Crunch (2 page)

WE LIVE ON THE HIGHWAY. WELL, OUR ADDRESS
is Bridle Path Lane. Maybe it was a bridle path a hundred years ago, but things change. Now it’s the on-ramp at exit 60. (Dad calls it a short commute to work.) Sounds like a cruddy place to live, but it’s not. Our driveway takes us back behind the trees about a hundred yards, then opens onto the farmhouse, barns, and pasture. Lil says, “Heard of secret gardens? We’re a ‘secret farm.’” Mostly we just grow food for ourselves. But over the years, people have discovered our fresh eggs and goat’s milk. This summer, they’d been coming for the Bike Barn.

We’d always been a tiny business. Just something for Dad to do between hauls. It used to be
days between new customers—sometimes longer. Our “cash register” was just a peppermint tin. But suddenly bikes were more important. There I was, checking in my third new customer of the morning and trying to make sure Angus and Eva were ready for Sea Camp all at the same time.

Customers had been coming in clusters, either early or late in the day. We didn’t keep official hours. Something to talk to Dad about, I thought. Vince wheeled a finished job past me to the front of the shop. Then he slinked back out to the paddock to hide.

“It’s McKinnon,” the woman told me. “Big M, small c, big K—” She began to spell, which always confused me. I wrote quickly, trying to keep up. “Now, look, I have a toddler.” She shifted a baby from one hip to the other. “This bike is how we get around right now, and that includes getting to work.” (It was a familiar story.) “So I need it back as soon as possible.” She leaned forward. “When will that be?”

In the past five days I had learned to stick to facts. “Well, we do repairs in the order that they
come in,” I said. “Unless we have to wait for the parts. But I think this cable is your only problem.” I squeezed the floppy brake lever.

“Um, excuse me,” Eva whispered at my side. She swung her bike helmet against my knee a few times as she spoke. “Dewey, aren’t we going to be late?”

“I’m almost done, Eva. Put your helmet on and get Angus,” I said.

“So, the cable,” Mrs. McKinnon said. “You have it?”

“Yes. But we also have a lot of repairs ahead of you.” I stepped aside to let her glimpse the bikes beneath the overhang in the paddock.

“Oh yuck,” she said. She and her toddler seemed to wilt together. “So, any chance it’ll be tomorrow? The next day?”

“I can’t promise,” I said. “But we will call you as soon as it’s ready.”

“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Oh, and I heard you have goat’s milk? We’re allergic and Shoreland’s Market didn’t get their delivery.” She sighed and added, “Then again, who did?”

“Milk and eggs are in the small fridge on the porch.” I pointed toward the house. “It’s self-serve. Make your own change from the teapot. Please return the empties.”

“Okay. And can we pat the goats while we’re here?”

“You can!” Eva chimed. “They’re sweeties. We have Willa and Camilla, Petunia and Mayhem—”

“Eva, I asked you to find Angus,” I said. She gave me a frown. I could have cracked her up with a growl or a roar but not in front of a customer. “The goats love attention,” I explained. “But they’ll chew your clothes and eat your hair, so be careful. And skip the farthest pasture. That’s our billy goat, and he’s smelly. You don’t want to pat him.”

“His name is Sprocket,” Eva said. “He butted me in the butt once.”

Our customer smiled for the first time. “This is like being on a field trip,” she said, and she watched the Athletes strut by.

Mrs. McKinnon and her baby headed toward the pasture. I wheeled her bike through the shop,
mumbling, “Always something to do at the Secret Farm,” then I called, “Okay, Vince. Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’m taking the twins. Be back as fast as I can.” Then I called, “Angus! Eva!” They appeared. I made monster claws. “Let’s
r-r-ride
!” I growled.

I’VE GOT CRAZY-GOOD HEARING. ALL I HAVE TO
do is run a little sound check to know whether there’s a lot of traffic on the highway. This morning, I couldn’t pick up a single singing tire. No whistling eighteen-wheelers. Not a hum. Not a whoosh.

I was dying to go have a look at the interstate, but it made no sense to take the twins out to the ramp. We’d worn a good shortcut between the yards, and that was the best way to get on the road to town and the beaches. Well, best way, except for one thing: our neighbor, Mr. Spivey. His yard backs up to ours. They say good fences make good neighbors. I say our fence will never be good enough.

We always tried to avoid him, though it wasn’t
easy. I leaned over my handlebars and in a low voice I coaxed Angus and Eva. “Pedal, pedal,” I said, and they did. But Mr. Spivey’s head popped up like he had radar anyway.

