A Few Bicycles More, page 16
Bicycle couldn’t look at Mom and Dad. Breaking their rules right in front of their eyes made her heart hurt. She climbed aboard the Fortune’s seat and said to her sisters, “I’ll go fix this. I’ll take all the blame once I get back.” She hoped her parents wouldn’t regret that she’d returned home and turned their lives upside down.
“I’m coming with you!” Banana said. “You’ll need someone who knows at least one karate move. Make room, I’m getting on.”
“Did anyone hear me?” said Mom.
“I’m coming, too,” said Apple. “I’m the smart one, after all. Can I ride on the rear rack?”
“The 713-C needs me to come, too,” said Cookie.
Daff said, “Please don’t leave me behind to explain this to Mom and Dad without a script.”
I can take one other rider, the Fortune blinked. It vibrated and buzzed. Its frame grew longer. It sprouted an additional seat, plus an extra set of handlebars and pedals to match. It was now a two-seater tandem bike.
Bicycle thought, It’s official. I’m never going to stop being surprised by the Fortune. A brief scuffle started among the girls over who would get the new tandem seat.
Their parents gave up on waiting for them to come inside of their own accord and stomped out of the building toward them.
Dad’s annoyed voice separated the sisters’ scuffle. “What are you thinking? Didn’t you hear your mother? Back inside this instant!”
Apple spoke first. “We’re sorry. We know this scares you, but we’re not letting you stop us this time. We’re going to rescue our bikes.”
“This time?” Mom said. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Banana said, “Do you have any idea how much stuff we never try to do so you won’t be upset? This is too important. Our bikes are going to be melted into oblivion! We’re not going to pretend it’s okay to protect your feelings.”
Cookie leapt in to add, “We know you want us to stay home because you love us. It’s just hard sometimes.”
Mom’s mouth opened and shut soundlessly. She looked at Dad, who looked like horrifically sticky Band-Aids were being peeled off his entire body.
The Fortune flashed its screen to get the parents’ attention. I understand how out of control you feel when contemplating any member of your family being in danger, away from your protection. You wish to keep them safe in any way you can. You would hide them in a closet wrapped in bubble wrap if you could.
Mom nodded a small nod.
I feel the same about my siblings, the missing bikes. But they could not be fully aware without being allowed to move in the sunshine. I think humans are like this, too.
I know you do your best. The other Fortunes do their best to take care of Apple, Banana, Cookie, and Daff. Please help your girls return the favor now.
“Your bike really can communicate,” Dad said faintly.
Bicycle squeezed the Fortune’s handlebars. She truly did not know what she’d do if Dad demanded she get off the bike or if Mom started to cry.
Instead of crying, Mom took a breath that expanded her belly. She then spoke in a deep, resounding voice completely unlike her own. Bicycle thought the universe itself may have been speaking through her.
She said, “None of you are getting on this bike. I am.”
DOING THE BEST YOU CAN
“Now, I put my feet on these thingies, right?” Mom said in her regular voice, awkwardly climbing onto the Fortune’s extra seat and nudging at a pedal with her shin.
Bicycle wanted to ask a dozen different questions, but she didn’t want to break whatever spell had transformed their mom. The rest of the family didn’t seem to feel the same compunction.
“Who are you and what have you done with our mother?” Banana asked.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Apple joined in.
Daff muttered, “I can’t imagine any background music that would make sense of this.”
“Do you know how to use the brakes?” asked Cookie.
Dad said, “Stella, what about your eyesight?”
Mom answered, “Bicycle can see where we’re going, so my eyesight doesn’t matter. I’ve got this.” Bicycle couldn’t see her mother’s face when she said these last three words, but everyone else could, and whatever they saw made them take a step back.
“Right,” Dad said. He repeated it again, nodding. “Right. Cookie, go to our apartment and get helmets for your mother and Bicycle.”
Cookie ran in and returned in a flash.
Dad clapped Bicycle on the shoulder and told her, “Well, if you want anyone at your side in a strange situation, it’s your mother. Come on, girls. The rest of you can explain what’s going on, and we’ll figure out what we can do on this end.”
