James Patterson - Gone

He hadn’t told Mary Catherine or Seamus about his plans. Hadn’t asked permission. Hadn’t even left a note. He knew it was slightly messed up to just get up and leave without saying anything, but that was pretty much the point. Dad was gone now. They were stuck out here, with no end in sight, and he was simply sick of it. The cows, the homeschooling lessons with the little twerps. Hell, he should just keep walking east until he made it back to Manhattan. Back to his friends. Back to his real life.

“I don’t know, but I’ve been told,” sang Eddie after a while, “this stupid walk is getting old! Sound off!”

“One, two,” Ricky sang.

“Wait, wait,” Brian said. “Shut up! Listen!”

They stopped in their tracks. There was a faint rushing sound coming from beyond the broken, distant tree line off to their right. They looked at each other for a beat, then started running. Brian in the lead, Ricky second, and Eddie dead last.

Brian stopped raising dust as he got to the ridge of the sandy riverbank. He just stood there, smiling. He stared at the sun twinkling silver off the fast-rushing water, stared at the green-brown surface of it, curving through the dry landscape like a ribbon of living glass. The slightly alkaline scent of the water was strong in the dry air. He’d never really smelled water before, at least not clean water.

I’ve done it , Brian thought. Set a goal for myself and accomplished it. A pointless one, maybe, but still. It felt pretty awesome.

“Hey, you did it! You actually found it, Pocahontas!” Eddie said, giving him a high five.

“Of course I found it,” Brian said nonchalantly as he leaped off the berm and down the sand, toward the rushing water.

They were splashing around and skipping rocks twenty minutes later, when they saw the kayak come around the bend upriver.

The aging hippie in it smiled as he expertly paddled over to the shore beside them. At first, Brian got a little scared because the guy sort of looked like the Unabomber. But when he stepped out of the Day-Glo-yellow kayak twenty feet away, he was wearing rubber fishing waders that went up to his chest.

Just some harmless old nut fishing , Brian told himself.

The hippie lifted a palm after he beached the kayak.

“How,” he said like an Indian, then threw back his head and laughed. “Sorry. Always wanted to say that,” he said with a twinkling, blue-eyed wink. “Name’s McMurphy. Pleased to meet you, boys. You must be new around here. What brings you intrepid wanderers out this far into the great beyond? I don’t see any fishing poles. Let me guess. Fame, fortune, and adventure?”

“Boredom, actually,” Eddie said.

The man threw back his head again and cackled some more.

“Boredom,” McMurphy said, tapping a finger against his forehead. “That’s a good one, son. Boredom will work fine, too.”

Wow , Brian thought, staring at the guy’s wild eyes, his wild gray hair. This guy was pretty nutty. Too many tabs of acid? he wondered. He reminded him of someone. An old sixties actor. Dennis someone. He seemed harmless enough, at least.

Maybe this is what happens to you if you stay out here too long , Brian thought, glancing at the coot. He almost felt like asking him if he was once in the witness protection program, too.

“Holy cow! There you are!” came a shrill voice as they heard some rustling in the trees up the bank behind them.

They looked up to see Juliana at the top of the sandy berm. She was sitting atop one of Mr. Cody’s horses, Spike, wearing riding boots like she was the Queen of England. Of course , Brian thought. They always let Miss Perfect do everything cool. Juliana could do anything she wanted.

“Everybody is looking for you,” Juliana said, staring at Brian. “What the heck are you doing?”

“Hello there, little lady. McMurphy’s the name,” the hippie said with a courtly little bow. “These boys with you?”

Juliana nodded.

“I was about to ask them if they wanted to learn how to fly-fish. Love to teach you, too. Why don’t you tie up that noble steed there on a branch and come on down? What’s his name?”

“Spike,” Juliana said.

“Spike. Well, of course. Fine name for a fine horse. Speaking of which, what’re your names?”

“We’re the Warners,” Juliana said immediately.

Brian sighed. Warner was the name they were supposed to use when coming into contact with strangers. Juliana’s just so responsible, isn’t she? he thought. She should really get a medal or something.

“How many of you Warners are there, anyway?” McMurphy asked. “You guys seem to keep popping out of the trees like squirrels.”

Brian and Juliana exchanged a glance.

“Just the four of us,” she said.

“Staying out at Mr. Cody’s place, is that right?” the hippie wanted to know.

How’d he know that? Brian thought.

“I’m sorry, Mr. McMurphy, but my brothers need to get going. My, um, dad needs their help.”

“Your dad? Wait, I think I’ve met you before. You came to church with that nice old Irish priest, right?”

“No,” Juliana said. “You must be mistaken.”

“Mysteries and wonders,” McMurphy said, nodding. “Now, now. Listen to me jawing, chewing your ear off, prying into your business. Just ain’t right neighborly, is it? I apologize. It’s just nice to meet folks this far out in the yonder. I live by myself, and when I finally meet someone, all that bottled-up talk just shoots out of me like soda from a shaken can.”

“Uh, OK, Mr. McMurphy. Nice to meet you,” Juliana said, eyeing Brian, letting him know it was time to get moving.

“Pleasure was all mine, miss. All mine. Hey, wait. Before you go, let me give you a little something.”

He fished something out of the creel in his kayak. It was something green in a large ziplock bag. He offered it to Brian.

“Son, that right there is straight primo hybrid sinsemilla. You will not find its equal in all of North America. I grow it myself with love. Ask anyone in the valley, and they’ll tell you McMurphy’s is a cut above all others. Top shelf, drawer, and notch, as my daddy used to say.”

Brian stared at him, stared at the bag, stared at Juliana.

“C’mon, it won’t bite. Hell, I was a kid. You’ll go crazy out here without having yourselves a little fun. Plus, it’s a gift. You don’t want to offend me none, right?”

“We can’t, Mr. McMurphy,” Juliana said, making up an excuse on the spot. “We’re Mormon. We can’t even drink soda. The use of marijuana would be completely against, um, our way.”

“Mormons, huh?” McMurphy said, squinting up at her.

Juliana nodded.

“Well, isn’t that nice,” McMurphy said, putting the weed back into his creel. “I’ll let you get back to your dad. Respecting your elders is always a good policy. Says that right in the Bible. So long, now.”

Mary Catherine had sweat on her brow and tears in her eyes as she rabidly zested another lemon in the scorching kitchen. Leo was coming over for dinner tonight, on his day off, and she’d learned that he liked lemons.

And what Leo wants , Mary Catherine thought, grinning to herself as she zestfully zested, Leo gets.

She already had three chickens in the oven, and a five-pound bag of potatoes boiling in a cauldron-sized pot on the stove. There were still the green beans and the salad to take care of, stuffing to make along with the gravy, but she wanted to get the lemon cake going or she’d be in the weeds.

Besides the lemons, pretty much everything was from Mr. Cody’s farm, even- Sorry, Chrissy -the chickens. They were probably flouting some FDA regulation to have the criminal gall to eat what they grew, but she had the feeling Deputy Marshal Leo would look the other way after he had a few bites.