Crunch Read online

  Leslie Connor

  Crunch

  For Jonathan, my tandem partner

  (Yes! I’m pedaling!)

  Contents

  1

  I SAW IT LIKE THIS: A SINGLE WORKER AT SOME…

  2

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, LIL JAMMED A BOX of drawing…

  3

  WE LIVE ON THE HIGHWAY. WELL, OUR ADDRESS is Bridle…

  4

  I’VE GOT CRAZY-GOOD HEARING. ALL I HAVE TO do is…

  5

  I WAS BACK IN THE HOUSE LESS THAN THREE minutes…

  6

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

  7

  ON THE OVERPASS, I STOOD UP ON THE PEDALS and…

  8

  LIL COULDN’T HIDE IT. SHE WAS GLAD TO SEE me…

  9

  IN THE BIKE BARN, VINCE WAS LEANING OVER the workbench in…

  10

  IT SEEMED LIKE TEN MINUTES PASSED FROM THE time I…

  11

  “THEY’RE HERE!” I HEARD LIL SING OUT.

  12

  I INTRODUCED ROBERT DEAL TO EVERYONE. Well, more like I…

  13

  RUNKS AND MACEY CAME WITH US TO THE BIKE Barn that…

  14

  THE NEXT MORNING, ANGUS AND EVA AND I pedaled to…

  15

  VINCE HAD AT ME WHILE I RESTOCKED OUR shelves. I…

  16

  VINCE CAME BACK FROM THE MORNING SEA Camp delivery whistling.

  17

  LIL KEPT EXPERIMENTING. I KEPT WORKING. I was wheeling finished…

  18

  “PSST! DEWEY. I NEED YOU TO GET UP.” LIL SHOOK…

  19

  SHORELAND’S MARKET WAS PACKED. I FOUND LIL in the produce…

  20

  FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, TWO BIKES HAD BEEN left…

  21

  IT WAS SIX O’CLOCK WHEN VINCE AND I degreased, washed…

  22

  “HEY, DEWEY.” ROBERT DEAL STOOD AT THE OPEN Bike Barn door…

  23

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, ROBERT AND I heard lots of scrambling…

  24

  I AM NOT MAGICAL. THAT’D BE RIDICULOUS. BUT sometimes I…

  25

  I LAY ON MY BACK IN THE ATTIC ROOM. VINCE…

  26

  I RECYCLED THE LINE I’D USED ON VINCE WHEN I…

  27

  IT TOOK ME FOREVER TO FALL ASLEEP THAT night. Bedtime…

  28

  IN THE MORNING, THE YARD WAS BUSY. THE smell of…

  29

  “OKAY, THAT’S IT!” ANGUS TOLD US. HE AND EVA came…

  30

  I GOT JUST THE ONE SHOT OUT OF THE sprayer.

  31

  I TWITCHED WITH ADRENALINE—SO MUCH that I’m confused about the…

  32

  I DIDN’T DO MUCH SLEEPING. I CHECKED ON Angus and…

  33

  AFTER WE TOLD THE TWINS ABOUT OFFICER Macey, Lil began…

  34

  I WAS LEANING DOWN TO INSPECT A JOCKEY pulley when…

  35

  DARKNESS FILLED EVERY WINDOW. DISTANT rumbles moved closer and closer.

  36

  IT LOOKED BAD. A CHAIR HAD GONE OVER ON its…

  37

  THE CHATTER WOKE ME. I OPENED MY eyes and stared…

  38

  “STOP CLAWING AT THAT BANDAGE, ANGUS,” Lil warned.

  39

  FOR THE SECOND NIGHT IN A ROW, I DIDN’T SLEEP…

  40

  BREAKFAST WAS EXCRUCIATING. HARD TO SIT AT the table with…

  41

  WE ALL THOUGHT IT’D BE MOM WHEN THE phone rang…

  42

  IT IS A CLICHÉ TO SIT BOLT-UPRIGHT IN BED IN…

  43

  “‘PUT THE MARRISS BIKE BARN OUT OF Business’?” Vince read as…

  44

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, POP AND MATTIE arrived with the…

  45

  WE GOT OFF TO A GOOD START.

  46

  AT THE END OF THE DAY VINCE AND I SAT…

  47

  I THINK IT WAS POP AND ROBERT WHO TEAMED up…

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Leslie Connor

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  I SAW IT LIKE THIS: A SINGLE WORKER AT SOME faraway oil refinery with his head tilted down, peering into a pipe, waiting for one more drop that never came. Doesn’t mean it was really like that. It probably wasn’t. But that’s what I saw in my mind’s eye the night our parents called to say that their trip had been extended. Indefinitely.

