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“How's school going?” I asked. “Reckon I will never play baseball now.”

“Other than that, be glad you escaped,” said Dudley. “How do you like being the man of the house?”

I shrugged. Him saying that reminded me of what Leroy had said the other night when he let me drive his truck. “I reckon I been the man of the house for a while,” I told Dudley. “Seeing as how my pop had trouble living up to the title. It didn't start the day I left school or even when he died. I'll get by. You watch.”

Just then Dudley's fishing pole gave a jerk. “Holy catfish,” he said. “I hooked me a big one.”

We didn't talk much after that, because all of a sudden fishing was real good. I caught two and he had three before we were interrupted.

If we'd been watching, we might have seen Wayne Walker coming down the trail toward us on the other side of the river. But we weren't paying attention and then there he was, hollering across. “Been looking for you, boy.”

The muscle in Dudley's cheek twitched and his Adam's apple moved up and down, so I figured he was in trouble. “Yes, sir. Here I am.”

“What you doing?”

“Catching us some supper, Daddy. We got five goodsized fish already.”

Wayne grunted. I guessed that meant if he had a quarrel with Dudley, he might just let it slide.

I couldn't help but think about how I had a quarrel with Wayne. He wasn't somebody I bumped into very often, and I was glad of it. The last time I saw him, Pop was tuning up his car. But I decided this was my chance to ask some questions. “Sir,” I said. “Remember me? I'm Axel Bledsoe, Junior. And I've been wanting to talk to you.”

Wayne tilted his head. “Go on.”

“That night when my pop died. Me and my momma never did find out what exactly happened. Did you and him fight or something? Did he get a bad batch of somebody's liquor?”

Wayne shook his head. “Sure wish I could help you, son, but I don't know any more than you do.”

The way he called me
son
—it made the chills come over my arms. But I decided I was a man now, and I better not be backing down. “I'm guessing you gave him a ride over to Hog Hill? And maybe sold him some of your moonshine on the way?”

Wayne frowned. “That right there, son, is where you're wrong. I wasn't even at Hog Hill that night. Whatever happened to your daddy never made it to my ears.”

I doubted that very seriously, but I decided not to
press the point. After all, I didn't want him being mean to Dudley on my account.

As it was, he made Dudley stop fishing and go to the house with him. “You been lollygagging around on the riverbank long enough, boy. Bring them fish of yourn and clean 'em up.”

“Junior caught two of them.”

“Don't look like he's going any place. If fishing's good as you say it is, he can catch more.”

Dudley swore under his breath. “Sorry, pal,” he said. “I'll make it up to you.”

And to be honest, I believed he would, too. After all, hadn't he helped me work up the garden? Dudley hoisted himself to his feet while I pulled the string of fish out of the water and handed them over to him.

He followed his father up the path into the woods. It was a strange feeling, watching the two of them walk off together. Except they weren't together. Not side by side, anyway. Wayne tramped up the hill like he was fixing to miss his supper if he didn't keep a move on. And Dudley trudged after him, about fifteen feet back, as if he wanted to turn and come the other direction.

Dudley wanted to get away from his old man and I just wanted mine back.

April 1942

After Sunday dinner I went to the rocking chair on the porch, fixing to catch myself a snooze, when along came Dudley. “Sorry about taking all the fish,” he said.

I shrugged. “It's all right. I caught two after you left.”

“I have a plan,” he said.

“And what would that be?”

“You wanted to know about your pop, right? Like what happened to him that night?”

I stood when he said that. “Let's go,” I said. After all, there was no reason for Momma to hear him. We walked around the back of the house to the big oak tree with Pop's block and tackle hanging from it.

I pointed to a sweet potato crate. “Sit.” I took the other one. “Now,” I said, “Momma won't hear what you were fixing to say. What was it?”

“I was saying, let's go to Hog Hill and see what we can see.”

“I already did that. Leroy Honeycutt took me and there was nothing to see.”

“And when was that? What time of day?”

“I don't remember what day. It was about five o'clock.”

