Sons from Afar by Cynthia Voigt Page A

that feeling.
    â€œHe must have been pretty rotten to just—leave her.”
    Sammy agreed. It didn’t bother him, it didn’t have anything to do with him, but he asked, “So you think it’s something James doesn’t really want to know about?”
    â€œIs there anything James doesn’t want to know? What’s got into him, anyway?”
    Sammy had no idea. “It just came up one night. He brought it up. Maybe it’s been bothering him. Something’s bothering him.”
    â€œAnd baseball,” Dicey said. “Who’d ever have thought of James playing baseball. Or going out for any sport.”
    â€œSometimes, I think he’s just weird,” Sammy said.
    â€œWith all his life mapped out that way?”
    â€œNo, it’s not that, so much. It’s—” As he spoke, Sammy heard what he was saying, and realized what he had been thinking without really admitting it to himself. “It’s as if he was embarrassed.”
    â€œEmbarrassed? What about?”
    â€œI dunno. Embarrassed at himself.”
    Now he had Dicey’s full attention. Her dark hazel eyes were fixed on his face. Dicey’s full attention was pretty fierce, but he didn’t mind; he gave her his own full attention back.
    â€œBy embarrassed, do you mean ashamed?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe. I hope not. I dunno, Dicey. I don’t understand him at all, much.”
    â€œMe neither, after a point. What does Gram think?”
    â€œShe hasn’t said. She doesn’t trust book learning, she always says that, but—”
    â€œI should be here. I shouldn’t be away at school.”
    Sammy knew what she meant. But Gram was right, he thought. “No, you should go to college.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause you’re smart.”
    Dicey shook her head; that wasn’t reason enough.
    â€œAnd because Gram wants you to,” Sammy said.
    â€œYeah,” Dicey admitted. “Look, will you keep an eye on James? I shouldn’t have just dismissed him like that, should I have?”
    â€œNo,” Sammy said.
    â€œI’ll tell him in the morning,” Dicey said. “He’ll be asleep now. Eating and sleeping, James can always do those.”
    â€œMe too,” Sammy said.
    â€œThen why don’t you do that,” his sister said. “And I’ll knock off one of these horrible papers. In peace and quiet. Without being interrupted. Without any little brother here asking me questions.”
    Sammy was giggling as he got up from the bed. “I can take a hint. But Dicey—”
    She was turning herself around again and didn’t want to be interrupted. “What is it now?”
    â€œIs Mina going to be home?”
    â€œIn a week. Why, what is it, are you looking for some tennis?”
    â€œShe’ll be so much better than I am.”
    â€œYou know that doesn’t matter. She likes playing with you.”
    â€œYeah,” Sammy said. “She taught me how, didn’t she. Good night.”
    â€œGood night .”
    He turned at the doorway, to say “See you” because he would, for almost two weeks, and that felt good.
    Dicey would tell James. Like Sammy, she did what she said she’d do. So Sammy forgot about it. He got on with his own life,which he liked just fine. Mina did come home, and after a couple of days Sammy could give her a good game. He went to school, which he didn’t mind. The classes were easy, and never gave him any trouble. During recesses, he played soccer, a pickup game run by his friend Custer. Custer played center forward on one team, and Sammy played center half on the other. As seventh graders, the biggest kids in the school, they claimed the wide center section of the playground. Sammy liked the running in soccer, because he was fast. He liked having the ball at his foot, under control, trapping it, moving it around the opposition, shooting off a