  It was a five-sibling footrace for the phone, and I won.

  “Dad? Dad, is that you?” I waited and listened.

  “Sure is, Dewey. Can you hear me all right?”

  “Pretty well,” I said. But the signal wasn’t great, and my pulse was thumping in my ears.

  My older sister, Lil, pushed close to me. We shared the receiver.

  “Everyone doing okay?” Dad asked.

  “We’re all right,” I said.

  “And how about the situation?” he asked. “What’s the view from the home front?”

  “Red flags are up at every fuel pump for miles,” I said. I lost my breath on the words. “No gas. No diesel. They say it’s the same everywhere. Is that true, Dad? There’s no fuel?”

  His answer came slowly. “It appears to be so,” he said. “Pumps are dry clear across the country.”

  Lil leaned away from the phone and whispered, “Shoot!” We both knew what was coming next.

  “I’m just so sorry,” Dad said. “Mom and I are still caught up here practically in Canada. I’ve got a stack of ration cards, but at the moment, they’re not worth a roll of toilet tissue.”

  I tried to give him a laugh, but nothing came out. Dad will joke even in tough situations. But he was sincere about that apology. They had thought twice about having Mom go. But this was the anniversary trip. Number twenty. None of us had wanted them to miss it.

  Dad’s main job is making deliveries all up and down the coast of New England. He drives an eighteen-foot box truck with a roll-up rear door. He can maneuver it in and out of all the nooks and crannies in the seashore towns. He’s an independent—makes up his own route and schedule. Each July Mom rides with him for a few days to celebrate their wedding anniversary. It’s not a fancy trip. I sometimes think of it as the Week That Mom Goes to Work with Dad. But Mom loves the scenery, and she says that it’s only right that she support Dad in his lifelong search for the best basket of fish-and-chips in New England.

  It used to be they’d get someone to stay with us kids. But this year, Lil was eighteen, I was fourteen, and Vince was thirteen. Angus and Eva, our twins, were only five. But to Mom that meant they were no longer babies. With all of us Marriss kids being the embodiment of responsibility (Lil came up with that one), it was decided that we could manage on our own. And we could. And we were. So far.

  “What’s the news from the Bike Barn, Dewey?” Dad asked.

  “It’s busy,” I said.

  Okay. Not exactly news. The Marriss Bike Barn had been humming all summer. We do repairs. Hard times at the gas pumps had meant good times for the bike biz. People were relying on pedal power—big-time. If there was news, it was that we were busier now than Dad had ever seen it. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell him that.

  “Vince and I have it covered,” I said. My brother faked a cheery smile, then let his face collapse into a gory frown. I couldn’t blame him. I was the one who’d talked Dad into letting me run the shop while he and Mom were away. And I was the one who’d roped Vince into it with me.

  “Dew, just be careful you don’
t get overwhelmed,” Dad said.

  I didn’t say anything. There was a pause on the line. Lil pressed closer to me—practically climbing up my ankles. I shuffled sideways.

  Dad went on. “Now, Lil’s class starts tomorrow. She should still go. That’s paramount. No reason you guys can’t make that work, especially with Angus and Eva in Sea Camp all morning.”

  Lil turned away again. This time, she fired a euphoric “Yesss!” toward the ceiling.

  “I’m afraid we’re not going to get an overnight solution to this fuel thing,” Dad said. “But mark my words, life will move on. You’ll see it. And if something doesn’t break within a few days, I suppose we’ll try to get Mom down to a train. Somehow. Not sure how we’ll get her out of the hinterlands…” Now he was thinking out loud. “I’ll have to stay with the truck. I guess we’re in a game of wait and see.”

  Lil took the phone from me with a twist of her wrist. “Dad, don’t sweat this,” she said. “I’ll only be in class until one o’clock. Then I’m home. Mom should stay with you. Besides, how long can it go on? And Dad, how long have I been doing this?”

  She meant how long had she been taking care of younger kids. The answer: a long time. She was already thirteen by the time Angus and Eva were born. (I think those two just figure they have two moms.)

  Our parents gave Lil some instructions and fired off the reminder that they expected us all to take care of one another. I heard that loud and clear from my place beside Lil’s shoulder. After they hung up, the five of us stood in the kitchen for several seconds without saying anything. Lil and Vince and I knew we’d have to somehow play it happy for Angus and Eva. This wasn’t fun news for anybody, but try telling a pair of five-year-olds that you don’t know when their mommy and daddy are coming home.

  “I-I just really wanted them to come home now,” Angus said. He blinked back tears.

  “W-well, how many more days?” Eva wanted to know. She was trying hard to suck it up too.

