Mystery in the Mist novel (Chap. 7)

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

Troy was confused. For some reason, the burger in his mouth was tasteless. He must have forgotten to put in a little seasoning.

He also forgot to mix the hamburger with an egg. That usually kept his meat patties together. It was useful advice Dad gave him a few months ago.

            Sometimes, all he could remember was Dad's griping. Why dwell on it?

            The delicious smelling burgers kept falling apart. And his onions shriveled into unknown lumps as soon as they landed on the hot pan. Sometimes he felt as if pieces of his body were fading away. Somehow he had to pull himself together.

            “What's worrying you, chum?” were gentle words that leapt across the room. They eased themselves into the boy’s thinking. The thought of losing control unnerved him.

            “Dad? How come I fainted?”

            Dad cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. “I had to carry you up to your bedroom…took all my muscles to do the job.” Then he flexed his arms. Troy shot a quick glance at his dad’s protruding belly. “Yah, right,” he said as he playfully poked his father’s shoulder.

            “How come I fainted?” he repeated.

            “Sometimes there's too much on your mind. Right?”

            “Yes,” Troy answered.

            His dad watched him carefully. Just in case Troy had another fainting spell.

Should Troy tell him this wasn’t the first time since the accident? Better not, he thought. No sense ruffling Dad’s feathers after all they'd been through.

“Maybe you should talk to me about your feelings sometimes,” his dad said.

Troy didn't answer. He needed some private time right now.

            His father kept silent.

            After he finished eating, Troy quietly did up the dishes. He wanted to help Dad repair a couple of cabins they had talked about yesterday. His raincoat was a little small. But that was okay. So what if he got soaked? He was tough.

He flexed his own biceps, still kind of small.

            Father and son reluctantly stepped out into the miserable weather. At first, his dad tried to discourage Troy from going outside. “Would you like to rest up a little more?” he asked. But discussing it was a waste of energy. It could easily turn into an argument, since Troy was so stubborn.

            “Let’s go,” was all the boy said.

            Once Troy's mind was made up, it would take a major order to make him change it. And this was not the time to have a ‘knockdown-match’ word battle. Besides, they were falling behind on work that had to be done.  

            Troy looked towards a small break in the trees, on the far edge of the camp property. The glow was still there. If only Dad believed him. He should stop gabbing about less important things. Troy wished they could go right now.

            Maybe that was part of the mystery of growing up. Only a boy could understand strange things and even accept them. Do adults only believe things they could touch or smell?

Dad’s method was to simply avoid talking about the subject. Too often, Troy would worry over details and events. He didn’t seem to hear when his parents asked him to complete some chores.

“The boy deliberately doesn’t want to hear,” his dad used to say.

            “Leave him be Ted,” Troy heard Mom repeat often. “He's in his own little world. He'll grow out of it.”

            But Troy never did. His imagination always wanted to take off like a runaway rocket. One day he wanted to be a fireman. It was sad seeing a neighbor's house burn down. If only he could have saved their cat.

Troy loved cats. Now he understood how their little boy felt. His own loss came later when Boots disappeared into the woods.

Yet, Troy remembered a grey and white cat peeking at him from beneath a spruce. She had been laying on her side, soaking up a sun-drenched spot of green grass.

            From a distance it sure looked like Boots.

            How could she be alive after all these months? Troy had been afraid to even think that his cat had died. If only he could find her and prove to Dad she was still alive. He was sure he had seen her near the river. Or, at least it was someone else’s cat that looked the same.

            Whenever Troy had something great to share, Dad made such a big production out of it. He'd roll his eyes and say, “What is it now?” You'd think Dad had to call in a scientist or something to check everything Troy had to say.

            He was always worrying about his son. Checking to make sure he was safe. And whenever Troy went in the woods, his father would accompany him.

            That's why Dad joined the Scouts as a leader. Troy became one of his Scouts.

“I want to teach you about the woods, son. And how to survive if you’re ever lost,” Dad said. “You never know what could happen.”

“Like what?” Troy wondered at the time. “Get eaten up by a lion or something?” the boy mocked.

            “No,” his father said. “I just want to be sure you get proper training. In case you get hurt or something. I do have First Aid and Outdoor Survival Training.”

            Troy pushed away that old conversation. How could he convince Dad there was something special by the river? He was tired of being treated like a little child. He already proved he could handle himself in the woods.

            Dad said his father let him go into the forest when he was Troy’s age, but only with a chum. Now it was Troy's turn and he wasn't allowed. Not fair. He didn’t have a chum. Except for JC.