“Right. But Friday night—now that's a different story. And my daddy won't be there this weekend because he's going to Avery County, where his people are from. We could catch them fellers by surprise. Walk in there and demand some information.”

I just stared at Dudley. “Why?”

“I thought you wanted to know.”

“But why do you care?”

Dudley shrugged. “You want to go or not?”

I thought about that and figured yeah, I did want to go. So I said, “What time?”

“Late. After those men have been drinking and playing cards for a few hours they'll be more likely to talk.”

“What if they're more likely to fight? When my pop was drunk you didn't really want to hear what he had to say. Momma'd just put him to bed and let him sleep it off.”

Dudley shook his head. “We have to go late. If we don't, somebody'll see us.”

“You talking about sneaking out?”

“Well, yeah. You wasn't fixing to ask your momma for permission, was you? I've got it all figured out. We'll borrow a car.”

“Your daddy's? I thought he was going someplace.”

“Of course not my old man's. What do you think I am? Stupid?”

“Well, whose then?”

“Who lives right up the road from you? And has a '35 Plymouth?”

“Miss Hinkle? You're out of your cotton-pickin' mind.”

“Whaddaya say?”

“I say you're stupider than a dangling participle and an oxymoron put together. That's what I say. Miss Hinkle will never let us borrow her car.”

“Of course not. But who's asking?”

I couldn't believe my ears. I mean—Dudley was suggesting we just up and steal Miss Hinkle's car? “Look,” I said. “Sure I want to find out what happened to my pop, but what good's it gonna do me if I'm sitting in the jailhouse in Newton? I ain't stealing a car.”

“Stealing?” Dudley shook his head. “I believe the word I used was
borrow
. Like Miss Hinkle says, it's important to choose just the right word so people will understand your meaning.”

Well, I was catching on to Dudley's meaning and I knew that taking Miss Hinkle's car without asking was not borrowing.

“I bet she keeps the keys in it all the time. We'll meet behind her garage at eleven on Friday night. Old ladies like her and her sister will be sound asleep by then. Still, just to be on the safe side, we'll push the car out of the
garage and onto the road before starting it up. We can run over to Hog Hill and be back in an hour.”

“No,” I said. “I won't do it.” How did Dudley become my friend anyway? Was he a friend? I didn't know. But I did know one thing. I wasn't about to take Miss Pauline and Miss Dinah's car without asking their permission.

“You're scared,” Dudley said, sneering at me.

“It's wrong, Dudley. I can't do it. I'll sneak out late and meet you just short of their driveway at eleven. But I'll have Grover and he'll be hitched up to the farm wagon.”

Dudley groaned. “And get home at five in the morning? We might as well forget it. I guess you don't want to know what happened to your pop like I thought you did.”

“Okay, then. I'll bring Grover and you can climb on his back with me. It'll be quicker if he's not pulling the wagon.”

Dudley shook his head. “Just think about it,” he said. “We won't be stealing it because we're bringing it back. After all that woman has put us through, don't you think she owes us a little something?”

“There's nothing to think about,” I said. And I meant it, too.

But after he left, I couldn't stop thinking about it. What a confounded stupid idea! I thought about it when I was doing odd jobs at the sawmill and when I was planting cotton for a farmer near the crossroads. From
there, Hog Hill was just a few more miles down the road. It was hard to put Dudley and his stupid idea out of my mind.

I spent the week doing a little bit of this and a little bit of that—for whoever I could talk into hiring me.

On Friday morning after I milked Eleanor, Momma told me to take two quarts up to the Hinkle sisters' house. Miss Pauline was at school and Miss Dinah was friendly as always. But that didn't stop her from fretting about my education. “Junior, who would've guessed that you would leave school before my sister did? Are you sure you made the right decision?”

Seemed like everybody was determined to put guilt on me.

I just shrugged. “So far, so good,” I said. “I've been picking up work here and there. Helping Momma out.”

Miss Dinah carried the milk into the kitchen. I stayed on her closed-in back porch with the ferns and wicker furniture. She had a table full of seedlings started—getting ready for gardening.

