Free The Dog in the Freezer by Harry Mazer

minute, not so fast. You’re not getting rid of me yet.” He parked the car and came in all the way with me, through the security check, down the corridors to the gate, where they were already boarding my plane.
    He held my hand, then gave me a hug. “It was an incredible summer, Lucas. I want you to come back. Are you coming back?”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œYou’re coming back. You have to come back.” He held my arm. “You know why? Because Michael will be here when you do.”
    â€œExcuse me?” I said.
    â€œI’m going to keep her, Lucas. Kiki and I have beentalking. She’ll run Michael in the morning, and I’ll run her at night. And when I’m working, Michael can guard the house.”
    I kept watching his face for the joke. Why had he waited all this time to tell me? Was it true?
    â€œSo how does that strike you?” he asked. “Is that brilliant or is it brilliant?”
    â€œBrilliant,” I said. “Do you mean it?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œYou mean it? You really mean it?”
    â€œI do!”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me before this? It was like torture.” I was crying. “You’re so stupid sometimes.”
    â€œHey, hey, come on, guy. Awww.” He started patting my back. “I’m sorry, guy. I would have told you, but I didn’t know. Not until this moment. Kiki’s been after me, but you know, I was kind of resisting.”
    I butted him. I didn’t know what to say. So I did it again. I kept butting him. Then the final call came, and I threw my arms around his neck, and he landed a kiss on my head. I looked back one last time after they took the ticket. Jerry was still there, watching me. For a moment—it was like a hallucination—I thought it was my father standing there, waving like a maniac.

THE DOG IN THE FREEZER

Hey, Pop, how are you doing? I mean, where are you? I haven’t heard from you since before you went down south to play winter ball. Are you back now? Are you in Arizona? I tried to call you at training camp, but they said you hadn’t reported in yet.
    Mom said you’d be calling me any day now. She said if I had anything to say to you, I should write it down and then put it in an envelope and mail it to you. But where am I going to send it? I’ve been watching the papers, but they don’t say anything about Dave Estabrook, or any Cougar games either.
    The newspapers should be reporting the minor leagues better. Are you playing, Pop? Are you in the regular rotation? How’s the arm? Are you eating right? What about the Royals? Are they going to call you up?
    You don’t have to answer all these questions, Pop. Just remember, junk food affects your performance. Stay away from those tortilla corn chips.
    Lots of love from your son,
    Jake Estabrook

• ONE •
The Route
    Jake hated to tell guys he played the violin. “You play the violin ?” Howie Silva said, like Jake had just dipped his hands in the toilet bowl.
    â€œI like all kinds of music,” Jake said. Why did he have to say anything? He didn’t have to defend the fact that he loved music. And something else he hated to talk about, to Howie or anyone else, was that his father didn’t live with them anymore. His parents were breaking up—at least that’s what his mother said. He didn’t believe it. His father was a professional ballplayer. Baseball was his father’s life, so he was away a lot because ballplayers had to go where their teams sent them.
    His father hadn’t been home since last Thanksgiving. He called, but it had been so long since he’d seen his father that lately Jake had been having weird thoughts. That voice on the phone: It sounded like his father—but was it really his father? It could be a recording, or a clever computer program that made all the right sounds. His father could be a prisoner in some South American country