The Hole in the Wall (4 page)
Read The Hole in the Wall Online
Authors: Lisa Rowe Fraustino
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Mining, #Family, #Action & Adventure, #Environmental Science, #Mines and mineral resources, #Juvenile Fiction, #Family life, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #General, #Supernatural, #Science, #Twins, #Fiction, #Soil pollution, #Brothers and sisters
Boots Odum was on the tall side and husky up top, with a jean shirt straining the buttons over his belly. But skinny down bottom. His pants rode low with nothing to hold them up.
I’d have recognized his face anywhere, since it’s plastered all over the billboards for the Boys of Summer Stadium. It would’ve been a plain face if it weren’t for his big round nose planted in the middle like one of Grum’s dahlia bulbs. Average brown eyes. Hair military short on the sides but long on top—probably combed across a bald spot. Plain mouth. Smooth-shaven face, no dimples, crags, or clefts. A couple of crow’s feet around the eyes. Not counting the boots and pickup, the guy didn’t look rich or powerful or like a rocket scientist.
Then he grinned and became a walking billboard. Odum’s big warm smile lit up the whole front yard. Rich. Powerful. No question about it.
It had to be those teeth. Big, straight, shiny white teeth with just a little bit of a gap between the front two.
Stanley Odum was what Grum called “a Self-Made Man.” Like Pa, he had graduated from Kokadjo Prep, which was what Kokadjo Gore families used to call the public high school, owing to the fact they didn’t pay taxes and had to pay tuition. Unlike Pa, Boots went off to Exton City to work his way through college and graduate school. Then he got himself a fancy job in some faraway place. Pa said he was some kind of rocket scientist for the government. He discovered and invented things. Nobody knew exactly what he’d discovered or invented, but whatever it was had made him rich. Whenever he came home to visit, he quietly bought up land in the gore, making cash deals with the owners. Including Grum. She used the money to pay for her new dentures, bought the clunker that Ma’s driving now (which was an upgrade), and put the rest away for Jed’s college. Well, Barbie’s, too, and possibly mine, if I make it through sixth grade.
Finally, when Boots Odum owned it all, he moved back home to start ORC.
Jed had a joke: “Why did Stanley Odum start wearing cowboy boots? So he could pull himself up by his own bootstraps!”
I cut the motor to the lawn mower and waved a little hello to Boots Odum. He lifted his right hand and waved a little hello back with two fingers that fluttered faster than a movie starlet’s eyelashes. Nice trick!
“Hey there, buddy!” Pa’s voice boomed from the doorway. “What brings Kokadjo’s finest citizen by our humble abode today?”
“That.” Boots Odum pointed to Ma’s sign, written on cardboard with a marker and stapled to an oak tree by the road.
FRESH EGGS
4 SALE
$1.50 DOLLARS/DOZ
“Thought I might try my eggs fresh from the hen for a change. Only a buck fifty! A good buy.”
And a good-bye to you, too, I almost said, but instead I bit my tongue and said “Ouch.” Odum gave me a puzzled look as he reached into his pocket and tugged out a fat wallet. No wonder his pants rode so low. He shuffled through dozens of Ben Franklins and Ulysses S. Grants and a few Andrew Jacksons before he pulled out an Abe Lincoln.
Pa reached into his pocket for his wallet. Which was very skinny. Odum held up his hand. “No problem, Craig—keep the change. If you ask me, Claire doesn’t charge enough for her hard work. Fresh organic eggs ought to be at least twice the price of those mass produced at a factory farm.”
Yeah, whatever he said!
“A dozen eggs, comin’ atcha,” said Pa, “laid fresh this morning,” and he disappeared inside.
Odum made a squinty face at me. “Can’t see too good without my glasses, son,” he said, pulling a pair out of his shirt pocket. The lenses were milky colored like seashells. Eerie. My neck prickled with goose bumps. Then Odum smiled, and the glasses fit perfectly with those pearly whites.
He started wandering around the yard, sidestepping the mud, kicking a rock now and then. He picked up a pebble and tossed it from hand to hand, whistling “The Star Spangled Banner,” when Pa threw open the kitchen window to call in the charming polite voice he used in front of anyone not related to him, “Sebastian, could you please come in here for a moment?”
Who, me? Usually I only answer to “Hey, Seb, get your
blankety-blank
in here.” But since we had company I went along with it.
blankety-blank
in here.” But since we had company I went along with it.
