The Crossroads

“My guess is a lost cat,” Zack’s father said as they made their way across the backyard. “Probably heard Curiosity Cat moved in next door.”

“It’s probably just somebody playing with a flashlight,” said Judy.

“Nah. Too bright for a flashlight,” said Zack’s father. “I’m figuring it’s a train that ran off the tracks and is making all local stops.”

The beam hit them like the searchlight in a prison movie.

“Don’t shoot!” Zack’s dad said dramatically, and held up his hands. “We surrender!”

“That the boy?” asked a voice from behind the unbelievably bright light.

“That’s him, Pops. Hey, Zack!”

“Hey, Davy,” Zack said. Zipper wagged his tail.

“These your folks?”

“Yep. My dad and my stepmom.”

“Hiya, folks,” Davy said. “Sorry if we gave you a scare. Wanted my pops to take a gander at our tree house.”

The light lowered. A rail-thin farmer stood next to Davy. He wore a tattered Huck Finn straw hat with salty white sweat ringing its crown.

“Howdy,” the farmer said.

“Hi. I’m George Jennings. This is my wife, Judy. My son, Zack. And, of course, Zipper.”

Zipper wagged his tail.

“That’s my pops,” said Davy. “He don’t talk much. Right, Pops?”

“Yep.”

“But he sure wanted to see what we built up in the tree today.”

“Me too.” Zack’s dad aimed his flashlight at the crooked boards and uneven floor. “That it?”

“Sure is, Mr. Jennings. Ain’t she something?”

“That’s our pirate ship!” Zack said. “See? There’s the ladder like you have to climb to get to the crow’s nest.”

Zack’s father nodded. “Very nice.”

“Davy, would you and your father like some ice cream?” Judy asked. “I could put on a pot of coffee.”

“No thanks, ma’am. We need to head on back. Pops just wanted to meet my new buddy, Zack.”

“Yep.”

“Well, it was very nice to meet you both,” said Judy.

“It was swell meeting you, too, Mrs. J. Zack sure is lucky to have such a nice new mom. Pretty as a galdern picture postcard, too.”

“Well, aren’t you the little charmer?”

“No, ma’am. I just call ’em like I see ’em. See you tomorrow, Zack!”

The old farmer nodded and touched his straw hat to say “So long.” He and Davy disappeared into the shadows.

“Nice boy,” Zack’s father said.

“Sure is,” said Zack.

“Do all the kids up here talk that way?”

“Nope. Just Davy. He’s a farmer. And he was born in Kentucky.”

“Oh. I see.”

“I’m glad I met him,” Judy said, draping an arm across Zack’s shoulder. “He seems like a great guy.”

“He is. Oh—guess what? He told me he loves cherry Kool-Aid.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I was a grape man myself,” Zack’s dad said as he rested his hand on Zack’s other shoulder. “Used to pour the powder on my tongue straight from the pouch!”

“Well,” said Judy, “I haven’t had any kind of galdern Kool-Aid in ages, but maybe I could pick some up at the galdern store.”

“That would be swell,” said Zack. “Just swell.”