chapter 30

BAD TIMING

Sunday morning, I cannot wait to get into the root cellar again. Got to see how the paint dried. But I won’t go down there without Calvin.

I come out of the crumbledown with four pieces of toast in my hand. I wait by the edge of Swaggertown Road. Take a few bites. Watch for Calvin to come down Jonagold Path. Then I think this: Might as well go up and meet him. I take a look to my left. Then right. Check for cars. Don’t you know it. There is one coming. Not too fast, I think. But I step back anyway. Then I see. It is a Merrimack Pee Dee cruiser. Another look and I see it: number 003. That’s Lieutenant Baird. And now he is slowing down. Way down.

Sure thing. He pulls off Swaggertown. Tires crackle over the gravel right next to my feet. I hear the swoosh. The lieutenant’s window going down. He hangs one arm out. Waves with two fingers.

I swallow hard. Toast crumbs in my throat.

The lieutenant says, “Good morning, Mason.”

I say, “Good morning.” In my head I think this: It was a good morning. Not so sure now.

He says, “Having a little breakfast, are you?”

I scuff my foot. I say, “Toast.” Then I say, “And I’m waiting for someone.”

He says, “Oh yeah? Who’s that?” He turns his head. Looks up Jonagold Path. Just quick.

I say, “A friend. Calvin. Chumsky.”

He says, “What are you planning?”

I think about that. We are planning plenty. But I will not give up the root cellar.

I say, “We just hang out.” That is true enough.

I think this: The lieutenant does not usually visit on a Sunday morning. And maybe this is not a real visit. Maybe it is more like bad timing. Like, he was just coming along Swaggertown and saw me. But now he is here. I worry he will say he wants to go inside the crumbledown. Take a look at that notebook he gave me. I know I have not been good about putting anything into that for him. The feeling of pressure comes. I see the ugly green. Starts up in spots this time. They turn splotchy. I blink.

The lieutenant says, “Well, enjoy your breakfast. And your Sunday. Stay out of trouble. I’ll see you soon.”

I nod. His window goes up with a snap. Tell you what. I cannot believe that is all. I breathe. The green stuff goes away. The cruiser rolls onto Swaggertown Road. Gone.

Funny thing. I’m looking at Calvin Chumsky. He is standing at the bottom of Jonagold Path. I think he has been waiting to cross. He’s got a granola bar in one hand and a garden trowel in the other.

I shrug. Show him that I have toast. Two pieces still. Both a little broken from me holding them too hard. And soggy from my sweaty hands.

Calvin crosses. We do not talk about the 003 cruiser. We have something else to do.