“Stan, we’ll have the freshest eggs in the world ready for you in a jiffy,” Pa said with a nod and a smile.
Inside, Pa was on his knees in front of the refrigerator. Jam jars, juice cartons, Cheez Whiz, mustard, leftovers, and all sorts of stuff was spewed all over the floor.
“Where the blazes are the eggs for sale?” he said.
If there weren’t any cartons on the special shelf just for eggs, we didn’t have any for sale. Ma had explained it time and again. I looked at the front door, wishing her and Grum would choose this second to walk through it. Why did it have to be Senior Citizen’s Discount Day at Love Your Hair? Why did Grum even need her hair permed? It always looked like asbestos anyway.
“We must be sold out,” I said. “Except for those.” I pointed at the basket of eggs on the counter next to the sink, waiting for Ma to wash and carton them for the Dogstars. She was very particular about that part of the business and didn’t want anyone else doing it.
Pa put his forehead in his hand and rubbed the wrinkles. Then he looked up at me again with that watch-out edge in his eyes. “I promised the man his eggs. Why didn’t you tell me they weren’t ready? Are you ever gonna get your head out of your rear, boy?”
With Pa there’s no use answering questions like that. No matter what you say, you just get yourself into more trouble. The only hope is to get him on another track.
“Bet you anything Ma kept some eggs out for us to use. We can give them to Mr. Odum. They’re still fresher than store-bought. He’ll never know the difference.” This, I decided, would be safer than suggesting that Pa wash and carton the morning eggs himself.
“Ain’t no eggs in this refrigerator! Can’t you see I’ve looked!”
After all these years finding room for his beer in the fridge, you’d think he’d know where we keep our own eggs separate from the ones for sale. I’d have fished them out myself, but I wanted to stay out of arm’s reach from Pa.
“Try that veggie compartment,” I said, pointing. “Sometimes they’re in there.” (Always.)
He pulled out a cardboard egg carton like a rabbit out of a hat, then tugged up his belt loops. Pulling himself together.
“Aren’t you going to count them?” I said.
Pa glared at me, fumbled with the carton notches, then let loose a curse that made even my ears burn. “Eleven!” He looked around wildly at all the walls, as if to find one more egg behind the calendar.
I hurried to the sink, carefully washed the crusted slime off a fresh egg so I wouldn’t break it, dried it on my T-shirt, and handed it to him.
Pa grunted. “Well, you know where everything goes. How about cleaning up this mess for me.” That was as close to a thank you as he ever got. He readjusted his belt loops and took the carton out to Boots Odum. I hurried out and pretended to adjust the lawn mower gizmos so I wouldn’t miss anything.
Our new customer was holding Jed’s Stupid Cat, rubbing his chin in fur while Stupid tried to lick him all over the face. I don’t know what surprised me more—that Odum liked cats, or that Jed’s cat liked Odum. Some watchdog.
“Sorry to keep you waiting on your eggs,” Pa told Odum, “but when you put in a fresh order it takes a few minutes for the hens to lay ’em.”
Odum put the cat down to accept the egg carton. “Thank you muchly.”
“So, enjoy!” Grin.
“I intend to!” Grin. Odum squealed out of the driveway. His megawheels spit gravel behind him.
Pa let Boots Odum go without even asking him to bring the carton back when he returned for more eggs. Ma always asked. She lived by a motto, “Use it up, wear it out, make it do!” Even when Pa was bringing in money, she’d take us clothes shopping at thrift shops. Nothing made Ma more excited than paying one dollar for a brand name that looked like new.
I was wondering if the thrift shop at our church had sneakers when Shish yelled out the door, “Sebby, Pa said to get in here right this second and do what he told you.”
Where had she disappeared to in the middle of all that egg business? She had a way of doing that. Now you see her, now you don’t. But she was always there to boss me around. Like magic. With a perfect fingernail pointing at me.
“What? I can’t hear you!” I yelled as I yanked the lawn mower cord. I knew she’d clean up the mess. She loves to keep the peace as much as she loves doing her homework. And her nails.
When I put the lawn mower away in the storage lean-to behind the house, Jed’s Stupid Cat was there with his head in a bowl of milk. “Putting bones in the bank, eh, fuzzball?” I said, rubbing his head. He made figure eights around my ankles. I was glad someone had thought to feed him.
