nowhere by Marysue Hobika Page A

he’d understand. “Let’s just say, I can’t believe they make a helmet big enough to fit his big head!”
    Pops laughed heartily. I found myself joining him. “Now you’re catching on.”
    Pops continued to ask me crossword puzzle questions while we finished lunch. I discovered I knew more trivia than I thought; I was actually enjoying myself. In no time, the puzzle was complete. I carried the plates to the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher. Pops should recommend that Aunt Carol get one.
    “Thanks for lunch and for cleaning up too.” He smiled. Maybe he did need us here. “I’m going back to my chair. I have to a find a new puzzle to work on.”
    “Okay.” I had to find something to occupy my time this afternoon.
    I was about to go upstairs when he called, “Mike?”
    “Yeah?” I peeped my head into the living room.
    “Just so you know, Tyler and your new friend don’t get along.” Why was he telling me this? It seemed out of character. Pops didn’t strike me as someone who gossiped or meddled in other people’s business.
    “Okay?” I waited for him to continue.
    “Tyler likes to cause mischief for him.” He gave me a look as if to say that perhaps James could use my help. What was it with Pops and this guy?
    “I’m sure James can take care of himself. He’s a big boy,” I stated, recalling his broad frame and towering height.
    “He’s a good kid. Tyler gives him grief, and so does his own father. All I’m saying is maybe next time you could be a little nicer to him. You could invite him in.”
    “Why would I do that?” I asked incredulously.
    “I don’t know. It seems to me that both of you could use a friend.” He turned his attention to the puzzle in his hand.
    “What exactly did you mean about his father?” I thought back to the excuse that James gave for blowing me off the other day. He said it was because he was too busy helping his dad. Was there more to it than that?
    “Nothing.” He kept his eyes down, mumbling something about number twenty-two down. I stood in front of him and grabbed his pen off the table. I tapped it against my palm.
    “Mike, don’t be difficult now. Hand me my pen.” He held out his hand.
    I placed the pen behind my ear and put my hands on my hips, “Not until you tell me exactly what you meant.” 
    “I can go and get another pen.”
    “You can, but you won’t.”
    “Let’s just say that in a small town you hear things, even when you’re not listening.”
    “Like what?”
    H took a deep breath and sighed. “It’s a terrible thing that your daddy died, but at least you know that he loved you.” He folded his arms across his big chest, signaling that the conversation was over. “Now, give me that pen.” He reached up and snatched it from behind my ear, filling in another answer.
    I slowly climbed the stairs to my room. Flopping down on my bed, I replayed the conversation with Pops. I tried to make sense out if it, but I couldn’t. It was like trying to solve a crossword puzzle with only partial clues. I felt frustrated.
    Suddenly I knew how to pass the afternoon. Drawing always calmed me. When I pulled images from my mind and put them on paper it helped me make sense of the world. I stood up and began searching the room for my backpack. I finally found it hiding under a pile of Emma’s dirty clothes. I quickly filled it with art supplies, tossed in a sketchpad and a box filled with my favorite drawing pencils.
    I tore back down the stairs, anxious to get started. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a while,” I called out as I left.
    I crossed the main road and entered the cemetery that had been beckoning me since we first arrived. In all of my visits I’d never set foot here. I walked around, examining the tombstones and running my hands over them. Some were crumbling and moss-covered. I brushed one off to see the name and date. Then I brushed off another and another. Some dated as far back as 1832. I stared across the