Bone Dance by Martha Brooks Page B

Daryl Junior. He drove into their yard on his bike, that puppy bouncing against his chest.
    Lonny’s mom pulled Dunder out of the Snugli and held him and arched her neck back at Pop and said, “We should have one of these.”
    â€œI’ll get you a dozen, if you like,” Pop told her, smiling.
    That was the summer she died. They never got a dog. But Dunder had somehow always felt like his own.
    â€œSo here’s the deal, buddy,” Lonny said to the dog’ssilky ear. “I’ve got a mess going on in my life. You believe in spirits? I sure as hell do. Something’s after me, you know that? Well, you’re a dog. Do dogs ever have a guilty conscience? Do you sleep well at night, boy?”
    Dunder stumbled around in three circles on the seat and finally lay down with his head on Lonny’s leg.
    â€œI’ve got some memories,” said Lonny, stroking him, “that won’t leave me alone. Chase me around in circles. I’m going to tell you something, buddy, that I’ve never told another living soul. The day that Robert and I dug up the mound, that very night, Mom came into my room. And she sat on the edge of my bed. And she looked at me for a while. Anyway, I’m lying there staring up at the ceiling, not knowing what to do. I felt so terrible. And then Mom says, like she’s just guessed or maybe she’s known it all day, ‘Don’t ever tell your pop what you did. It would kill him. That land and that sacred mound mean the world to him. Better he just simply doesn’t know. Did you clean it up?’
    â€œI look into her eyes and I tell her yes, and honest to God, Dunder, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a look from her, a look for me, for her son. I’ll never, ever forget that look.”
    The yard light at Robert’s farm shone out in the rose and blue nightfall shadows. Robert came out of the house to greet them.
    â€œFound him on the road,” said Lonny.
    â€œDidn’t have to bring him around, but thanks anyway,” said Robert, opening the passenger’s door.
    â€œI was on my way somewhere,” said Lonny as Dunder hopped down and rushed toward the house, wagging his tail.
    â€œCome on in for a while anyway. Uncle Daryl’s friend Joe Dakotah just stopped by. He’s into all kinds of old-time Indian stuff. Uncle Daryl was at a sweat lodge he runs. Last weekend. He’s cleaned up his act, Lon, he really has.”
    He said all this while kicking at the ground with his shoe. Robert’s uncle had spent time in jail for growing a crop that wasn’t exactly legal, right in the middle of his sunflower field. Everybody in the valley knew about Daryl Lang. They started calling Daryl’s field the Drugstore. And when he’d finished serving time, he’d come back, smiling his big piano-keyboard smile. That was over two years ago. Except for the drinking, he had mostly behaved himself ever since. But people had a long memory for things like that.
    And Robert really loved Daryl, but no matter how much he tried to convince himself that his uncle had actually reformed, everybody knows how easy it is to fall back into old ways. And Daryl was one of those people who always sat at the edge of the law, even in his good times.
    â€œSo come on in,” said Robert, urging Lonny with a nod toward the house. “Come on and meet this guy.”
    Lonny hesitated. “I promised somebody something.”
    â€œCan’t it wait? I really think you should meet Joe. I really think you’d get a lot out of it.”
    Robert seldom talked this way, so urgent and pleading. So what’ll it hurt? thought Lonny. It’s already late, and she’s probably given up on me by now anyway.
    Dunder was waiting by the door, furiously wagging his tail, and nosed on through the second Robert started to open it. He dashed over to his water dish and drank thirstily, slopping water up over the