The Wrong Bus (3 page)
Grandpa ran through three red lights and another Stop sign. He drove the wrong way up two one-way streets.
He ignored all the bus stops with people waiting in long lines.
No one honked at him. No police cars chased after them.
He pulled into a reserved parking spot at the Restful Haven Funeral Home. “Wanna come looky-look, Juicy Fruit?” he asked.
Jack walked past a long black limousine. Two ladies held on to each other's arms. Two men eased a casket into the back of the car.
Indoors, the lobby was shadowy and cool. Soft music played. A vase of flowers stood on a table. The scent filled the room like all kinds of mixed-up candy.
A man with a bald head and a dark suit ignored Jack and Grandpa as they walked toward the doors that said
Visitors Please Use Chapel Entrance
.
They entered a room filled with caskets. Some had half the lid wide open. Others were closed with little shiny plaques on top.
Jack stood close to his grandpa, holding his hand. He looked around. The lights were dim. A thick blue carpet covered the floor. Their footsteps did not make a sound as Jack's grandpa led him around the room.
“Which would you choose?” Grandpa asked.
One was shiny black all over, with silver studs along the edge of the lid. One was pure white and very small.
They all stood on high tables, so Jack couldn't see into the open ones. Most had big handles. Beside each casket was a sign with the price.
One cost $3,000. It sounded like a lot of money to Jack.
He walked to the back of the room. He laid his hand on a casket made of plain wood. It looked as if it had just come out of someone's workshop. It smelled of sharp-scented, fresh-cut wood. It had no fancy handles or gold plaques. Jack felt his grandpa watching him. “I like this one best,” said Jack.
“You've got good taste, Life Saver,” said Grandpa. “That's the one I would have picked.” He stroked a dark brown casket. “But your ma wanted something fancier. As befitted the stature of the man inside.”
“Was it dark in there?” asked Jack. “Could you breathe?”
“Didn't need to. It's all for show,” said his grandpa. “But your ma was happy to see me tucked up tight.”
Jack wondered if his grandpa wore his bus uniform and cap inside the casket. But he didn't ask.
“Seen enough?” asked Grandpa.
Jack looked around the room. It was so quiet and peaceful. He wouldn't mind taking a nap inside one of the coffins. But he didn't say so.
As they walked back out to the bus, people in dark suits and black dresses were headed in. No one moved to let them past. They skirted through the crowd without anyone saying anything to them.
“Where are we going now?” asked Jack.
Grandpa pulled away from the curb. He turned onto the street without stopping to check both ways first. “How can this be a Magical Mystery Tour if there's no mystery?” he said. “Stick with me, Milk Dud. You'll find out soon.”
Jack had an idea where they were going. But he wasn't sure. He had never been to a cemetery.
Grandpa Nod drove along some streets Jack knew and some he didn't. They passed the grocery store where Mom shopped. They drove by the clinic where Jack once went to have a huge splinter removed. Jack peered out the front window and held on to the silver pole. He wondered where Grandpa Nod was taking him next.
His grandfather sang “The Wheels on the Bus.” Jack thought eight-year-olds were too old for that song. But there was no one around to hear him hum along.
Jack had never been on an empty bus. He liked it. He felt like he was in a private world.
His grandpa drove through two more Stop signs and crossed over a bridge on the wrong side of the road. He drove through a crosswalk when a man with a boom box was walking in it. He made a left turn on Pine Street, even though it wasn't past six o'clock yet.
At last, Grandpa Nod pulled the bus into a handicapped parking spot at the park. He set the brake and pushed the knob that opened the doors. “Coming?”
Jack and his mom often came to the Pine Valley Rec Center. They walked through the gardens and watched runners circle the track. Sometimes they went inside to watch people make pottery or play squash.
Today the water park was filled with babies splashing and toddlers running around with slappy footsteps. Mothers picked up towels and told children not to push.
Jack stopped at the sign that said
For Children Six
and Under
.
His mom often said many things were not for eight-year-olds.
He was seven when they built the water park. He had always wanted to play there.
Jack checked to see if anyone who worked there was watching. But no one was looking their way.
“You coming or not?” asked Grandpa. “This might be your only chance.” He was standing under a red spout. Water poured over his driver's cap and down his driver's uniform and into his shiny black driver's shoes.
Jack went down the waterslide twice. No one yelled at him when he bumped into a toddler who didn't seem to notice.
He and grandpa held hands and turned in circles. The sprinkler rained warm water down on them. None of the mothers told them to watch out for the babies.
Jack turned the wheel that made the water go on and off and on again. The little girl standing under the nozzle didn't complain.
They walked back to the bus. They were both dry before they got there. “I've always wanted to do that,” said Jack.
“I figured as much, Licorice Whip,” said Grandpa. He turned out of the parking lot the wrong way. “Just one more stop on my Magical Mystery Tour,” he said.
Grandpa ignored the young woman directing traffic near some road works. Even though the sign said
Traffic Fines
Double in Construction Zones
. He didn't even slow down when a little dog ran onto the road in front of the bus.
Jack looked back. He was relieved to see the dog had arrived safely on the other side.
They drove up a big hill where they could look down over the town below them. Grandpa ignored the sign that said
Authorized Vehicles Only
. He followed a curving path to the very top.
When he turned off the engine, everything was very quiet. A bird flashed in front of the window. From far away came the sound of a lawn mower.
“Let's go walkabout,” said Grandpa Nod.
They left the bus parked in the middle of the path. They stepped off the bus onto the grass. All around them were gravestones, statues and flowers. Some flowers were fresh and in vases. Others were faded and lying on the ground.
Jack shivered. “Is this where they buried you?” he asked.
“Sure is. Did you ever see such a peaceful spot?” said Grandpa. When he took Jack's hand in his it was cool as a breeze and soft as a feather.
He led Jack through the cemetery. They stopped to read the names on the headstones. They straightened a flower that had fallen out of its vase. They studied a statue of a smiling cherub.
They came to a small patch of ground under a tree. A shiny black slab of stone said:
Selena Deacon 1952â2002
Loved and lost but never forgotten.
Beloved wife of Neil (Noddy) Deacon
“That was my grandma, wasn't it?” asked Jack. He had heard lots about her. She had died before he was born.
“That she was,” said Grandpa Nod. “She got here first. Always had a competitive streak, my Selena.”
Next to his grandma's grave was a seam in the grass where a roll of sod had recently been laid. Jack noticed a pottery vase holding more daisies. A square black slab, just like Grandma's, was behind it.
“Go ahead. Take a look,” said Grandpa. “It won't bite.” Jack looked up into the branches of the tree overhead. The leaves shivered and shimmied. He looked at the clouds scudding across the sky. He looked down over the town.
“Take your time, my little Wunderbar,” said Grandpa. His hand on Jack's back was like someone breathing a secret against his skin.
