Dad was showing no sign of having read my journal, and it was in exactly the same spot where I left it two days ago, so I just went up to him and said, “I didn’t put the snake in Mom’s car, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He said, “I would never think that, Josh.” So obviously he doesn’t know that I read his journal. I asked him straight out, “Did you put the snake in Mom’s car on purpose so she’d have an accident?” He looked pretty shocked at that. He walked away toward the basement.
I freaked out. I shoved the plant stand over and yelled, “You’re a terrible father! You’re worse than no parent at all!” Then I started to cry. Sammy ran into the hall, and the girl Power Ranger said she loved me. Then Cleo came over and started pawing the dirt I’d spilled, like maybe she was going to poop in it. I started laughing hysterically. We’re such a pathetic family.
Later, when Dad and I were alone again, he said maybe Sammy put the snake in Mom’s car, and that’s why he’s gone wacko. But I can’t see Sammy catching a snake without getting a hundred bites and a lot of bad-smelling anal secretion all over him. The kid can’t catch a baseball. I’ve never tried to catch a snake, but once in the schoolyard I saw Karen grab one right behind its head. She said if you grab a snake anywhere else, it will swing around and bite you. I asked if she’d ever been bitten, and she said, “Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt that much.” Then she chased me around the schoolyard, laughing.
I wonder why Dad suspected me, since he’s seen me run away from snakes. Last fall I lifted up a wooden board behind the shed, and I totally spazzed out when I saw a snake under it. I ran to the deck as if it were chasing me. Meanwhile, Sammy rushed over to check out the snake. If he were older, he’d have shouted, “Josh, my boy, you’ve discovered a common garter snake!” He loves snakes. He could probably learn to identify all the different species if he took half a minute away from the tv and just looked at a book sometime.
Mom always said she wished she were like Sammy around snakes. If he did manage to catch one, he might have put it in her car, thinking it would help her become unafraid like he was. But it’s a long shot.
Dr. Tierney said kids Sammy’s age can feel like murderers if they were mad at the person who died. But Sam was never mad at Mom. When she was alive, you could ask Sam if he was having a good day, and he’d look at you like the question was retarded, and he’d say, “Every day is a good day.” He really meant it—every single day of his life was a slice of Heaven. I don’t think he would say that now. I don’t know if he’ll ever say that again.
I don’t believe Sam put the snake in Mom’s car. I asked Dad if he thought it might have been the crying guy. Dad said, “Why would Professor Johnston try to kill your mother?” I said, “I don’t know. Maybe if he’s a crazy stalker?” Dad gave me his confused smile. Then he asked, “Did your mother ever talk about him?” It was way obvious he suspected something was going on between them.
The crying guy is totally good-looking when he’s not crying. Aunt Laura says that women like men who are tall, dark and handsome, and he’s all three. Plus, she says that women like men who aren’t afraid to show their feelings, which obviously he isn’t, since he cried for hours in front of hundreds of people.
I said to Dad, “I never heard of the guy in my life, but he cried an awful lot at the funeral.” And Dad said, “Hmm.”