I Owe You One (8 page)
Zach and I felt pretty good as we walked to Lee's the next day. We had finished piling all of Mr. Elliot's rocks and mortar, and I had the arrowhead in my pocket. Tomorrow we planned to take the arrowhead to the Chiefs' coach and make arrangements to get our snow. Everything was falling into place.
We thought we'd stop in at Frank's shop to tell him the good news. He was in his usual spot at his computer.
“So we figure if you leave tomorrow, we could have the transmitter here by, say, next Thursday,” I told Frank. “Do you think you could start installing it next Friday?” I was eager to get this whole thing over with.
Frank laced his hands on his chest as he rocked back in his chair.
“Problem,” he said.
Surely he wasn't going to tell us he couldn't do it because there was a hair-dryer repair workshop next week or something.
“Yours or ours?” Zach asked. He was always pretty good about getting to the bottom of things.
“Yours.”
So, no workshop.
“What problem?” I asked.
“Getting the snow down there and the transmitter up here.”
He was right. I'd been concentrating so hard on getting the transmitter and the snow and the arrowhead that I'd completely forgotten to figure out a way to make the trade. I had to think fast.
“Zach and I will check out the bus and train schedules and get some camping coolers for the snow,” I said.
Frank shook his head but didn't say anything.
“What?” Sometimes trying to talk to Frank made my teeth ache.
Frank leaned forward on his desk. “Snow'll never make it all that way in a cooler.”
I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he was right. When we went camping, we had to load up on ice every day or so in the hot weather. And a block of ice lasts way longer than a pile of snow.
“And”âFrank wasn't done yetâ“who's gonna let two eleven-year-olds go down there alone?”
I closed my mouth. I hate it when people who think they're smarter than me actually turn out to be smarter than me. I tried to think of a quick solution, but nothing came to mind. How
were
we going to get the snow to Florida and bring the transmitter back?
Something inside of me snapped. This whole thing was spiraling out of control. There probably was no such thing as a life debt. Zach was just pulling my leg. And even if there was such a thing, there was no proof that Mrs. Minton had ever heard of it. Or expected me to repay one. I very seriously doubted that she was sitting (or lying, I guess) in her living room thinking I owed her something.
Everyone else was having fun on their summer vacations, and here I was chasing down snow, arrowheads and transmitters. And for what? No one was going to come after me if I didn't do this. Heck, no one even expected an eleven-year-old to be responsible for fixing this. Adults should be doing this. Adults like Frank. Or even Daryl.
I wanted to argue with Frank, but I knew he was right.
“I'm done,” I said.
“What?” Zach asked.
“Frank is right. This whole thing is stupid.” I walked out of the shop.
Zach didn't come after me. I was kind of glad. I didn't really feel like talking to anyone.
A man sees things through, Wes.
I pushed thoughts of my dad out of my head.
The next day was sunny and warm. A perfect summer day. Now that I was free, I wondered what to do first. Game Box? Movies? Checking out dirt bike trails? Just hanging out? It was hard to say. I couldn't make up my mind, so I headed to Lee's for some junk food. A heavy dose of sugar would help me decide.
I didn't call Zach. The whole life debt nonsense had been his idea, so maybe he was a bit mad at me for blowing it off.
There was a low rumble under my feet. Daryl. It was pretty far away though. I guess he was trying to keep a low profile.
A blast of air-conditioning hit me as I went into the store. Mr. Lee was hanging a banner, that read
Happy Anniversary
.
“Whose anniversary is it?” I asked him.
“Ours,” he said, smiling. “We been here ten years this month.”
“Wow. Congratulations.”
“Here, you deserve special deal on chips and pop. One dollar.”
“Great! But why me?”
“Without your father, it would not be possible. We would not be here at all.”
“My dad?”
“Sure. He helped me big-time to buy business. The old owner left town without giving us the survey. The bank said we couldn't get a mortgage without it. Your dad”âhe shook his head in admirationâ “he tracked down the owner. For weeks. He called his boss, his neighbors. He drove eighty miles away to find him. He never stopped until he found him.”
I smiled and nodded, but inside, my gut was churning. I left the store, dragging my feet.
A man never gives up, Wes.
My dad didn't just say the words, he lived them. And what was I doing? Running away as soon as things got tough. Pathetic.
I was so lost in thought that I almost smacked into Zach outside of Lee's.
“Hey, Wes. You okay?”
Relief washed over me. Zach wasn't mad.
I didn't know where to begin. “Sorry. I kinda snapped yesterday. I just got, you know, frustrated.”
Zach shrugged. “So, are we still gonna do this?”
“I guess so. I just don't know how.”
“Maybe this will help.” Zach walked over to the hose by the pumps and jumped on it. The bells chimed.
