Cover-Up

The boy plunged blindly through the woods, unmindful of the blackberry brambles that snagged his bloody T-shirt and ragged jeans. He barely noticed that it was raining, as the moss of the forest sucked at the soles of his sneakers, slowing his progress. He was desperate to reach his secret place. He’d come upon it by accident one day, when he’d been fleeing his father’s drunken fury. A tiny cave, formed between two giant boulders. Just big enough for a small boy to hide and lick his wounds, safe from a world of violence.

There had been plenty of violence in Jason Cooper’s young life. Whenever his father got liquored up, he came home itching for a fight. In the past he’d taken out his temper on his timid, frightened wife. But lately eight-year-old Jason had decided to become his mother’s champion. Now his father got his kicks knocking his son around until he tired of the sport and passed out on the floor.

Jason’s breath was coming in short bursts as he stumbled into his sanctuary and dropped to his knees.

At the realization that he wasn’t alone his head came up sharply. “Who’re you?”

The girl sat hunched against the far corner of the cave. Her white shorts and camp shirt were streaked with mud. Her knees, he noticed, were bloody. In her arms was a sleeping puppy.

“Emily. Emily Brennan. What’s your name?”

“Jason Cooper.” He glowered at her, annoyed at this intrusion. After all, this was his spot. His. He resented having to share it with anyone. “A tourist?”

The little town of Devil’s Cove was littered with them during the summer. Visitors who flocked to the pretty beaches along the edge of Lake Michigan, ate in the fancy restaurants, shopped in the pricey gift shops. They clogged the highways and put money into the hands of local merchants. And, he thought bitterly, bought his father whiskey.

She shook her head, sending a honey-colored ponytail swinging. “I live in town.”

“You’re lost then?”

Again that shake of the head. “I just wanted to get out of the rain.”

“What’re you doing here in the woods?”

“I was trying to catch Buster.” She looked adoringly at the puppy in her arms. “Mr. Mulvahill called him the runt of the litter and said he was going to drown him. But Buster ran off before anyone could catch him. So I came after him.”

“That’s pretty dumb. Why didn’t you let him run away?”

“Dogs can’t survive in the forest.”

“They can’t survive drowning either. You bring him back, he’s just going to be killed.”

She shivered and tightened her grasp on the bundle of fur. “I’m taking him home as soon as the rain stops. My family will let me keep him.”

“Want to bet? Parents don’t like strays. They’ll probably just take him back to the Mulvahills.”

“No, they won’t.” She gave a vigorous shake of her head. “Not when I tell them what Mr. Mulvahill plans to do. They’ve already let me keep two cats and a bunny. They won’t say no to a little puppy.”

The small, caramel-colored pup woke up and yawned, then licked her face. With a smile she brushed a hand over its head, then looked at the boy. “Want to pet him?”

He scuttled closer and touched a hand to the downy softness. And felt the first ragged edge of anger begin to slip away. “He’s ugly.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s just dirty. I’ll clean him and he’ll look just fine. You’ll see.” After a few minutes Emily reached into the pocket of her shorts and unwrapped a package of cheese crackers. “Want some?”

He helped himself to a couple and the two of them chewed in contented silence.

She glanced at the blood staining his shirt. “You’re all wet. And you’ve cut yourself.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Up close he found himself looking into wide honey eyes. Trusting eyes, he thought. As trusting as the puppy’s. “What’d you do to your knees?”

She glanced down and shrugged. “Fell over a log.”

“Won’t your folks be mad about all that mud?”

“Uh-uh.” Again that toss of the head, sending her ponytail swinging. “Poppie says I’m always coming home looking like I fought with a bear.”

“Who’s Poppie?”

“My grandfather. But Bert says whoever I fight with, I’ll always win.”

“Who’s Bert?”

“My grandma.”

“You call your grandmother Bert?”

“Everybody does. We live with my grandparents.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We just always have.” She offered him more crackers, and when he refused, she placed three in his hand before popping the last three into her mouth.

Maybe it was her sense of fairness. Or maybe it was simply the calm way in which she accepted him. Whatever the reason, Jason felt more anger begin to dissipate in her company. “We moved here a month ago.”

“I’m glad.” She gave him a wide smile that put sunshine to shame. “We can be friends.”

Before he could answer she glanced at the entrance of the cave. “Rain’s stopped.” She got to her feet. “I’d better get Buster home. Want to come?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. But he found he didn’t want to be alone just yet. Odd, since he’d always preferred his own company to that of others. “Sure. How far’s home?”

“Not far.” She led the way outside and held the pup close to her chest as she tramped through the woods.

When they reached the edge of town, Jason expected Emily to lead him toward the converted cottages and trailer parks that dotted the working-class section of town. Instead she turned to the mansions that sat in a row along the water’s edge.

She started up the driveway of a sprawling white house with a sign that read The Willows.

Jason held back. “You live here?”

She nodded. “Come on.”

Though he had his doubts that he’d be welcome, he couldn’t resist the urge to see how such people lived.

“Hi, Em. What have you got there?” A red-haired, freckled imp looked up from a glass-topped patio table where she sat drawing.

“A puppy. This is Jason. That’s my sister, Sidney.”

“Hi, Jason.” The imp grinned and returned her attention to her watercolors.

“Sidney.” He was still staring at her and nearly tripped over another imp, this one carrying a hose and with wet blond bangs dripping into her eyes.