After supper there was a knock at the door. “That’s probably the Dogstars on their date night,” said Ma from her sewing machine. She had decided to take in some of Jed’s pants for me so I could cover my ankles.
Yeah, good old Marigold and Goldenrod thought it was real romantic when they left Cluster to babysit and strolled hand-in-hand down the road to get their fresh organic eggs every Thursday. They traded with Ma for goat cheese. Which tastes better than it sounds. I grabbed the carton Ma had ready and jumped up to get the door, leaving Spiderman alone to cast his webs around the prepositions on my English worksheet. The page was looking pretty magnificent, if I do say so, but I’d been toiling over it for five whole minutes and needed a break.
It wasn’t the Mr. & Mrs. at the door, though. It was Cluster, seeming to float like a water lily even with chubby little Blue Moon strapped onto her back, asleep. And that was the fifth strange thing of the day. She’d never come to our house before.
“Why, hello, you must be Cluster,” said Ma. “How lovely to meet you. Come on in.” Ma flashed me her don’t-be-rude look, and I realized I was blocking the way. I moved aside. Cluster floated into the kitchen.
“Wanna play with us?” piped Barbie from the TV tray where she sat playing rummy with Grum.
“Do you have any computer games?” Cluster said, looking wistfully toward the crappy old Commodore 64 in the corner. Jed had bought it and kept it going. Now when we turned it on, the screen just said READY followed by a blinking block. And that was all.
“Not at the moment,” I said.
Pa muted the TV and sat up, buttoning his shirt. “How are your fine parents this fine evening, young lady? I hope they aren’t indisposed healthwise.” The four empty beer cans that just a moment ago had decorated the coffee table had now magically disappeared. Pa seemed quite the fine fellow. Like someone who would never dream of calling anyone’s parents whacked-out yippie-hippie-doo-da-dopeheads his kids should stay away from.
“Marigold and Goldenrod are well disposed,” said Cluster, handing me the goat cheese in a recycled tofu container. “Thank you for asking. They sent Blue Moon and myself for the eggs because they’re . . . busy.”
“Busy doing what?” I said. It didn’t occur to me that I shouldn’t have, until all eyes in the room laser beamed holes in my head. The mouths opened to spit fire at me too. I threw up my hands and yelled, “Sheesh, sorry!”
At that Blue Moon woke up and howled. Cluster forgave me with a nod, gave her regrets to Barbie on the card game, and took off like dandelion fluff in a high wind. We heard Blue Moon until his wails faded with distance.
“What do you suppose is ailing that baby?” said Grum. “It couldn’t be colic, could it? His mother is so careful about her diet.”
“Don’t you mean about
his
diet?” Pa said.
his
diet?” Pa said.
“No, Marigold breast-feeds,” Ma said. Pa turned red and cranked up the TV volume.
“The baby must be teething, then,” said Grum.
“Like Sebby,” Barbie threw in, getting quite the laugh out of all except the one person who was glaring. Which was me.
I know this may seem entirely coincidental, but at that very moment a bunch of little knives stabbed inside my stomach. It was all I could do not to wail like Blue Moon.
“You think it’s funny to have four toothaches and all kinds of growing pains and a bunch of little knives stabbing in your stomach?” I doubled over with the cramps and started to cry. That was proof of my sincere misery. I can’t fake cry, and to be honest I would never even want to.
Ma got up from the sewing machine and came running to my side. She soothed me and forced the pink chalk medicine down my throat and tucked me in to bed. To help me sleep I held a pebble in my hand next to my cheek, the smooth greenish oval with dark specks that I’d found on the beach once when the whole family went camping at Lake Exton—fishing, swimming, playing Crazy Eights half the night under the gas lantern with bugs flying around it. Those were days to remember.
4
Friday morning instead of her typical “Up’n at ’em, Seb, chickens waiting, don’t forget to close the doors,” Ma’s first words to me were, “Honey, are you all right? Do you need to stay home in bed today? Grum will nurse you.”
When she put it that way, the aches and pains in my body hardly made me want to wail at all. I could live with them. Because my chances of having an okay day were way better out of bed than in it with Grum on guard and Pa in control of the remote. He watches too many horror movies. Besides, I just remembered I’d never hunted down those chickens that Jed’s Stupid Cat had let out. Ma would kill me surer than my mysterious debilitating illness if she did my chores and found out how I’d slacked off.
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