No More No Name Page 8

  As we approached Johnny’s car, I called out, “Hey, Johnny, me and Lloyd want to take you up on your offer. Free burgers and fries! Man, you Cherokees must be rich.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Johnny said, narrowing his eyes and letting me know you’ll pay for this, dude. “Sure thing. We have money for burgers. You got it.”

  Johnny drove as far away from Lloyd’s house as possible, to an out-of-the-way burger barn. “Been awhile since I’ve been here,” Lloyd said.

  “Best burgers in town,” I said. “And thick, old-time fries.”

  We soon chomped down on juicy, thick burgers. So what happens next? A moment later, the answer came to me.

  “Lloyd, can we talk?”

  He nodded, keeping his eyes on the table.

  I scooped up a French fry dripping with ketchup before I spoke. “You’ve survived this before, I know. So have I. I had a hiding place when I knew Dad was drunk and mad.”

  “Sometimes Dad throws things around the house,” Lloyd said. “Sometimes he takes it out on whoever is around. Then he heads to the bar.”

  “You know he won’t be driving, not after his arrest,” I said.

  Lloyd looked out the window and kept his thoughts to himself. “We’ve got a spare bedroom,” Johnny said.

  I knew that wasn’t gonna happen.

  “So what about tomorrow,” Lloyd said. “And the next day and the next. I’m a senior. Five more months. I can handle it.”

  “Lloyd, we just want you to know you’ve got friends. Friends who care and don’t judge you or your family. You have my phone number, and if you have any trouble—call me. Get out of the house if you have to. Take off running—just leave. Then call me. Not to report your dad or get him in any more trouble, hoke. Just to take care of yourself.”

  “You’re serious?” Lloyd asked. “If I call you at midnight, you’ll come get me?”

  “Absolutely, Lloyd. That’s what Johnny would have done for me. No gossip, no BS, with teammates or anybody. Just you knowing you’re not by yourself. Hoke?”

  “Best burgers in town,” Lloyd said. “Best friends, too.”

  CHAPTER 19

  What Hideout, Where?

  “Hoke, guys,” Lloyd said, taking a swig of his soda. “Let’s say Dad has me by the throat, and I ask him to let me go for just half a minute. He does. So I pull out my cell phone and dial one of you. Let’s say you, Johnny, since you’ve got the car? But you’re too busy downloading a movie on your iPad, so you don’t answer. What then?”

  “Wow,” I said, looking at Johnny.

  “Wow back atcha,” Johnny said, and we high-fived across the table. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

  “What are you talking about?” Lloyd asked.

  “Don’t you see, Lloyd?” I said. “You’re joking about your dad choking you? That means, Number One: It’s never happened.”

  “And Number Two,” Johnny added, “you’re beginning to trust us, or you wouldn’t be making that sick, and I mean sick joke. Am I right?”

  “You guys are crazy,” Lloyd said, biting into his burger and chewing with a smile.

  “But just in case something does happen,” I said quietly, “I have an extra room. One very few people know about.”

  Johnny gave me a strong gaze, and a slow smile crept across his face. I could tell what he was thinking. You’re gonna show him the room.

  “Is this still a joke?” Lloyd asked.

  “Not even close. This room saved my life. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yeah, I heard about how your dad drove your mom away. And you ran away for the summer.”

  “I didn’t run away. I was home. All summer long.”

  “Let me guess,” said Lloyd. “You were living in the attic, and your dad didn’t know. And you only came down when he was gone.”

  “That’s closer to the truth than you think,” I said. “Johnny, you ready for a ride?”

  “We going to your house?” Johnny asked.

  “Yeah, maybe it’s time for some house- cleaning.”

  “Hoke,” said Lloyd, “If you’re going to do chores, drop me by the house first.”

  “But this housecleaning is for you, Lloyd. Nobody but you,” Johnny said.

  We soon pulled into the driveway, where Mom and Dad were loading the car with bags of food and an ice chest.

  “Yikes! I forgot to tell you guys. I’m supposed to go on a family picnic this afternoon.”