“Darn,” I whispered. I just didn’t want to deal with him. He followed us with a squinty stare, so I called out, “Good morning!” Dad had always said, “Offer a greeting. Maintain a neighborly stance even if he doesn’t return the enthusiasm.”

Believe me, he
never
did. He was more likely to start giving us what for about something. Anything. The bike path barely grazes his property, yet he had a way of making us feel like we were trespassing. But if ever there was a trespasser in our neighborhood, it was the Spive himself. In fact, trespassing was his daily habit.

Earlier that morning, Angus and Eva had given me the egg report.

“We got nineteen eggs,” Angus had said.

“Yeah, but really twenty-one,” Eva had added as she’d set them into cartons.

“Was Mr. Spivey in the coop?” I’d asked.

“Yep. He took two,” Angus had said.

“But he pretended that he didn’t. He always pretends that.” Eva had shrugged. Then she’d smiled. “He just put them in his shirt. Again.”

“Yeah, the snake…” I had said. But I’d stopped because it was important to Mom and Dad that none of us mess with what Mom called “the beautiful matter-of-factness” with which our twins viewed our neighbor. The rest of us marveled at his lack of shame. It didn’t help that the Spive had a sort of bend-and-scurry way of walking that made him look, well, just like a thief.

It wasn’t just eggs. It was kindling wood and raspberries, a zucchini here and some sugar snap peas there. All just a little at a time. Vince once said, “What’s his is his, and what’s ours is his too.” Dad had laughed and said, “Right! But what’s a couple of eggs between neighbors?”

Whatever. We got past him today without a scolding. A triumph.

The twins and I turned off the path onto the empty road to town. I was pedaling in a ridiculously high gear. Spinning. Three miles to go. Angus and Eva were good riders. But little bikes only roll so
fast, and five-year-olds can provide only so much power. And Angus had to dodge every pinecone and maple wing along the way.

“Those are going to be trees,” he insisted. “And I like trees.” He swerved and hollered, “Acorn!”

I accidentally flattened it under my tire and whispered, “Oops.”

I would not normally have cared about the
crawl
to Sea Camp. But there were all those repairs to get back to at the Bike Barn. Also, Vince was alone and the busier we got, the more uncomfortable it made him to be left with the shop. Still, Angus and Eva came first. They were mine alone to care for from home to camp. That was the plan. Something to stick to. My turn to be the parents.

“Stay to the right, guys,” I called up to them. “Just in case.” But all three of us knew no cars were coming. Boston Post Road had never been easier to cross.

We arrived at the screened pavilion at the town beach not
too
much later. “Excellent riding,” I told them.

“You too, Dewey,” said Eva.

I grinned and handed them their lunches from my handlebar bag. I wheeled the two junior bikes around to the shady side of the pavilion and hung the helmets over their handlebars. The twins went up to the porch and the door opened. Mattie greeted them and herded them inside. She waved to me.

“How’s that bike tire?” I asked. I had replaced an inner tube for her just the day before.

“I’m rolling along again, thanks to you, Dewey!”

Mattie and I were old pals. I’d been a Sea Camper once, and so had Vince. Mattie lived up a narrow lane from the beach in a little cottage that her dad had winterized. Everyone called Mattie’s dad Pop Chilly. Everybody in town knew him. He’d driven the ice-cream truck for years. This summer, gas prices had put him out of business.

“I really need that old bike right now,” Mattie said.

“You and everyone else! We just keep checking ’em in at the shop,” I said. “And the best part is giving them back.”

“And how’s it going?” Mattie asked.

“All right,” I said. “A few tough jobs that might have to wait. Mom and Dad are stuck up near the border. No diesel,” I added.

“Oh no!” Mattie wilted against the doorjamb. “That’s right. You guys are home alone.”

“Except there are five of us.” I shrugged and smiled.

“True that,” Mattie said. “Well…hey, what say we cook together tonight at your place? Pop and I took the boat out early this morning.” She grinned. “We raked in a big bucket of littlenecks.”

I groaned right out loud—in a good way. Nothing was better than Mattie’s clam chowder.

“Are you sure?” I said. But before she could answer I added, “We’ve got everything else.” I started to count it off on my fingers. “Milk, potatoes, onions. And I think there’s one last quart of Mom’s corn in the cellar still. Vince and I can get a pit fire going and—”

“Sounds perfect,” Mattie said. “Pop will be pleased. You go get on with your day and we’ll see you later.” She waved good-bye.