Apple, Banana, Cookie, and Daff allowed themselves to be herded back toward the building, casting mystified looks over their shoulders at the two-person Fortune.
“Mom,” Bicycle said. She hoped she could impress upon her mother how important this was in the fewest possible words. “We have to go fast.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Mom asked. “You taught your sisters how to ride, and now you can teach me. How do we start?” She pushed her right pedal, and Bicycle’s own pedal crank turned in tandem. The Fortune moved a half-wheel rotation forward.
“That’s how we start,” said Bicycle. She suddenly realized her mother was about to have a front-row seat to Bicycle being truly herself. She hoped that Mom would like what she saw. “Hold on to the handlebars and do what I do.”
Bicycle had never captained a tandem bike before, but one thing she knew was that with their extra weight, gravity had a lot of influence on their downhill speed. When they started down the first hill, she told her mom how to keep her body balanced while they coasted. She listened hard for Mom getting upset or scared. Instead, she heard her say with a sound of wonder in her voice, “So this is what it feels like.” Then Mom pushed her pedals harder to speed them up even more.
Bicycle felt a smile creep onto her face.
They made it to the closed gate of the scrapyard as fast as Bicycle could have wished.
Mom got off the bike first and said with satisfaction, “Did it.” She asked Bicycle, “Now we need to get in there and talk someone out of melting your bikes, correct?”
Bicycle nodded, peering inside. She saw no sign of Chuck’s truck.
Mom tugged on the gate, but it didn’t budge. “Maybe they’re not here yet,” Mom said. “Could we have gotten here faster than someone driving?”
We could have, but we did not. Look at the crumbs on the ground.
Bicycle saw a precise line of pale brown crumbs that led from the driveway into the scrapyard and down an alleyway between twin mountains of soda cans. She bent down to examine them and caught a whiff of cinnamon and apples. “Pie-crust crumbs.” She then noticed three strips of paper that said, Help! Hilfe! (German) Help! Aidez-moi! (French) Help! Greiða! (Old Norse). She said, “They’re here.”
Mom found an intercom box labeled PRESS HERE FOR SERVICE. She buzzed the buzzer button to get someone’s attention. Nothing happened. There were no lights on in the office trailer that Bicycle could see.
A tuxedo cat with ancient eyes appeared from nowhere and began rubbing up against Mom’s leg. “Hello,” Mom said, and scratched behind its ears. The cat looked as though this were one more memory to add to eons of memories.
Bicycle was sure this was the haunted cat from the shelter. She petted the cat’s back, and it arched up under her hand. She murmured to it, “I wish you could open gates the same way you open cages and doors.”
The haunted cat blinked at Bicycle a couple of times. It lolloped away.
“Hey, hold on, how did the cat get over there? That is the same cat that was just here a second ago, isn’t it?” said Mom, pointing at a tuxedo cat now strolling past them on the other side of the gate. It twitched its tail at Bicycle with a smug expression that said, In my long life, I have learned how to open everything. It padded over to a mechanism attached to the chain-link fence and headbutted the switch. The mechanism turned, and the gate creaked its way open.
The cat melted into the shadows and was gone.
“Well. That’s the most helpful cat I’ve ever met.” Mom took a few steps into the scrapyard and said, “Oh my. This looks like a dangerous place to wander around.”
The Fortune blinked, It has been more than thirty minutes. We must hurry.
“You can wait here if you’re scared,” Bicycle told her mom. “The Fortune and I will figure something out.”
Mom’s forehead wrinkled. “I have given you a poor impression of myself, kiddo. I wasn’t scared of anything before I had you and your sisters. As you grew, I had to cope with my heart walking around outside my body five times over.” She jutted out her chin. “That’s no excuse for putting my fears first for so long, though.”
It occurred to Bicycle that maybe while she was wondering what Mom would think of her, her mother was feeling exposed, too.
Mom looked at the line of crumbs. “That way, right?”
