Tiger by the Tail by Eric Walters Page B

to walk again. I moved through the trees until I reached one of our fields. We’d rented it out to a neighbouring farmer and he was growing corn. I moved between the rows, careful not to trample the waist-high plants. It would have been easier, and faster, to double back and go along the road, but there was no telling if my mother was out looking for me. I guess I’d have to stick to the cross-country route, even though I’d never been on a shortcut in my life that didn’t get me lost.
    My father always tried to bring us along on “shortcuts.” We’d drive and drive, all the time Mom telling him that he was lost. He would say he knew exactly where he was going. She’d keep on trying to get him to stop for directions and he’d refuse. Mom said that something about him wouldn’t allow him to ever admit he was lost or wrong, or to ask for directions.
    I came to the fence marking the division between our place and Mr. McCurdy’s. It wasn’t really a fence, but more like a pile of rocks that had been taken out of the fields each spring over the last hundred years and just piled there to get them out of the way of the planting. I climbed awkwardly over the loose stones, a couple of the smaller ones moving underfoot. I was now on Mr. McCurdy’s property.
    I only had a rough idea of which way to head so I wasrelieved when, in the distance, I saw the weather vane at the top of his barn. I just aimed as best I could toward it, skirting around a pond and a thick patch of trees, but keeping it in sight. Since I was coming in from the back I’d have to pass by the barn. Part of me wanted to pop into the stable to say hello to Buddha, but the thought of the big snake lurking in there somewhere kept me going up to the house.
    I walked up the gravel path and circled around the house. The chair was still sitting beside the door and I half-expected Mr. McCurdy to be sitting in it. I pulled open the screen and knocked on the big wooden door. I heard sounds from inside. I imagined Laura scampering up the hall to see who was there. Then I heard Mr. McCurdy’s voice, talking to his animals, and the door popped open.
    “Sarah! Come on in, it’s good to see …” His smile faded to a look of concern. “What’s wrong, Sarah? You’ve been crying.”
    “Nothing’s wrong,” I started to say and then burst into tears. Mr. McCurdy put his arm around me and ushered me into the house. We walked down the hall and he sat me down at the kitchen table.
    “How about a cup of tea? My mama always said bad things seem a little bit better over a hot cup.”
    “Yes, please.”
    As Mr. McCurdy walked across the kitchen to putthe kettle on I felt something warm settle onto my lap. I looked down and there was Laura, looking up at me.
    “Hi, Laura.” I put a hand down to pet her on the top of the head. She responded by lifting her head and putting her front paws on the chair so her head was level with mine. She pushed her nose right up against mine, opened her mouth, and licked me.
    “Laura really does like you, Sarah. She doesn’t usually take to new people.”
    “Neither do I,” I replied as I scratched Laura behind the ear.
    “Tell me what happened. Why were you crying?” Mr. McCurdy asked.
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Don’t be telling any lies, either to me or to yourself,” he replied.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You want to talk.”
    “What makes you think I want to talk?” I questioned.
    “Either you came to talk or I’m just so darn good looking you can’t keep your eyes off me. I looked in the mirror this morning and I think I’m forty years past good looking.” He chuckled as he sat down at one of the other chairs that circled the table.
    I nodded my head in agreement. “I want to talk.”
    “That’s better. Now tell me what happened.”
    “My mother found out about yesterday.”
    “She really must be mad at you.”
    “Really mad.”
    “And is that why you were crying?”
    “Yes. I think …