  “A what?” Johnny and Lloyd shouted in unison.

  “Yeah, and I promised. Dad wants to share something with me, so this is important.”

  “Want us to come back later?” Johnny asked.

  “No,” I said. I felt a cool authority. Dad and Mom can handle this. “Johnny, you take Lloyd to the backyard.”

  As they rounded the corner of the house, Dad set down the ice chest. “What’s going on? Did you forget our picnic?”

  “No, Dad. No way. I’m excited. But Lloyd might need a place to go, so . . .”

  Dad held up his hand. “Wait one minute, son,” he said.

  “But Dad!”

  “I said wait. Hear me out, Bobby. I don’t know why you’re taking Lloyd to the backyard. I don’t want to know. Neither does your mother.”

  “Wow, Dad,” I said. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”

  “Good. Because if we know nothing about Lloyd and your backyard underground room, if the cops come looking for him, we can truthfully say we don’t know where he is.”

  “Or might be,” added Mom.

  “ ’Cause I’m not lying to the cops, Bobby.”

  “Of course not, Dad. Uh, I’ll see you in five minutes, hoke?”

  Dad nodded, and I joined Johnny and Lloyd standing behind the giant red oak tree.

  “Lloyd,” Johnny was saying, “what you are about to see has to stay a secret. Lives depend on it. No one can know, not for any reason.”

  “I understand,” said Lloyd. “But why are we standing around in the backyard?”

  I knelt down and tapped on the door a few times.

  “Whoaaa,” Lloyd said, with a bug-eyed look of amazement on his face.

  “Nobody’s home” came a voice from under the door.

  “Faye? Is that you?” I asked.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Faye, what are you doing down there?”

  “Hey guys,” said Lloyd, “somebody better tell me what’s going on. This is weird even for you two.”

  I pulled the door aside and Lloyd took a few steps back. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Is this where you went when your old man lost his temper? You have a backyard hideaway?”

  “You got it, Lloyd.”

  “I’m not believing this. Did you dig it yourself? And how did you keep it from your dad?”

  “I dug it myself, and hiding from Dad was easy. As long as he had his beer, he didn’t worry about me.”

  “Sounds more like my dad than yours,” Lloyd said.

  “That was my old dad. He’s not the same dad now, not even close.”

  And I’m not the same son I was back then, either. No Name, done and gone.

  While Lloyd and I were trading dad stories, Johnny climbed into my room and was talking quietly with Faye.

  “Mind if we join you?” I asked.

  “Four’s a crowd,” Johnny said, “but let’s do it.”

  I slid down and turned to Lloyd. “Come on in. Join the party.”

  To make my point, Faye tossed a bag of popcorn in the microwave. “I filled the ice chest with grape soda,” she said. “Hope that’s hoke.”

  “Achukma,” I said. “That’s cool.”

  Soon—huddled close and seated—we grabbed handfuls of popcorn from the bag and washed it down with ice-cold grape soda.

  “Faye, maybe you want to tell them what you told me,” Johnny said.

  Faye covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

  “It’s about Heather, isn’t it?” Lloyd asked.

  “She scare
s me,” Faye said. “I’m sorry. I know she’s your girlfriend, but she won’t leave me alone.”

  “I’m really sorry. But you won’t have to worry about her for a while. She got expelled after last night’s game.”

  “Oh no,” said Faye. “She’ll blame me for it.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Lloyd said.

  “No! Please don’t. That would only make it worse.”

  “Maybe not,” said Lloyd. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Before he could share his thought, Dad gave a shout-out from the patio.

  “Bobby, my boy,” he said, “your mom thinks you don’t like her chicken fingers! It’s picnic time.”

  “Sorry, but I gotta go,” I said, climbing out of the hole. “Stay here if you like. Just turn the lights out when you leave. And Lloyd, remember to keep the secret.”

  “No problem, Bobby. Thanks for the welcome.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Schoolin’ the Old Man

  “Dad,” I said as I climbed into the car, “can we talk basketball? All this bully-racist talk is making me want to climb in a hole.”

  “Son, you already did that.”