Then I saw something else. The spare car key on a hook by the back door.

I glanced into the kitchen. Miss Dinah was busy rinsing out the Mason jar, so, quick as a wink, I reached up and pulled that key off the hook.

“Want a molasses cookie?” she called.

“Uh—no, thank you, Miss Dinah.” I slipped the key into the pocket of my overalls.

All of a sudden I felt hot all over. I knew I should put it back. But here came Miss Dinah with the jar all clean and dry. She handed me a quarter, and when I dropped it into my pocket, I heard the clink of the coin against the key.

“Thank you, Miss Dinah,” I said. “We sure appreciate you buying milk from us.”

“Your momma's lucky to have such a good son,” she said. “You're a credit to her name.”

I wished she hadn't said that. Because there I was, walking out with a stolen car key. To make matters worse, I caught sight of the sign they kept by the door.
BACK DOOR FRIENDS ARE BEST
.

I was a back-door friend. Or used to be, anyway. Right that minute I wasn't acting like any kind of friend at all. I should take that key and put it on the hook where it belonged, but Miss Dinah was standing there watching. I'd have to 'fess up and I couldn't do that. After all, she thought I was a good boy. A credit to my momma's name.

That's what I wanted to be. But I also wanted to go to Hog Hill.

April 1942

Granddaddy was snoring in the middle of a Yankees game. So far this season, DiMaggio had a two-game hitting streak and that was the end of that. Yesterday he got no hits and this game wasn't looking any better. Either Granddaddy had already given up on him or he just couldn't stay awake.

I was worried sick about that key in my pocket. I sat up and pulled on my clothes and waited for the chiming mantel clock to tell me when it was ten-thirty.

Finally it was time, and I slipped out of the house. Of course Butch and Jesse had to crawl out from under the porch and try to tag along. “No,” I said. “Stay home. And keep quiet, you hear me?”

It didn't take five minutes to walk up the road to the Hinkle sisters'. I could see Dudley's dark shape against the white garage building and his cigarette glowing in the dark.

“You lose your mule?”

“Don't get smart with me, Catfish.”

“I looked in the car. She didn't leave the key in there. Not even under the seat.”

That was my chance to back out. We could fetch Grover and head over to Hog Hill that way. But the truth was, I didn't want to ride a mule to Hog Hill. I wanted to drive Miss Hinkle's car. “I got the key.”

“By golly, Bledsoe. I didn't think you had what it takes. Let's go.”

So we opened the car doors and Dudley pulled the car out of gear. We pushed, one on each side, until we had it out of the garage. Then Dudley, who had made sure he was on the driver's side, reached in and steered it so that the car headed toward the road. “Hop in,” he said. And he slid under the steering wheel.

“Look, I borrowed the key. I should be doing the driving.”

“Nope, Bledsoe. I'm the one who thought of this. And anyway, how many times have you been behind a steering wheel?”

“Lots,” I said. That was true—because when Pop fixed cars, I'd sit behind the wheel and dream. Dudley didn't need to know I'd only driven once in my life. But for all I knew he hadn't ever driven a car himself.

Evidently he
had
, because he got it moving just fine. Next thing I knew, we were on the highway and heading toward the crossroads.

“Your daddy let you drive?” I asked him.

“Yeah, only he don't know it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I drive around sometimes when he's passed out drunk. He don't stop me, so I reckon that means he lets me. Right?”

“On the road?”

“Sometimes. If I take a notion.”

Seemed like it took longer to get to Hog Hill with Dudley driving than it did when I went with Leroy. I kept looking over my shoulder for a cop car or somebody else to be trailing us, but this time of night there wasn't much traffic.

Dudley knew right where Peewee Hudson's place was. He drove the car down past the sweet potato house and turned at a wide space in the road. “Getting situated,” he said. “In case we need to leave in a hurry.” Then he drove back up the road and jolted to a stop in the weeds.

“Whoa!” I said. “You're gonna end up in the ditch! Or scratch up her car!”