Camouflage Read Free

He tossed the keys back and climbed into the truck, glowing with pride that he’d even been asked.
    â€œSeat belt,” his father said, climbing in beside him. “Your mom gave me orders.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shook one out, and slid it between his lips. “Dirty habit. Wish I could quit.”
    â€œMom hates the smell. She’s dead against cigarettes; says she will not have them in her house.”
    â€œThat’s Angie! Doesn’t she let you do anything?”
    â€œNot much.”
    â€œWell, you’re with me, now, and it’s okay. If you want to try one—go ahead.” He nodded at the pack on the dashboard.
    â€œThat’s okay. I already tried it a couple of times,” Kyle admitted.
    His father laughed, lit his cigarette, inhaled once, then put it out in the ashtray. “It’s gonna be great having you around, Kyle. Always hoped we could spend more time together. Got a lot to show you—to teach you.” He pulled out into traffic. “Next stop—home.”

    They had driven for nearly an hour, with his father talking much of the time. “Mostly farms in this part of the state,” he said. “Sugar beets, corn, cabbage, potatoes here. Smell that? Onions. And that there’s an apple orchard. Taylor owns it. Ever pick an apple off a tree?” He glanced at Kyle.
    â€œNo? Well, never mind. You will. Nothing like that first tart bite. Makes your tongue sing. Not like what you buy in the supermarkets.
    â€œNow that’s the Johnson farm we’re passing. Earl Johnson’s a good buddy. Got a sixteen-year-old boy you’ll want to meet. Hiram. Trouble there, though.”
    â€œTrouble?” Kyle asked, glancing back at the rundown two-story wooden house in the middle of the flat land.
    â€œYep.” His father reached for another cigarette and lit it before speaking. “Government trouble. They want to take his farm. Four generations that land’s been Johnson land, and some little weasel bureaucrat thinks he can take it away.”
    â€œCan he?”
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    There was something so steely in his father’s voice that Kyle stared at him. But the next moment his father went on describing the countryside in the same pleasant tone as before. “Now here we are coming into town. Stay alert. Blink and you’ll miss it.” He smiled.
    Kyle glanced from side to side down the one-block-long main street. It seemed typical of the other small farm towns they’d driven through. A post office, market, barber shop, beauty salon, hardware and general stores. He glimpsed side streets, no more than two blocks deep from the main street, with small houses and green lawns. Few people were out. It was midday and the air felt heavy and hot.
    â€œThree miles to go,” his father said. “You can come into town anytime you want. Even got a small library. Angie asked about that.” He gave Kyle a knowing look. “Got a ten-speed for you so you can get around. Sorry it’s not a motorcycle, but maybe later . . .”
    â€œA motorcycle!” Kyle sat straighter and his heart pumped wildly.
    â€œYeah.” He grinned at Kyle. “We’ll see.”
    â€œGee, Dad! I always wanted one but . . .” He stopped, not wanting to add that his mother would never allow it.
    Here he’d spent only one hour with his father and already he’d been offered a smoke, a chance to drive the truck, gun lessons, and maybe even a motorcycle. What a summer this was going to be!

3
    â€œO H, WOW !” K YLE SAID. “Cool!” He dropped his pack and duffel on the wood floor of the large living room and studied the place. This was a
man’s
house. None of the pink-and-green couches and chairs of his mom’s home, with its pictures of flowers and Paris streets on the walls. No fancy rug that “tied all the colors of the room