Free The Adventures of Flash Jackson by William Kowalski Page A

was going to be sent there if his folks sold the house. Of course, it never occurred to him that wherever they were going, they would take him with them. It’s not like they would have had him locked up just because they were moving, for Chrissakes. But sometimes Franks jumped to conclusions. I guess that was how bad he didn’t want to leave home. He’d rather run away than see the house get sold. Jeez, what a nut.
    Maybe , I thought, Gowanda was where they sent him that time he was raving about the theater .
    â€œHaley,” said Mother, “I want you to stay here. I’m going over to the Grunveldts.”
    â€œThey have company,” I said.
    â€œI know. Just stay here in case he comes back.”
    â€œHe’s not coming back. Not on his own, anyway.”
    â€œPromise me you’ll stay put?”
    â€œWhere the hell would I go, Ma?”
    She snapped her mouth shut and walked out the door. I guess she wanted to sit and fret with Mrs. Grunveldt—Mother never passed up a chance to sit and fret with someone, not if she could help it. I got a little panicked when I realized there was a good chance they would call the police. The cops in this part of the world are not exactly what you’d call sensitive types. Being in a rural area, we didn’t have a proper police force—we had a sheriff, and some part-time deputies who loved an excuse to strap on their guns and rampage around in the name of law and order. If they got called out to go look for Frankie, there was no telling how that would end up. But I felt pretty safe in guessing it wouldn’t be pretty. I could just see them hauling him out by his T-shirt from wherever he was hiding, kicking and screaming, and if he happened to kick one of them accidentally, they might get a little too rough with the poor boy in retaliation. They were great ones for retaliation, those deputies. It was how things were kept peaceable.
    â€œLord,” I prayed, half serious and half surprised at myself, “please don’t let those screwy old biddies call the sheriff. Let Frankie be safe, and let him come to his senses and realize he’s making a mountain of a molehill. And let Brother come home, with or without him, as You see fit, because if anything happens to my horse I’m going to bust someone’s head open, and that’s a promise. Amen.”
    I wish my grandmother could have been there to see me, her wayward brazen hussy of a granddaughter communing with the powers that be, because the very next thing that happened was that Brother came trotting back over the hill, riderless, acting as though he’d just been out for a pleasant little jaunt. I could see him out the kitchen window. It gave me a start, I can tell you. I was glad to see him, but I couldn’t help wondering if maybe it was a reminder that I should have been going to church right along, if something as simple as a prayer was all that was needed to get things done.
    My leg was about ready to fall off by this time, but I crutched on out to the corral again, where Brother was waiting patientlyfor me to let him in. He stood there nibbling grass, just as calm as could be.
    â€œNow, where did Frankie get to, Brother?” I asked him. “Where’d you drop him off, old boy?”
    But Brother just pushed me with his nose, telling me Hurry up, let me in and give me some sugar. I’m a good horse . So I did just that. I keep some sugar cubes in a bag in the stable, and I gave him a whole handful, because even though he hadn’t been gone ten minutes I’d been afraid I was never going to see him again. I scanned around for some sign of Frankie, thinking maybe Brother had thrown him and he would come limping along behind, but he was nowhere to be seen. Besides, I didn’t think Brother would throw Frankie. He knew there was something not quite right about him, that he had to be taken care of. Animals are good that way—much better