He looked up and grinned.
I didn't know what to say. My friend had clearly lost his mind.
“Gee, that's great, Zach. Why don't we get you out of the hot sun?”
Zach's only response was to jump on the hose again, still grinning.
“Don't you get it?” he asked.
“Get what?”
“Where'd Mr. Lee get the bells for this?”
“Uh, the
Nice'n Icy
truck out back?” I humored him as I tried to steer him into the air-conditioned store.
“Yes! The
Nice 'n Icy
truck that's REFRIGERATED,” he said triumphantly.
Of course! A refrigerated truck would keep the snow from melting! Why hadn't I thought of that?
“All we need now is a driver,” I said.
Frank was tinkering with someone's waffle maker while we sat on his desk trying to solve our new problems, which were a) did the ice-cream truck still run? b) would Mr. Lee let us borrow it? and c) who would drive it all the way to Florida and back?
There was no way we would be allowed to go. We had both already asked, and we were both told “absolutely not.” I had worked on my mom for over half an hour, but no matter what angle I tried, the answer was the same. Life debt or no life debt, I was not going to Florida. And anyway, I couldn't drive.
As we sat on Frank's desk, I caught Zach's eye. We had been friends long enough that we always knew what the other guy was thinking, and we both knew that the answer was right in front of us. Frank. Frank could fix the truck if it needed it, he was good friends with Mr. Lee and, more importantly, he had his driver's license. We didn't quite know how to ask, though, so we just kept looking at each other and shrugging.
“I'm not going,” Frank said without even turning around to face us. How did he know we were going to ask him?
“You're our only hope, Frank,” I said. I meant it.
“This is your problem, not mine. I didn't almost drown in the creek.”
“Well, I guess that's it then,” I said. “Mrs. Minton will have to miss Rachel's race. If she even lasts that long.”
“Oh no you don't. Don't you pull that guilt trip on me,” Frank said, spinning around.
What can I say? After years of having Mom guilttrip me, I was an expert.
Frank put down the waffle maker. “Look. I got a business to run. I can't just take off for a week to drive an ice-cream truck down the highway. I got bills to pay.”
“We'll pay you,” I said suddenly. Zach's mouth dropped open.
“What do you mean, we'll pay him?” he asked. “Where are we going to find the money to pay him? My allowance barely covers snacks at Lee's and the occasional comic book.”
“Then we'll pay him some other way. Work for him for free or something.”
Frank went back to his waffle maker. “I don't need any help.”
There was this little itch at the back of my brain, like I knew the answer to this and just didn't want to remember it.
“How about running deliveries for you?” I said. “Or doing your laundry? Or your whole family's laundry?”
“Nope.”
The itch got bigger. I knew how to pay Frank. But just the thought of it made me feel sick. But in my mind, I saw Mrs. Minton's faceâstrong and determined when she pulled me out of the creek, and pale and tired as she lay on her bed.
People are more important than things, Wes.
“How about if I give you my Spider-Man comic?” I didn't mean it to come out in a whisper.
Frank whirled around, a look of astonishment on his face. “Are you kidding? Issue number four, where he meets Doctor Octopus? You'd really give it to me if I drive to Florida?”
I tried not to gulp out loud as I said, “Yup.”
Zach grabbed my arm. “Are you sure, Wes?”
“Yeah. I'm sure.” I tried not to sound sad when I said it. “So will you do it?”
“You really gonna give up your chance at a dirt bike for old Mrs. Minton?” Frank asked.
“A man pays his debts,” I mumbled.
“That's the craziest thing I ever heard,” Frank said. “But I'd be even crazier not to take it. That issue will complete my collection, you know.” He sounded like a kid, not a grown man with a soldering gun.
“Yeah, I know. So you'll do it?”
He paused, as if he wasn't sure if I was serious or not. “All right. Get me some snow and a map.”
I had to smile, despite the fact that I would never feel the wind and dust on my face as I sped across the fields and over jumps on my 250cc Hummer.
I thought time had crawled by when I was waiting for summer vacation to start, but that was nothing compared to waiting while Frank drove down to Florida and back.
Zach and I had agreed to look after Frank's shop while he was away, taking in work and answering the phone. I would have preferred to be swimming at the quarry or having a video game marathon, but it seemed only right that we help Frank out.
Frank said he would email us from his iPhone. We checked the computer in the shop every half an hour for a day until finally the first email came.
Rough road. Spilled coffee. Need new pants
.
It didn't sound like a good beginning to the trip.
“Didn't he take another pair of pants?” Zach asked. “He really should have got some good travel clothes. I saw this documentary on traveling in Africa once, where this guy's hat was eaten by an elephant. A few days later he found it in a pile of, well, you know what. He washed it out and it was as good as new.”