She marched forward. Bicycle pushed the Fortune after her. A few aisles through the junk, they found the 713-B lying askew against a row of toilet bowls.
“Banana’s bike!” Bicycle exclaimed. She pulled it upright and asked it, “Did you fall off the truck? Are you okay? I’m sorry I let you get taken. Where are the other bikes?”
The messages glowed. YES, INDEED. YES, INDEED. YOU ARE DOING THE BEST YOU CAN, AND SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. TURN LEFT. SEEK SHELTER.
“Seek shelter?” Mom asked it.
Then they heard the growl. Bicycle’s mind leapt like a gazelle toward the memory of the scrapyard office’s sign with the picture of the German shepherd: I CAN MAKE IT TO THE FENCE IN 2.8 SECONDS. CAN YOU?
Mom pushed Bicycle behind her, went up on her tiptoes, and shouted, “Go away!” in the general direction of the growling sound.
Nugget floated out from behind a toilet with a tough look on his fluffy white face. “Awww!” Bicycle said.
Nugget immediately gave her a doggy smile. Was my growling good? his expression said. I am good at things! He was trailing a length of twine behind him. It looked like he’d been tied up but gotten loose.
Mom said, “Watch out. I’ve had some painful lessons about trusting dogs.”
She made sure Bicycle stayed behind her, knotted her hands into fists, and approached the puppy as if it were a ticking bomb. Nugget’s pink tongue lolled out as Mom edged cautiously nearer. Anyone else might have thought her silly for approaching this little cloud of a dog like he might detonate, but Bicycle saw the situation for what it was: her mother being brave. Mom bent over in slow motion and wrapped the twine around her wrist. Nugget wagged his tail with joy.
“Okay, I’ve got him.”
Bicycle heard an insanely loud blast of the song “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” from up ahead, followed by an “OW!” and a string of curse words. Bicycle said in a whisper, “I bet that’s Chuck. Maybe the Fortunes are fighting back.”
We are programmed to persist, the Fortune blinked.
“Well, now they’ve got us to fight for them,” Mom said.
She pushed the 713-B toward the sounds, Nugget at her heels. Bicycle and the Fortune followed closely. They came upon Chuck two alleys away, standing next to a shiny, cylindrical machine with a conveyer belt that Bicycle assumed was the crucible. Chuck had his cowboy hat in his hands and was wiping something off the brim. Bicycle could see his jaw muscles clenched around the thick toothpick in his mouth. This one said FREE. His truck was parked to the side with the tailgate door open. The 713-A, 713-C, and 713-D lay tangled together inside.
The 713-D noticed them before Chuck did. It erupted into a cacophony of classical music. HALLELUJAH! sang a chorus. HALLELUJAH! HAL-LEY-LU-YAH! From the bed of the truck, the 713-C vooped out its hose and shot a glob of pie that hit Chuck in the belly.
He crammed his hat back on his head and said, “Stop doing that!”
The 713-C responded by shooting a barrage of globs that covered him from shoulders to feet.
“Yes!” Bicycle couldn’t help but cheer for the 713-C.
Chuck turned toward her and narrowed his eyes. “Ms. Kosroy’s assistant, what are you doing here?” He sized up Mom. “And you,” he said, “must be Ms. Kosroy.” He noticed Nugget, smiling in every direction. “Shoot. I was trying to turn that puppy into a watchdog.”
“He seems too sweet for that,” Mom said, offering Chuck the twine leash, which he snatched out of her hand.
Chuck rolled his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other and growled at Mom, “You can’t treat people like you treat pigs. You’re not welcome on this property.” He lifted Nugget into the pickup truck’s cab and shut the door.
Mom appeared briefly taken aback, but she recovered by smoothing her pajama pants and clearing her throat. “I am Stella Kosroy, and I’m not sure why you’re talking about pigs. There was a misunderstanding this morning. We need these bikes back. My daughters love them. Can we come to some sort of agreement?”
“Heck, no!” Chuck said. “You Kosroy people gave me funny money. I don’t trust you.”