  Lil squatted down, arms wide. “Okay, come here,” she said. She gathered them in. “I know you miss them. But you have Vince and Dew and me. We’re going to keep on taking good care of you. And when there is enough fuel again, Mom and Dad will come straight home to us. This is just some bad luck. Nobody could have known.”

  But part of me was thinking that we should have known. Or somebody should have. Fuel reserves had been low all winter and they’d stayed that way through the spring. The news had been full of stories—everything from people giving up their gas guzzlers and lawn mowers to high prices and ration cards. There had been long lists of all the goods and services that were slowed because of the fuel shortage.

  But now, in this second week in a hot July, suddenly shortage wasn’t the right word anymore. Shortage would mean there wasn’t enough. Instead, there wasn’t any.

  Vince hit the nail on the head. (He usually does.)

  “This,” he said, “is a crunch.”

  2

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, LIL JAMMED A BOX of drawing charcoal and two sketchbooks in her backpack, which was already stuffed with art supplies. Angus and Eva looked on. They were a little bleary and not so happy to see Lil—the next best thing to Mom—pack up and leave. We’d distracted them enough to avoid major meltdowns—at least so far. (Lil had allowed double desserts and late bedtimes, and I think she’d slept in their room.) But Angus and Eva did keep asking, “So now when will Mom and Dad come home? When can they get the tank filled up?” We couldn’t supply the answer, and Lil didn’t try. She stuck to telling them what she did know.

  “Today’s really nothing new. You guys will be at Sea Camp again. Just like last week. Dewey will take you. Vince will pick you up. Just like…” She waited.

  “…last week,” Angus said.

  “Right. And everything else today will be just like yesterday. Except that I’m going to Elm City for the morning.”

  “All week long,” I added.

  “R-right,” Lil said. She gave me an eye roll to let me know I wasn’t helping. She focused on the twins again. “What I mean is, we all know what we are doing. And we all have chores. Just like yesterday. Angus and Eva, you will take care of the henhouse. Just like…”

  “…yesterday,” Angus finished, and he managed a tiny smile.

  Vince tuned up. “And I will milk our goats. And I will pasteurize our goats’ milk. Then I will be a slave in our bike shop.” He pressed the words at me. “Just. Like. Yesterday.”

  Lil snorted a laugh. Then she just cracked up.

  Who’s not helping now? I thought. Truth was, Vince liked working on bikes. Just not as much as I did. The killer: He was a better mechanic than I was. There was just one thing he couldn’t stand about the Bike Barn, and that was dealing with people. I hadn’t said so out loud, but after five full days of running the shop on our own, well, I’ll just say that both Vince and I had been ready for Dad to come home.

  Lil hugged Angus and Eva, then she bumped knuckles with Vince and me. She hoisted about ninety-seven pounds of art supplies onto her back and headed out on foot to catch the 7:16 Shore-Liner into Elm City. “You’re leaving early,” I called after her.

  “Yeah, well, can you imagine what the trains will be like today?” she said. She shifted the load on her back.

  “Why don’t you bike to the station?” I called after her. It wasn’t a long walk, but she was teetering under the weight of that pack.

  “Too many thefts from the racks at the depot. I’m not risking it.” She waved an arm over her head and started out.

  I realized something. She had totally lied. Today was not just like yesterday—not for Lil. An art class at Elm City College was completely new. She had worked hard to win this scholarship. She was top pick for a two-week session called Innovative Art Themes Intensive. (Too many words if you ask me, but the intense part came through loud and clear.) Talk about looking forward to something.

  “Hey, Lil!” I hollered. “Good luck!”

  She called back to me. “Thank you, Dew!”

  I brought my hands together in a loud clap and took my new post. When the oldest is away, the second oldest takes command. Being the parents, Lil calls it, and it’s automatic. Of course, nobody takes charge quite like Lil does, but I have my own way of dealing with little siblings. Even sad ones.

  I turned to Angus and Eva, made monster claws, and growled, “What are you doin’ still standing here? Do you want to be late for Sea Camp? RA-ARRrrrrr!”

  They giggled madly.

  “Go get those eggs!” I shooed them toward the coop.

  Two red hens hurried behind the twins. We called them the Athletes because they flapped up over the fence of the turnout every day to range free.

  Vince came swinging by with his milk buckets and gave me a loud yawn in the face. Our dogs, shaggy old Goodness and sleek young Greatness, trotted beside him.

  “Hey, think the Bike Barn will be busy today?” I asked.

  As he passed me he nodded and said, “Just. Like. Yesterday.”

  3

  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, ei
ther 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.”