Dianne Salerni - The Eighth Day

JAX PEDALED HOMEfrom the store and muttered in cadence with the rhythm of his bike wheels: This sucks. This sucks. This sucks.

The groceries were heavy in his overstuffed backpack. But Riley had let the refrigerator go empty again, and if Jax wanted to eat tonight, shopping was up to him.

Riley sucks .

That was something Jax could grumble with enthusiasm. Riley sucks. Riley sucks.

Billy Ramirez was always trying to convince him how lucky he was. “I wish I had as much freedom as you do,” he complained at least once a week.

You mean you wish your parents were dead? Jax never said it out loud, thinking Billy would notice his silence and get the hint.

“Your guardian is so cool.”

Yeah, living with a guy barely out of high school who forgets to pay the electric bill is so cool. Often Jax was tempted to offer a trade: He’d go live with Billy’s parents and Billy could come live with Riley Pendare.

Traffic was steady this late in the afternoon, as people drove home from work. Jax flinched every time an impatient driver veered around him. He missed his old home in Delaware, where they had bike lanes . At the end of the block, Mr. Blum was watering his new sod again. Jax swerved to avoid the spray from his hose— Missed me today, you old fart! —and diverted onto the sidewalk in front of Riley’s house, the smallest one on the street and the one most in need of a paint job. There was an old red Ford F-250 parked out front, so Jax knew who was visiting even before he went inside. This was not good news. He locked his bike to the rain gutter at the side of the house, then slung the heavy backpack off his shoulders and carried it up the front steps.

The door opened directly into the living room, where it was dark except for the television. Thick drapes protected the room from even the tiniest threat of a sunbeam. Jax had once opened them to see if sunlight would shrivel Riley up like a vampire. It hadn’t, but Riley had complained about the glare on the TV.

Riley was watching his favorite show right now. “. . . a tunnel running beneath the pyramids lined with mica, which is used today for heat shields on spaceships. It’s as if the place were designed for launching alien spacecraft . . .”

“Alien spacecraft? Wrong again, dude.” The guy on the recliner threw a crushed soda can at the host of Extraterrestrial Evidence . It bounced off the TV screen and hit the floor. Jax groaned under his breath as he closed the door. Wouldn’t it figure A.J. Crandall would be here any- time Jax brought food into the house?

“Is that groceries?” Riley Pendare was sprawled on the sofa, still wearing his uniform from Al’s Auto. “Thanks, Jax. I was gonna go later.”

Yeah, right.

A.J. lifted his shirt and scratched his great, hairy belly. “Did you happen to get cigarettes?”

“I’m twelve,” Jax reminded him.

“Darn.” Then A.J. hefted himself up on his elbows. “He’s twelve?”

“Yeah.” Riley got up and followed Jax into the kitchen. “Thirteen in a couple weeks. Right, Jax?”

Jax shrugged. His birthday was tomorrow, but it wasn’t like he was expecting a party or a present.

Riley dug through the grocery bags and found a frozen pizza and a package of hot dogs. He ripped open the pizza box and tipped the frozen disc into the oven.

“Almost thirteen?” A.J. hollered from the living room. “You think he’s a late bloomer or a dud?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jax yelled back.

“Ignore him.” Riley found a pot to put the hot dogs in.

A.J. lumbered into the kitchen. “Hot dogs and pizza . . . nice.”

“Are you eating here?” Jax complained. They’d be out of food again by this evening.

“Pendare’s not supposed to let me starve. We have an agreement .”

“You don’t look like you’re starving, Crandall.” Riley held out his hand, and A.J. produced a twenty, which Riley stuffed into a flour jar on the counter. The kitty , Riley called it, both because it was where he kept the household cash and because it was shaped like a cat.

A.J. located a lone soda in the refrigerator. “This isn’t cold,” he complained.

“Fridge’s threatening to quit again.” Riley dumped the entire package of hot dogs into a pot of water and turned up the gas flame. Then he thumped soundly on the side of the old Kenmore.

“Some mechanic you are,” Jax muttered.

Riley pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Refrigerator’s not the same as a car, Jax.”

A.J. snorted. “Just call you-know-who to come fix it.”

“Every time I call her, she wants a favor in return.”

“Poor you. Wish she’d call in a favor from me .”

Jax didn’t know who they were talking about, and he didn’t care. When A.J. reached for the last grocery bag, Jax snatched it away. “That one’s not for you.” He looked at Riley. “Save me some food?”

“Well, sure,” said Riley, as if he hadn’t eaten everything Jax brought home on other occasions.

With a worried glance at the stove timer, Jax carried the bag out the front door and down the sidewalk to the house of his elderly next-door neighbor. As usual, Mrs. Unger met him with her wallet. “What do I owe you, Jaxon?” She held up cash, like she had to prove she had the money.

“I’ll check the receipt.” He put away her groceries while she followed him around the kitchen with her cane. “Sorry I didn’t buy any eggs,” he said, checking the contents of her fridge. “I thought the dozen I bought last time would’ve lasted longer.”

“The eggs are all gone?” Mrs. Unger pushed up her glasses. “I didn’t eat them.”

Sure you didn’t . “Guess it was that ghost of yours again,” he said cheerfully.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, as if he’d reminded her. “I found my library card on the kitchen table. It must be time to exchange the books.”

“I’ll do it this weekend. You want more like these?”

“Whatever these books are, get more of them.” Mrs. Unger waved her hand at a stack of books on the counter. “ I don’t read them, you know.”

Of course Mrs. Unger didn’t read romance novels. She borrowed them for her ghost, the one who stole her eggs, moved the spices in her cabinet, and rearranged things in her closet.

Getting old and senile must be hard.

Jax checked the receipt. “Twenty-four seventy-nine.”

“Here’s thirty.” When he protested, she said, “Take thirty. You saved me a trip.”

“Thanks.” He folded the three tens into his back pocket. She kissed him on the cheek, and he groaned theatrically even though he didn’t mind.

“Anything else you need?” He eyed her kitchen clock. The pizza would be about done. He needed to get back before A.J. ate it all. “Yard work? Pulling weeds?”

Mrs. Unger smiled. “I don’t have any weeds.”

Jax took a look for himself when he ran back to his own house. Mrs. Unger had perfectly tended flower beds. He wondered how she managed it with her eyesight and her cane. The built-in flower beds along the side of Riley’s house were nothing but hard-baked dirt, tough as concrete. Not even weeds grew there.

His timing, for once, was perfect. Riley was just scraping the pizza off the rack with the cardboard box it came in, and Jax scored a couple slices and a hot dog. Riley kicked a chair away from the kitchen table, which was his version of an invitation to sit down. “How’s everything at the old lady’s house?” he asked.