  “Oh yeah, I did. Did it work?”

  “Better ask your mother.”

  “Wish I had a hole to crawl into on our wedding night,” Mom said. She had a hint of a smile in her voice.

  “Hey! That’s not funny!” Dad said.

  “Well, Buck, you didn’t have to bring your drinking buddies along on our honeymoon.”

  “Hoke, sweetheart,” Dad said. “You got a point there! I promise I’ll never do it again.”

  And so the fun family talk went, till Dad pulled into the parking lot of the nearby park—the park with the basketball goal, filled with memories.

  “What’s up, Dad? We can’t have our picnic here.”

  “That’s why you’re the kid,” Dad said. “You do what your parents say.”

  “What?”

  Dad didn’t explain. He just popped open the trunk and handed me the small space heater. No electricity needed.

  “It’s a little chilly, so we thought this might come in handy,” he said. “You get to pick the table, and your Mom and I will arrange the food.”

  “Don’t forget your sneakers, Buck,” Mom said.

  “Sneakers? Dad doesn’t wear sneakers.”

  “I do when I play basketball, Bobby. Are you ready to be schooled by your old man?”

  So while Mom set the table with fruit salad, chips and cheese dip, chicken fingers, and sweet mustard—and that was only for appetizers—Dad sat on the bench and laced up his basketball shoes.

  “Where’s the ball?” I asked.

  “Floorboard, passenger side,” he said. “And don’t be long. I’ll do a few warm-up laps.”

  “Yakoke, Mom. Thanks a lot. You had to be in on this,” I said as I returned and tossed the ball to Dad.

  “I knew you’d like it, Bobby,” Mom said, laughing as she spoke. “He’s come a long way in a short time.”

  “Yeah, I do like it, Mom.” I tiptoed to Mom, motioned for her to lean over so I could whisper, then spoke loud enough for Dad to hear.

  “Maybe I should let him win.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Bobby. Your dad has been practicing,” he said, spinning the ball on his middle finger as he strolled to the court.

  I was impressed, but I had to laugh. So did Mom. She sat courtside in a lawn chair, clutching her cup of coffee.

  “One-on-one, Bobby?”

  “Sure thing. Make it, take it. You go first.”

  Dad tossed me the ball, a make-sure-you’re-ready tradition in one-on-one. He walked to the top of the key and I handed it to him, then I bent my knees in good defensive posture.

  Dad knew I would try to steal the ball, so he backed to the basket, dribbling left, dribbling right. He stood a good six inches taller than me and had long arms.

  But could he shoot?

  He pivoted right, and I jumped up to slap the ball from his hand. Even before my feet left the ground, I felt guilty. My dad. My very own old man, doing his best to make up for lost time with his only son.

  And here I was, about to steal the basketball from him!

  Or so I thought. Dad was smarter than that. Dad was only faking. He outsmarted me. Once I left my feet, he pulled the ball down and ducked under me for a lay-up.

  “Nice shot, Buck!” Mom shouted, clapping and shouting like a cheerleader.

  I caught the ball as it dropped through the net, then turned and flipped it to Dad. “That was lucky,” Dad said, covering his mouth to hide the laughter.

  “Something tells me you have been practicing,” I said. “Nice shot, Dad.”

  Though the final score was three games to one, in favor of me, Dad showed off skills I never knew he had. I stole the ball a few times as he dribbled, and he missed some close-in shots. But he did land two long shots, one from the corner and the other from straightaway.

  “Wanna go again?” I asked, when my final shot dropped through the net. Dad was already breathing hard.

  “No, son, but I will shoot some free throws with you.”

  “Five at a time, first man to ten?”

  “Sounds hoke,” Dad said.

  Any thoughts I had that Dad would feel better if he won a game were flat out wrong. He wanted to see, firsthand, what his son could do. He had heard Coach Robison talk about a college basketball scholarship, and he needed some proof.

  So I gave it my all. We played four games of “first man to ten,” and of the forty free throws, I made thirty-eight. I couldn’t believe it myself.

