When Mom picked me up from school that afternoon, she had this big, weird, I’ve-got-a-secret grin.
“How was school?” she asked.
“OK.”
She strummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Weather’s supposed to be good this weekend. No rain, warm, plenty of sun.”
“That’s nice.”
“It would be a great weekend to do some stuff outdoors, wouldn’t it?” She was trying not to tell me something, but I hadn’t slept well since the episode with Stiller’s dad, and didn’t feel like getting excited over anything but a few hours of good sleep.
When we got to the Paramount, Mom pulled the S-10 around back. A big yellow pickup truck—diesel, I could tell by the sound of the engine—was idling in the parking lot. Hitched to the truck was a bright red trailer, and on top of the trailer was a massive, mossy-green Bass-Catcher float boat.
I jumped out of the S-10 and ran over to get a better look. The diesel truck was a fine piece of work, but the boat. . .
Two padded seats, beverage holders at both ends, neat little compartments tucked around the edges to hold all kinds of gadgets—the boat was a dream. There were at least ten different fishing poles stashed in the bottom. And two tackle boxes. One was a beat-up old metal box; the other was shiny new plastic with clear amber sides.
Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the home. “You’ll have time to look at that later. You need to hurry.”
We went in through the guest kitchen entrance and up the stairs to the apartment. I could hear Dad talking to someone.
When we reached the top of the stairs, Mom shoved me through the door. “We’re back!” she shouted. “Sorry we took so long, Mr. Conrad. Traffic was a little heavy this afternoon. It always is on Fridays.”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Kirk,” Herb Conrad said as he reached out to shake my hand. His eyes crinkled. “The fish won’t start bitin’ good ’til dusk anyway.”