walked, “with a little patience and practice, Aaron could learn to do all kinds of stuff.”

  “Yeah.” Jeremy laughed. “With a lot of patience and practice, he probably can.”

  TWENTY – SIX

  In the second week of November, everybody was ready for their mealworm presentations. Jeremy was nervous. He hated the idea of standing in front of the class, talking, and he slumped in his chair when Mr. Collins asked for volunteers. He should have known that Aaron’s hand would shoot up.

  No-o-o! Jeremy wanted to wail when he saw, but it was too late. Mr. Collins was already smiling. “All right, Aaron. You and Jeremy can go first,” he said, and Jeremy had no choice but to walk to the front of the room where they stood beside each other. He felt awkward, but Aaron grinned and took an enormous bow.

  “We did four mealworm experiments,” he began in his announcement voice. “And this is what we found out.”

  “No need to shout,” the teacher said softly. “We can hear.”

  Aaron went on more quietly. “Our mealworms ate bran and apples and pears. They ate potato peels and carrots and all the kinds of cereal we brought in. They even ate tunnels through wet paper towels. We were gonna look for a dead mouse to see if they would eat that, but we couldn’t find one.”

  There were groans from the class, and Aaron broke into one of his hyena laughs that stopped when Jeremy nudged him. Aaron glanced at Mr. Collins, took a breath and went on.

  “We proved that mealworms like dark colors better than light colors, and they like to hide. Every time we put them in our maze they stayed
beside the wall. And, and, and…” His voice rose in excitement.

  Jeremy nudged him again. Aaron took another breath and continued at a slower pace. “And they don’t travel very fast, but they get around. Mostly at night. We put them into a paper cup and we found out that they can use the claws on the ends of their legs and climb up. They’re not as good at climbing down. They fall.” He grinned and crossed his eyes as he stepped back.

  Some of the kids laughed again, but Jeremy ignored them and went right into his part of the report.

  “Aaron’s brother, Paul, took us to the museum,” he began. “We found out lots of stuff about mealworms there. Like Mr. Collins told us, mealworms aren’t really worms, they’re the larvae of darkling beetles. They wear their skeleton on the outside like a suit of armor, but it’s not really strong and it can be squished pretty easy.”

  “Yeah! That’s how Spot became ‘The Blob’,” Tufan called out. Everybody laughed again. Even Jeremy grinned. He was relieved that he had told the truth about Spot. Now it wasn’t a big deal anymore.

  He waited for the class to be quiet. “When mealworms grow, they have to shed their skin until they’re big enough to turn into pupae. We think the reason we didn’t see so many skins is, probably the mealworms ate them. Oh, and the pupa hardly moves at all unless you poke it, and then it sort of pulses from inside.

  “We used our notes and the stuff we learned from our experiments to make this science diary.” He held up their booklet labeled The Mealworm Diaries. “We took turns writing the words and drawing the pictures.” Then he added, “I found out that everything I learned about mealworms was something that Aaron already knew. He knows more than anybody about science.”

  “You’ve just said a mouthful,” Mr. Collins said, and the class clapped. Aaron grinned and bowed and motioned for the kids to clap some more.

  That afternoon Jeremy came home to find his mother standing at the kitchen table peeling potatoes. “You’re home,” he said.