  And Dad? Twenty-eight out of forty. Not bad for an old man!

  Mom was no longer clapping and cheering. She just sat in her chair and beamed at her two favorite people. She knew, more than anyone, the miracle of this day.

  “Let’s take a break,” Dad said as my final free throw rattled home. As we gobbled our snacks and sandwiches, I said very little. I knew our first family picnic in a decade had another purpose.

  “You know, Bobby,” Dad said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “you’ve done something I never even thought about doing.”

  “What’s that, Dad?” I asked, having no idea where this was going.

  He took a long, deep breath before answering, and I waited.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, as he always did when saying something that needed to be said, unpleasant as it might be. Mom stared into her coffee cup.

  “I’m a big boy, Dad. I can take it.”

  “It’s not like that,” he said. “It’s nothing you did bad.”

  I waited.

  “Son, you figured out a way to forgive your old man. Like I never could.”

  “What do you mean, Dad? I knew Gramps. He was a funny old Choctaw, always talking about the trickster Rabbit. Why would you need to forgive him?”

  “Hoke, Bobby, you’re right about Gramps. He was a fun old man. Let’s shoot some more free throws.” He picked up the ball and stood up to go.

  I grabbed his wrist.

  “Dad, wait! Please. I want to hear this. You never said much about Gramps, ever. And you always dropped me off at his and Mawmaw’s house. You never stayed to visit. There was a reason, wasn’t there?”

  I pulled Dad back to his chair.

  “Please, Dad.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck again. With a serious smile—that’s right, a serious smile—he sat down and began.

  “I had a preacher once, the man who married your mom and me. He always shook everybody’s hand and said goodbye as we left church. He pulled me aside one Sunday, and I will never forget what he said.

  “‘Mr. Byington, you carry a lot of weight on your shoulders. Memory weight. If you want to lighten the load, you have to tell someone. Share the load with a friend. I’ll be that friend if you let me.’

  “That’s what he said. But I was too young and stubborn. I thought about the load I carried, but I never consi
dered talking about it. I am ready to talk now. Anybody want to listen?”

  Mom and I gripped his hands and nodded.

  CHAPTER 21

  Good Times, Bad Times

  “Tell Bobby how we met,” Mom said.

  “You mean . . .” asked Dad, the question hanging in the air.

  “Yes, how we really met.”

  “Hoke,” said Dad, with his head down and a sly sideways look at Mom. “I was still in high school, a junior. It was a Saturday morning, and I was strolling downtown. By the courthouse. I happened to be sitting on the sidewalk, and your mom sat down next to me.”

  “And I have loved you from that moment,” Mom said. “But I think you should tell Bobby why you were sitting on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse.”

  “Waiting for you?” Dad offered.

  Mom tilted her head and blinked her eyes so we could read her thoughts. That’s not gonna cut it.

  “Why were you downtown, Mom?” I asked.

  “I was on my way to meet some friends for our Saturday morning shopping trip, seeing if any dresses might be on sale,” she said.

  I looked at Dad, waiting for his reply.

  “Oh, of course! Why was I there? Well, I had just spent my very first night in the courthouse.”

  I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. I looked back and forth from Mom to Dad. I knew he was skirting around telling me something serious and important. But the glances and the subtle humor between them also told me this was a miracle moment, not a tragic one.

  Dad took a deep breath, pushed his hair back, and gave me a look I will never forget. Hoke, Bobby, he seemed to say. No more No Name works both ways. I hope you are ready for this.

  “I’ll cut to the chase,” Dad said. “And it was a chase, Bobby. The night before, I was out drinking with some buddies. It was after basketball season and we’d decided this Friday night was ours. No girls, no dates. This was our time. A case of our favorite beer and a trip on the party ship. Any way we wanted it.

  “We drove out of town, circling around the foothills, not too far from Robbers Cave. Bobby, you probably don’t remember, but when you were a kid, we used to take you to that old hamburger barn out on the highway. Best burgers in town.”

  I nodded and encouraged him to continue. No reason to tell him I’d taken Lloyd there last night. But it was pretty cool.