Chris Grabenstein - The Crossroads

Davy gestured at Judy’s freshly planted flowers circling the ten-foot-wide stump.

“‘Ring around the rosies, a pocketful of posies,’” said Davy. “Kind of ruins everything.”

“Really?”

“Frilly little flowers? Docked so dadgum close to our pirate ship? Shoot, anybody driving by will think this is some kind of girl’s tree house.”

“Wow. I never thought about it that way.”

“Me neither. Not till we climbed on up. But it just sort of hits you right between the peepers when you’re perched here, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” Zack said. “I guess so.”

“And that white wooden cross? That makes it look like we’re back here playing Bible camp! Jiminy Christmas, I wish we could just tear it down, pull up the flowers, and rip that dadgum stump clear out of the ground. The whole thing razzes my berries.”

“Yeah,” Zack said. “Razzes my berries, too.”

“That Mr. Billings feller was right. We need to get rid of it.”

“Yeah,” Zack agreed. “But how?”

Billy O’Claire sat in a booth choking down his third double cheeseburger.

The burgers were juicy and the first two had been okay, especially with a large side of fries. The third, however, tasted like what it was: about a half pound of cooked cow.

Billy belched. “Oh, man.”

His stomach hurt. He’d also inhaled three chocolate shakes in less than fifteen minutes.

“Finish my burger!” said a nagging voice inside his head. “I haven’t had one in fifty years!”

Billy took another weary bite. Tried to mash the meat and bread around in his mouth. It was becoming more of a chore with every chew.

He had never been much of a burger guy before. He was more into pizza. Nachos. Buffalo wings.

But it had been nothing but cheeseburgers, fries, and milk shakes since he had met the guy with the slicked-back hair.

Billy still didn’t know why the guy kept showing up. He just knew he’d be back soon because tonight was the night he wanted to meet Billy’s grandmother: Mary O’Claire.

Zack’s father didn’t come home until nine p.m. on Monday, his first day commuting to his office in the city.

Judy propped open the lid on a cardboard pizza box.

“Sorry it’s cold.”

“I’m sorry I had to work so late. It’s this meeting next week in Malaysia.”

“Well,” said Judy, “if you’re traveling halfway around the world, it’s probably smart to do your homework before you leave home.”

“Guess how long I’ll be on airplanes?”

“As long as you’ll be in Malaysia?”

“Close. The meeting lasts two days. The flight takes nineteen hours—each way.”

“Ouch. Better pack a good book.”

“I think I’d better pack the whole library.”

Zack sat on his stool, hoping his father and Judy wouldn’t start yelling at each other like his father and his real mother always used to do whenever his father worked late. Those arguments would start over long hours at the office and eventually lead back to Zack.

“You’re the one who wanted children!” his mother would scream. In fact, his mother had managed to work that particular line into any argument, no matter what it was about: “You don’t like how I spend money? Fine! You’re the one who wanted children!”

Zack worried that Judy might start feeling the same way. She might end up hating Zack because she was the one stuck in Connecticut taking care of him and he wasn’t even her real kid!

He had to do something. Fast. He had to change the subject before the newlyweds tumbled into their first argument and figured out who the real problem was: Him!

“We started building a tree house today!” he blurted out. “Me and Davy.”

Judy and his father stared at him.

“Who’s Davy?” his father asked.

“A neat guy who lives on a farm across the highway.”

“Can’t wait to meet him,” his father said, balancing a limp piece of soggy pizza.

“Me too,” Judy added.

Zipper crawled out from under the table, sat back on his haunches, and raised his front paws.

“Hmmm,” said Zack’s father, “looks like somebody else around here likes cold pizza. You know, in law school, we used to eat cold pizza for breakfast and—”

“What was that?” said Judy. “Did you see that?”

“What?” Zack climbed off his stool.

“I saw a light. It went swinging by the window.”

“Could be a car,” George said, his mouth full of chewy cheese. “Down on the highway with its headlights aimed wrong.” He peeled off a pepperoni and presented it to Zipper, who wasn’t interested anymore. The dog scampered over to the window.

“There it is!” Judy said. “See? In the trees? Looks like a flashlight. Come on—let’s go investigate.”

“Might be dangerous,” said Zack.

“Might be fun!” his father said. “C’mon, Zack. Bring Zipper. He’ll protect us.” He got up and pulled a flashlight out of its recharging cradle near the back door. Judy grabbed her jean jacket. Zipper barked.

Zack had no choice.

He had to journey once again into the evil woods fringing his backyard. And this time, he’d have to do it in the dark.

Great.

But then he realized something: This time, he wouldn’t be alone. This time, his whole family was coming with him.

“You’re right, Dad. Let’s go see who’s out there!”

“My guess is a lost cat,” Zack’s father said as they made their way across the backyard. “Probably heard Curiosity Cat moved in next door.”

“It’s probably just somebody playing with a flashlight,” said Judy.

“Nah. Too bright for a flashlight,” said Zack’s father. “I’m figuring it’s a train that ran off the tracks and is making all local stops.”

The beam hit them like the searchlight in a prison movie.

“Don’t shoot!” Zack’s dad said dramatically, and held up his hands. “We surrender!”

“That the boy?” asked a voice from behind the unbelievably bright light.

“That’s him, Pops. Hey, Zack!”

“Hey, Davy,” Zack said. Zipper wagged his tail.

“These your folks?”

“Yep. My dad and my stepmom.”

“Hiya, folks,” Davy said. “Sorry if we gave you a scare. Wanted my pops to take a gander at our tree house.”

The light lowered. A rail-thin farmer stood next to Davy. He wore a tattered Huck Finn straw hat with salty white sweat ringing its crown.

“Howdy,” the farmer said.

“Hi. I’m George Jennings. This is my wife, Judy. My son, Zack. And, of course, Zipper.”

Zipper wagged his tail.

“That’s my pops,” said Davy. “He don’t talk much. Right, Pops?”

“Yep.”

“But he sure wanted to see what we built up in the tree today.”

“Me too.” Zack’s dad aimed his flashlight at the crooked boards and uneven floor. “That it?”

“Sure is, Mr. Jennings. Ain’t she something?”

“That’s our pirate ship!” Zack said. “See? There’s the ladder like you have to climb to get to the crow’s nest.”

Zack’s father nodded. “Very nice.”

“Davy, would you and your father like some ice cream?” Judy asked. “I could put on a pot of coffee.”