Chris Grabenstein - The Crossroads

“No. It’s true. A tin man is what they call aluminum-siding salesmen.”

“Zack, no one has sold or used aluminum siding since 1959!”

“Well, Mr. Billings still sells it. Clarence W. Billings, and he said—”

“Zack? Stop. Enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m very disappointed in you, Zachary. You cannot steal wood from construction sites. However, you can go to jail for petty larceny. You can also cost me my law license if the court finds me to be an accessory to your felonious behavior.”

“But we didn’t steal the wood.”

“Yes, you did, and, frankly, you only make matters worse when you lie and say you didn’t.”

“But, Dad—”

“This is what you do, isn’t it? Make up complicated stories to cover your tracks. Tin men. A traveling salesman named Clarence W. Billings—”

“But, I—”

“Your mother told me about this. ‘He’s making me sick with his silly, childish jokes and stories.’”

“Judy said that?”

“No. Your real mother. Susan.” He took a deep breath. “She was in pain and there was nothing I could do. I’d try to cheer her up, but cancer is very serious business, son, and—”

And then his father choked on whatever words he wanted to say next.

Zack could see him straining to hold back tears.

“Okay, Zack,” his father finally said. “Here’s what we are going to do. You and I are going to make a list of every piece of ‘scrap’ you stole and where you stole it. Then we are going to drive out to Home Depot and purchase replacements. The cost will be deducted from your allowance until the balance is paid in full. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was absolutely, completely, 100 percent clear: His mother’s ghost had definitely followed them up to Connecticut.

Judy drove over to the North Chester Library when Zack and his father took off for Home Depot.

“What brings you here on such a gorgeous Sunday?” Mrs. Emerson asked. “Researching your next book?”

“No. Remember how you told me that you didn’t know why Miss Spratling put her memorial on that tree behind our house?”

“Yes, dear. I remember. In fact, I have a very keen memory. My knees are shot, but my memory is just fine. Now, then—what have you discovered about Gerda Spratling’s shrine?”

“What do you know about the Greyhound bus accident of June 21, 1958?”

“I know how to find out more. After all, dear, I am a librarian.”

An hour later, the two women sat at a large table covered with clothbound volumes of old newspapers.

“‘The Greyhound Scenicruiser was on its usual route from Boston to New York,’” Mrs. Emerson read from the lead news story in the North Chester Telegraph. “‘Along the way, it picked up campers from Camp Still-waters….’”

“A Boy Scout camp?” Judy asked.

“No, dear. A Bible camp. Used to be dozens up this way.” She tapped at a list printed alongside the main story. “This is the passenger manifest. Mostly strangers who had never met and they end up spending eternity together.”

“You think they’re linked in the afterlife because they died together?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Read, dear. We’ll discuss my ontological speculations later.”

“Ontological?”

“The metaphysical study of the nature of being and existence.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Read, dear. Read.”

Judy studied the list.

GREYHOUND SCENICRUISER BOSTON–NEW YORK AND ALL LOCAL STOPS PASSENGER FATALITIES

June 21, 1958

1. Pfc. Sylvester Barrows, 19 years old, U.S. Army

2. Clarence W. Billings, 36 years old, salesman

3. Sister Mary Ignatius Brady, 45 years old

4. Millicent Chapman, 9 years old, camper

5. Elizabeth Erin, 10 years old, camper

6. Dorothy Fenwick, 10 years old, camper

7. George Fenwick, 8 years old, camper

8. Christopher Ferguson III, 29 years old

9. George S. Gladding, 37 years old, businessman

10. Rebecca Goodwin, 18 years old, high school student

11. Corp. Simon Gorham, 22 years old, U.S. Army

12. Pfc. Alfred Grabowski, 20 years old, U.S. Army

13. Calley Jordan, 9 years old, camper

14. Mr. James F. Karpen, 43 years old, insurance salesman

15. Mrs. Charlene Karpen, 37 years old

16. Jessie Karpen, 10 years old

17. Harry Karpen, 8 years old

18. Gideon Leet, Jr., 10 years old, camper

19. Hudson Leverett, 9 years old, camper

20. Susan Lund, 10 years old, camper

21. Dr. William Mitchell, 35 years old, college professor

22. Mrs. Maryann Mitchell, 32 years old

23. Cody Mitchell, 5 years old

24. Hailey Mitchell, 5 years old

25. Tamara Mitchell, 6 months old

26. Pfc. Amos Morgan, 18 years old, U.S. Army

27. Sister Beatrice Mulligan, 55 years old

28. N. C. Perry, 76 years old, retired

29. George Porter, 8 years old, camper

30. Catherine Pratt, 8 years old, camper

31. William E. Selden, 9 years old, camper

32. Reverend Edgar Stiles, 48 years old

33. Sister Elizabeth Synnott, 63 years old

34. Charles Wannamaker, 38 years old, scientist

35. Russell White, 46 years old, businessman

36. Kathleen Williams, 31 years old, nightclub singer

37. Daniel J. Wilson, 28 years old, auto mechanic

38. Sgt. Abraham Yates, 29 years old, U.S. Army

39. Pfc. Adam Zahn, 19 years old, U.S. Army

40. DRIVER: Bud Heckman, 35 years old

Judy stared at the list to make sure she saw what she thought she saw.

Bud Heckman, the driver, was a local, so the newspaper ran his photo in the column alongside the list. Judy recognized him immediately: the nice man who had told her how to change a flat tire. Her goose bumps sprouted goose bumps. No wonder she had met the helpful man so close to a graveyard.

Bud Heckman was dead.

Zack and his father didn’t speak during the twenty-minute drive to Home Depot. They didn’t speak while they pushed the rumbling orange cart around the cavernous warehouse or when they loaded it up with plywood sheets, two-by-fours, two-by-twelves, and one twenty-foot-square blue vinyl tarp.

Finally, when the lumber was tied down to the luggage rack on top of their car, Zack broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I’m sorry, too. We should have come out here last weekend.”

“I guess.”

“Well, tomorrow I’m staying home from work.”

“Really?” Zack tried to sound excited.

“I think they owe me the day, don’t you? I mean, I have to leave at night and spend all day Tuesday on an airplane.”

“Yeah.”

“I could help you guys hammer in a few nails.”

“I hope you’re not mad at Davy. None of this was his fault.”

“I don’t blame Davy. He seems like a good kid.”

“He’s awesome. We were even thinking about having a campout.”

“Really? Up in your pirate ship?”

“Yeah.” Zack hung his head. “But I guess I’m kind of grounded….”

“Well, I think you’ve learned your lesson. So do you guys need supplies for this campout?”

“Really? Do you think we could buy a kerosene lantern?”

“Wouldn’t propane be better?”

“Kerosene is more like what a pirate would have. With the wick and all. More old-fashionedy.”