Page 122 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
As the ground fell away, Joe clamped his arms more tightlyaround Kip’s neck. “Whoa,” he gasped.
They jerked to a halt.
Turning his head, Kip asked, “Was thatwhoaas in‘make it stop,’ or more like a ‘wow, am I impressed’? Because I could see thisswinging either way.”
“Umm … the second one, I guess.” Joe hoped he wasn’tthrottling Kip, because there was no way he was letting go.
This was surreal. Kip was simply standing in thin air, likea cartoon character who hadn’t yet realized they’d run past the edge of acliff. Joe really didn’t want the next few moments to include the predictableplunge and dust plume.
Kip didn’t say anything about Joe’s choke hold. Instead, helifted his chin toward the acreage beneath his feet. “Cornucopia verified. Andfilled with apples. Nice touch.”
“Grandad’s idea.” Joe pointed—briefly—to the section abovethe horn-shaped basket. “Mom wanted the pumpkin.”
“You do a different theme every year?”
“Yeah. For next year, Grandad wants to design something inhonor of the Miyabe-Starmark wedding.”
“I like it.” Kip asked, “Giddyap?”
Joe nodded, and Kip glided off, swaying from side to side,skimming through the air like an ice skater. The orchard passed by, giving wayto empty fields and the forest beyond. Kip drifted lower, weaving between thejutting points of pines, keeping to an easy pace.
Gradually, Joe’s mood mellowed. If not for the cold, hemight have lasted longer. He pressed his half-frozen nose against Kip’sshoulder to stifle a yawn.
“Had enough?”
Joe pointed toward the house. “Window’s not latched.”
Kip gave the barn a wide berth, and Joe didn’t have to askwhy. He knew Ash was still in there with his sister, and he knew Tami washappy. He wasn’t after details. That was already enough information to flushhis face.
“You want to go in through the window?” asked Kip.
“Drop me off at the kitchen door. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Joe shed boots and coat and tiptoed to the fridge. From theother room, he could hear the television and glanced at the kitchen clock. Hisparents and Grandad would stay put for another hour at least, tuned in to thenightly news, followed by theRivven Report.
Loading a tray, he hurried to rejoin Kip, who brightenedconsiderably at the prospect of ham sandwiches and pumpkin pie. He ate asthough dinner was a distant memory, chatting about nothing in particular, butespecially not about Ash, Tami, and the haymow.
When the food ran low, Joe tried for a differentdistraction. “Why are you so strong?”
Kip’s eyebrows lifted. “You mean … physically?”
“You’re asquirrel.” Joe wasn’t sure how to put itany more delicately. “I mean, they’re rodents.”
“First off, I’m not a squirrel. I’m aprotectorofsquirrels.”
Joe nearly choked on a swig of beer. “How’s that work? Yougo around helping squirrels safely cross the road?”
Kip huffed. At least he was smiling.
“Do you help them rob bird feeders? Make them nests inattics? Find their misplaced nut stashes?”
“Are you implying that I am a protector of pests?”
“I’m a farmer. I’ve never had any great love for squirrels.”
“Uh-huh. I have it on good authority that you secretlycuddle squirrels.” Kip casually indicated the stockpile of boxes and tins inthe corner. “This is becoming a squirrel nest.”
Joe set aside his half-empty beer can and crawled to hisstash. “Thought you said you’renota squirrel.” Finding the right tin,he pried it open and leaned over to push a nut tart into Kip’s mouth.
