Chapter 7: The Ladder

On Sunday morning Gus drove me to the high school and unlocked the side door of the gym with a key he carried on the same ring as the store.

"The doctor said places help," he said.

"The doctor said places might help."

"I'm optimistic."

The gym was empty and smelled the way it had ten years ago, of floor wax and old sneakers.

I walked to center court. Gus stayed by the door with his hands in his pockets, exactly as far from me as my terms required.

"This is where it happened," I said.

"This is where the fair was. Yes."

I pointed at the third table from the bleachers.

"My dam sat there. Four hundred hours of balsa wood and a pump from my uncle's boat. I came in on Saturday morning and it was in pieces."

"I remember."

"And on the pieces was a smear of glue with a Brannigan Hardware sticker on the jar."

"I know," Gus said.

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"That you did it."

He didn't say it.

He stood there with the sunlight coming through the high windows onto his shoulders, and he looked tired.

"I know what you think I did," he said. "Come look at the plaque."

The trophy case was at the far end.

The plaque hung above it, too high for me to read.

Gus went into a supply closet and came out with an aluminum ladder.

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