“I suppose not.”
“Maybe Chester put them on his back and they all flew to a big farm up state.”
“Probably.”
We stood and stared in silence a moment longer. The evening had fallen but the chill no longer bothered me. I could have stayed up there all night reliving the few good memories I had of Perth - and to my surprise, I was able to find a few good memories.
“Edison’s Safari Land,” said Hans with a sigh. “Well, if you run out on the photo shoot, at least I’ll know where to find you.”
Just as Hans was finishing his thought, the lights came on from inside the shack. I was startled and gasped despite myself. “Someone’s living there,” I whispered.
“Whoever it is, it doesn’t look like they’re taking care of the lawn.” He pointed. “The grass is overgrown except in those patches there. That’s probably where the ponies were kept.”
I watched the tiny shack for any movement from within, even though from as far away as we were it would have been impossible to get a glimpse of whoever was living there. Suddenly the chill began to bother me again as if by the lights in the shack turning on the temperature had dropped ten degrees.
“We should head back,” I said. But it wasn’t just the temperature that made me want to return to the lodge. An unsettling feeling had overtaken me, and I sensed that Hans could feel it too.
He peeled his eyes off the shack and shuddered. “Yeah, back to the lodge for some hot cocoa.” He looked up at the darkening sky then at the thick brush surrounding us. “Assuming we can find our way back.”
4
Jake
The advantage of never mowing the lawn was that nobody could tell I was using Mr. Edison’s old petting zoo and, also, I could tell that someone had been snooping around the premises.
Some of the overgrown grass had been trampled near the side windows. It was obvious someone had tried to get a peek inside. I had taken precautions. I had boarded up the windows and put in new locks, but the workshop wasn’t impenetrable.
I wasn’t concerned that someone might break in and steal my gear. What did have me concerned, though, was that I might be found out. Stage lights, a video camera, cages, a mattress, plus the gingerbread-looking walls—that kind of a setup was liable to attract attention. And attention was the last thing I wanted to attract.
Maybe I was being paranoid, but the combination of Betty telling me she saw a wanted poster of me hanging in the orphanage plus the appearance of trampled grass around the workshop had me thinking that perhaps I had gotten a bit too complacent in Perth.
Maybe it was time to make a move.
Head north or west, just head somewhere else. They can’t find you if you’re always somewhere else—that was my motto.
I called my long-time friend Matty.
“Jake, it’s good to hear from you. How are you doing?”
“I’m feeling antsy,” I said.
“You’re always welcome up here in North Dakota,” said Matty, and I knew he meant it.
My heart sank in my chest. Matty was more than a friend—along with Betty, he was the closest thing I had to family. It had been ten months since I last saw him. Hearing his voice over the phone—he sounded so near like I could turn around and see him standing there—it had me feeling sad and lonely, lonelier than I realized I’d been.
“I can’t go up to North Dakota, not yet anyway,” I said with regret.
“Your loss,” said Matty. “We’re going skiing this weekend. The family would love to have you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Matty didn’t know I was a wanted man - and not in a good way. He knew I was in some kind of trouble. But I had asked him not to press me for details, and he respected my wishes.
At that moment, I was feeling vulnerable and thought about coming clean, letting it all out. But that would mean confessing to Matty about the identity theft I’d been involved in, and I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him. So, instead, I bit my tongue and fought off the urge to tell him about my problems.
“Listen, Matty. Tell your parents I said hello.”
“Will do.”
“I’ve got to get going, now.”
“Jake, is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
There was a long moment of silence then Matty said, “I know you well enough to tell when you’re holding back.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know.”
“I won’t insist,” he said. “But I’m here for you, Jake.”
“I know you are, Matty.”
I ended the call no better off than I was before I’d made it, no nearer to a solution. I decided to go for a hike and try to get my thoughts in order. There was something about the mountains, the fresh air, the communion with nature far from anyone else that I knew would settle my nerves. A good hike and I would be able to think straight again.