            The boy looked down at his ripped jeans. His bare knee was going to be chilly. The tear might be stylish in school but here in the woods, not so good.

The hole in one of his rubber boots was getting larger. If he moved around quickly, it might not allow too much water in.

            “You’re like a runaway squirrel on your feet,” Dad once said. Troy did win a race at school against his buddy Andrew. That was awesome. He wished his only friend were here, right now.

But, as Dad says, “Our old car isn’t even reliable for a trip to Truro.”   

            “What's it like to be rich?” Troy asked suddenly. He and Dad were carrying hammers, saws and nails to the first cabin. The question came like a surprise.

            “Don't worry about it too much, son. We'll never have that problem. Besides those people have too many headaches, with people chasing them for a handout.”

            “Bet they don't have to work in the rain,” Troy quickly shot back. 

            Dad’s smack on the shoulder rocked Troy a little. “Still grumpy? Yes? No? Want me to order up a banana split, with peanuts and butterscotch? Your favorite, you know.”

            “Only if you don't drink any more beer today,” Troy said quietly.

            “Oh no. No conditions,” his dad answered.

            It was hard trying to have a serious discussion with his father. He always made a joke out of a serious moment. Troy wished his dad would just be quiet and listen, once in a while.

            If only he could find the courage to speak up. Troy had many questions bottled up inside. Lately he sensed Dad was hiding something from him.

            An example was the package that came two days ago. He definitely saw the mailman place it inside their mailbox.

            When the red flag was up, he and Dad made a big deal out of racing to get the mail. It was one of the few fun things they still did together.

            What was the big secret?

            Troy promised himself not to make any wisecracks, like, “Hey Dad? Got a secret admirer you don't want to talk about?”

He thought about the 'glowing place'. Dad acted as if his son had made it all up. He even made fun of his story, as if what happened to Troy wasn't important.

“It must be a figment of your imagination,” Dad told him. “Same as the conversations you have with JC.”

            Those words stung worse than a couple of bee bites. And Troy was afraid of bees, ever since he was stung on the lower lip, while picking blueberries last fall. That really hurt.

            If only Mom were here. Right this minute standing beside him. He missed her smile. And the way she rubbed his neck when they sat and talked. She always listened to everything he had to say.

            She never made fun of him, even if his stories were far fetched. Except this time he spoke the truth. Somehow he must convince Dad to come and see for himself.

            Troy decided to forget about the ‘glow’ for now. His next question really shook up his father.

            “Dad?”

“Yes, son.”

“When can I visit Mom's grave? I still don't understand why I couldn't go to her funeral.” Troy watched his dad turn slowly and face him. He seemed to choose his words carefully before answering.

            “You were in the hospital, Troy,” his father said patiently. “When you found out your mother was killed, you fainted. The doctor said he worried about these spells, which happened a few more times. Remember, you just got over another one. Wait until you’re stronger. I told you all this before. Why ask about it now?”

            “Yes, I know,” Troy said. “But...”

            His father kept on walking as if he didn't want to answer. Troy heard a quick intake of breath from his father’s annoyance.    

            Finally he said, “I told you, over and over again. Why are you asking about this now, Troy? It upsets me too much, alright?”

            Why is he repeating himself? Troy felt certain his father had something to hide. “Tell me again,” the boy persisted, staring at his dad.

            “I just did. You were really banged up, a concussion, bruises and a broken arm. Don’t you remember? It really was a terrible experience. I was lucky getting by with a few scrapes.”

            “You should have waited until I got out. You know...before Mom went into the ground.” Troy was getting all worked up.

            “There wasn't time Troy. And besides we didn't know if...” His father stopped talking and took a few deep breaths. “Certain decisions had to be made right away and...”

            Now why would that bother Dad so much? Troy wasn't a baby anymore. He knew about dying and funerals. He remembered for sure not going to his mother’s grave.

But everything else was still a blur. He didn’t remember anything about how serious it had been. Did it really happened? It was as if his mind had placed a block on his memories. Perhaps it was to protect him from some information, but what?

Now that’s a strange thought. Maybe this was not a good time to discuss the matter further.

            As if to answer the many questions turning around in his mind, Dad's voice cut in. “Let's leave it for now, Okay. I promise to tell you all about it one day.”      

“Sure, Sure,” Troy thought. Another promise to break. Then a thought hit him smack on the forehead. The answer didn’t enter his mind until this moment.

            Dad was hiding something from him.