On Blueberry Hill

I press the washcloth to my forehead. Lukewarm now, but still cooler than the night air. We pumped the water from the well before sundown, when it still ran cold and sharp. It felt good then. Now it’s the temperature of spit, but I keep it there anyway. It’s still better than nothing. Behind me, the fan hums, offering little more than noise. The porch has been dark for a couple of hours now, but the heat hasn’t budged. It hangs thick in the air, like it’s got nowhere else to go.

I wanted to sleep out on the lawn, but Ma said no, we’d get eaten alive by mosquitoes. Besides, we couldn’t bring the radio with us. And I wasn’t about to miss the music. It’s the only thing that slows my thoughts down.

Elroy sits cross-legged by the Silvertone, fingers moving slowly and deliberately over the dial. The orange glow from the tuner casts a soft halo on Pearl’s white fur as she settles beside him, tail flicking lazily in the heat. She watches him like she knows something’s coming.

Static. Then a preacher, shouting about salvation and damnation.

“Please no,” I mutter, dragging the cloth down to my neck.

Elroy smirks but doesn’t look at me. He keeps turning. More static.

A burst of trumpet. Then silence.

“You passed it,” I say, half-sitting up in the chair, the wicker groaning beneath me.

He nudges the knob back a notch.

Then the guitar slips in, soft and easy, like it’s been waiting on us.

Though we're apart, you're part of me still.

“Wait,” I whisper, lifting my head.

The sound rolls over the porch, smooth as honey. Fats Domino fills the air, and for the first time all day, I don’t mind the heat.

For you were my thrill. On Blueberry Hill…

Elroy lets go of the dial.

We don’t speak. The music says what it needs to. Stars blink behind the screen like they’re nodding off, and even Pearl lies still, like she’s listening too.

“Turn it up,” I tell him, then quickly second-guess myself. Pa would pitch a fit if it woke him, and that would be the end of us sleeping out here. I told him just yesterday that he and Ma ought to drag their mattress onto the porch if they want decent sleep. Their room’s hotter than a skillet, even with the fan going and the windows wide open. But Pa just grunted and said he wasn’t about to start sleeping like a vagabond.

Elroy turns the dial up just a bit. Enough to fill the space, but not enough to rattle the windows. I lean back in the chair, feeling it creak beneath me, and close my eyes, mouthing the words I know by heart. The air still feels thick, like it’s been chewing on the day and finally decided to spit it out.

“That coolin’ you down any?” Elroy asks, nodding toward the cloth.

I crack one eye open. Sweat’s working its way down his cheek, slow and aimless. I feel a little bad for hogging the cloth. He dropped his in the dirt earlier, and I wouldn’t let him dunk it in the bowl. Told him he’d just muddy up the whole thing. I wasn’t wrong, but still.

“Not really,” I say, even though I probably would’ve told him that anyway. No need making him jealous over a washcloth.

He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. “It’s hotter than a honeymoon bed in July.”

That makes me snort, and I quickly cover my mouth.

“Elroy Langford, you watch your mouth,” I say. “You might talk like that to your pals on the ball field, but you don’t speak that way in front of a lady.”

“Sorry, Ruthie Mae,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. Pearl inches up beside him and nudges his cheek like she’s trying to make peace on his behalf. “It’s just so dang hot, I don’t think I’m thinkin’ straight. Feels like my brain’s as fried as an egg. It’s hotter than the devil’s armpit out here.”

I try to hold back a smile and give him a slow nod—my way of letting him know he’s forgiven. I peel the washcloth from my neck, dip it back into what little water’s left, now warm as bath tea, and press it to my cheek.

“Let’s just run over to the Browns’ pond for a quick dip,” he says, flopping onto his side like he’s already halfway there. “No one’ll know. I swear, I can’t fall asleep out here unless I cool off first.”

I stare at him, blinking.

And just like that, he ruins the moment—the quiet, steady hum of the radio, the stars, the air wrapped around us like a blanket. He had to bring up that pond. Now I’m thinking about Jack again, after doing everything I could for the past few months to keep him from creeping back into my head. Sometimes I’m genuinely amazed by how dumb my brother can be.

“Elroy Langford, that’s the second stupid thing you’ve said in the last minute,” I snap, sitting up so fast the chair squeaks. “Jack hasn’t even been gone a year yet, and you want to swim in the pond he drowned in? The one that’s probably haunted, or got some poisonous snake or tree root that pulled him under? And you want to risk Ma and Pa catching us gone?”