I got back onto the road, pumped up some speed, and flew along the centerline on my way back up to the Boston Post Road. I flashed on the Fourth of July—
any
Fourth of July. That’s what this felt like—that fifteen minutes before the parade when the cops have closed the road and the cyclists own it. Of course, Officer Runkle always owns it with us. Runks is our town bike cop. He’s also a customer at the Bike Barn and a family friend.

I played my front tire against the double yellow line. I felt a sense of
something
—freedom or ownership. I liked it. But already I was thinking that I wasn’t sure how long I wanted it to last.

I WAS BACK IN THE HOUSE LESS THAN THREE
minutes when Lil called to say that her summer session at Elm City College had been flat-out canceled before the first day even got under way.

“It’s this fuel thing, Dewey. It’s insane!” Lil was steamed and talking nonstop. “They’re saying no one can get here, so it’s over. But
I
got here! How about a little
commitment
? And listen, there was a wicked crush at the train station. I couldn’t even get on the Shore-Liner out of here.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” I asked. I was trying to stay cool. I like to know the plan and stick to it. But it seemed to me a lot of Marriss family plans were unraveling.

“I’m going to walk,” said Lil.

“Walk? Lil! With
how
many pounds of art supplies on your back?”

“Oh, it’s going to be a drag,” she said. “But I’m not coming back here anytime soon. No way will I leave my stuff behind.” I heard her grunt and I knew she was shouldering her pack. “I’m
not
going to let this crunch keep me from starting some kind of art this week. I’m brewing up a new project….” Her voice trailed, then snapped back again. “I’m going to make this interesting. I’m taking I-95 home.”

“The highway?”

“Yep. Have you seen it today, Dewey?”

“No. But I can’t hear it either. It has to be dead out there,” I said.

“Hmm…not exactly, Mr. Supersonic,” Lil said. “
Everybody’s
out there now, either walking or biking. It’s pretty surreal,” Lil said. Then she mumbled something about wishing she’d biked to the city that morning.

“Really? But isn’t being on the highway illegal?”

“Hey, weird times, civilian rule,” she said.
“Besides, Dad always says the highway is the fastest. Ha-ha! Now listen, take good care of Angus and Eva, and make me something good for dinner.”

“Lil! Wait! Isn’t it twenty miles from there to here?”

“Twenty-two. At least I wore comfortable shoes,” Lil said. The phone crackled. “Dewey? You there?”

I upped my volume. “Yep. Still here. Hey, Lil, I’m going to come get you,” I said. “I’ll bring the tandem and—”

“No, no, no. Don’t come,” Lil said. “Hey, Dew? I can’t hear—I think I’m losing you.”

Lil is almost always right.

I MADE A NEW PLAN. I WAS GOING TO BE HEROIC.

I knew I’d find Vince in the paddock with the dogs. He liked to take a bike stand out and work in “natural light,” as he said. Goodness and Greatness thumped their tails at me. Dust rose out of the dry grass. Vince looked up.

“Oh, you’re back,” he said.

“Yeah. Any more jobs come in?”

“Nope.” (Vince usually gives the shortest answer possible.) He grinned with relief.

“Will you help me bring the tandem down?” I asked. He gave me a slightly puzzled look.

We had to move eight different bikes, in for eight different repairs, to get to the wall where our tandem hung on a couple of J-hooks. I took
the front end. Vince took the rear.

“To the shoulder on three,” I said. “One, two, three.” We both grunted. With the bike on my shoulder I paused for a breath and to steady the handlebars. Vince didn’t. He set his end down. I lost my balance, then I lost my grip. The wheel turned hard, and my end of the bike took a twisting spill to the ground with me falling onto it. “Ow!” I yelled. The dogs thumped their tails again.

“Sorry,” said Vince.

“Never mind.” I righted myself and the bike. I grabbed a set of Allen wrenches and reached for the panniers on the shelf above me.

“Wait. Panniers?” Vince said. “You taking a trip?”

“Sort of,” I said. “If I’m not here to remind you, don’t forget to get Angus and Eva from Sea Camp.”

“Where are you going?” Now he was slightly panicked.

“Lil’s class got canceled. She’s walking the highway home. I’m going to pick her up.” I
started on my way.

“So I’m on my own? Again?”

I hollered over my shoulder, “Close the Bike Barn door and hide if you can’t deal with the people. I’ll be back as soon as I can!”