Elroy props himself up, looking like I slapped him.

“Ruthie Mae, I’m not trying to disrespect the Browns. You know I liked Jack. He was always decent to me, even if he was a few years older. I haven’t forgotten.”

He runs a hand through his damp hair, slower now.

“I just meant... it’s hot, I’m restless. Sitting here sweating to death don’t feel like honoring anybody either. It was just a thought.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. I know I won’t sleep in this heat. But I don’t want to be disrespectful, either. And I do believe that pond is cursed. Ten years ago, the Browns’ old dog wandered down there and drowned. And now Jack. That’s not just coincidence. That place holds something.

Pearl stalks towards me and jumps into my lap like she owns it, sending my water bowl flying.

“God dang it, Pearl,” I groan, grabbing the bowl from the ground. Thank God it didn’t break. Ma would’ve had my hide.

I shove Pearl off. “You’re covered in fur. What makes you think sitting on another hot body is a smart idea?”

I look over towards Elroy. His eyes are on me—waiting, smirking, like he knows I’m about to give in.

“Fine,” I mutter, dropping the rag into the now-empty bowl. “But one jump, then straight out. No swimming. No handstands. We go in, we get out. Got it?”

He lights up like it’s the Fourth of July and throws the screen door open with a creak.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” he says, already tearing barefoot across the yard.

They call him Lightning Langford on the field. Never once been thrown out on base. Nobody can pitch faster than he can run. Getting to first base? That’s another story. Pa says no school’ll take him unless he starts working on his swing. But Elroy only does what he’s already good at. So he runs.

“Stay here,” I whisper to Pearl, lifting my nightgown and following Elroy out into the night.

By the time I reach the pond, Elroy’s already in, floating on his back like an otter.

“I thought we were just jumping in and getting right back out,” I say, hands on my hips.

He turns lazily. “I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

“Close your eyes.”

I lift my gown over my head and leave it on the slat. Then I jump.

The water folds around me like silk. For a second, I’m weightless and cool, and the world goes quiet. I want to stay like that. But then I think of Jack. I wonder if he floated like this. If he had a moment of stillness before something pulled him under. The thought chills me, and I swim to the edge.

I climb out and pull my gown back over my head.

“You can look now.”

Elroy swims back over and pulls himself onto the slat, shaking off like a dog.

“See? Best idea I’ve had all summer.”

I don’t say anything, but I feel it—the kind of tired that comes right before sleep when I’m counting sheep. The good kind. The earned kind.

“Come on,” I say. “We better get back before Pa wakes up and makes you wish you never had that bright idea.”

We’re halfway across the lawn when a voice stops us cold.

“Jack? That you?”

I turn. Mrs. Brown stands in the shadows of her porch. I hadn’t seen a light on, but maybe she was just sitting there in the dark. Waiting.

“Jackie boy?”

I glance at Elroy. His eyes are wide. He grabs my hand and we run, hearts pounding. For once, I get the chance to feel like Lightning Langford if only for a few minutes. We don’t stop until we’re back on the porch.

I double over, catching my breath. Elroy’s barely winded.

“Was she looking for Jack?” he asks, holding the door open for me.

I step inside, dropping onto the mattress on the floor. The wood beneath it is hard and unforgiving.

Elroy lies down beside me, arms behind his head.

“I reckon she might’ve been,” I say, staring at the ceiling.

I can’t tell if the porch itself has finally cooled off or if it’s just me. Not cool exactly, but not sticky either. The heat has let go of me some.

Somewhere beside me, I hear Elroy lean over and turn the dial on the radio. The hum fades into silence, leaving only the buzz of the fan and the distant chorus of crickets.

Pearl pads over, soft as a ghost. She climbs up beside me, her little paws pressing into my ribs as she circles once, then settles against my side. She presses her nose into my arm and lets out a soft, grateful purr.

I close my eyes, letting the weight of the day pull me down, and wait for the sheep to come, like they always do. But none show up. Not a single one.

Instead, I see Mrs. Brown.

She’s standing at the edge of her yard, right up against the split-rail fence, the moonlight catching in her silver hair. Her mouth moves in the dark, shaping a name as soft as breath.

“Jackie boy…”

She’s calling again. Calling into the night, hoping the wind might bring her boy back.

Calling for someone who’s never coming home.