“Funny money?” Mom said, baffled.
Bicycle said to Chuck, “The counterfeit money was a mistake, but we can pay you real money this time. Just not as much.”
Mom gave Bicycle a keen look that clearly meant, You will explain the counterfeit money later. She then turned to Chuck and said, “I assure you, there will be no counterfeit money going forward.” She pulled her wallet out of her coat pocket and said, “I have forty-eight dollars for a down payment now, and I’m happy to arrange a payment plan.” She laid the money on the end of the tailgate.
“Are you kidding me? Forty-eight dollars isn’t going to let me open my own business,” Chuck said. He took the bills, though.
Bicycle figured that he’d now gotten three dollars more than she owed him, so they were square.
Chuck grabbed the 713-A from the truck and pulled it to the ground. The not-compass spun in an agitated circle and started spewing ticker tape. Chuck scooped up a piece, read it, and scowled.
“What does it say?” Bicycle asked.
“That my grandmother would be ashamed of me. Then it says it in Pig Latin.” He said to the bike, “No, she wouldn’t! She’d understand. She knew I never belonged in scrap work.” He pulled the 713-D down and asked it, “Would you shut up?” It changed its music from the “Hallelujah Chorus” back to “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.”
A chirpy whistle pierced the air, and a nearby voice rasped, “Nugget, here, boy! Where’s my sweet Nuggety-Nug-Nug?”
Bicycle could see Nugget start to boing up and down inside the cab of the pickup truck. The haunted cat sauntered into the alleyway. Hot on its heels followed Mr. Wolff, who whistled again for Nugget. The cat leapt gracefully onto the truck’s hood and from there to the roof of the cab, where it proceeded to lick a paw and clean its ears.
“There’s my boy!” said Mr. Wolff, pulling open the truck’s door and catching Nugget, who sprang into his arms. “And there’s my other boy,” he said in a frustrated tone, looking at Chuck. “You put this rope on him? I told you, I don’t want to train him to be a guard dog. I want him to be a greeter dog, an animal who welcomes people. I swear, sometimes I feel like the things I say to you go in one ear and out the other.”
Chuck just clamped his mouth around his toothpick and tugged the 713-C out of the pickup bed.
Mr. Wolff noticed Bicycle and her mother. “Oh, hello. Are you the Kosroy folks who called a few minutes ago about the bikes? I think I talked to someone named Alex.”
“That is my husband,” said Mom. “Yes, we’re here to get those bikes back, please.” She gestured at the Fortunes at Chuck’s feet.
“Well, we made a deal over the phone, and they’re all yours. Working bikes need riders, not recycling. C’mon, Chuck, let’s get this sorted out.”
Chuck shook his head violently. “Dad, you’re making a mistake. These bikes are worth a lot of money.”
At his feet, the 713-A’s not-compass needle spun even faster.
Mr. Wolff answered, “You know my philosophy—treating people well is more important than chasing after profits. We act right, and enough money will follow. Did that go in one ear and out the other, too?”
“Aargh!” Chuck burst out. “What about me telling you I’d found the perfect location to start my custom-carved toothpick business, and I need the down payment for the building now? Did that go in any of your ears?”
Mr. Wolff said patiently, “We’ve been over this. Starting a business is risky, son. You’re better off here with me. There’s always job security in scrap.”
Chuck muttered, “I don’t want security. I want to do what I’m good at.” He looked defeated, like he knew arguing wouldn’t make any difference.
The 713-A’s needle stopped revolving and pointed straight and true at Bicycle. She tried to think of the best thing she could do to help right now. She was suddenly gripped by the overpowering feeling that she should move to the side, and that she should make her mother do the same. It was almost as if four voices within her skull were shouting, Get out of the way!
Mom gave both Mr. Wolff and Chuck a sympathetic look. “Sometimes we think we’re doing the right thing by protecting our kids, but sometimes we need to—” She let out a very surprised yip as Bicycle grabbed her arm and yanked her sideways, away from Chuck.
The alleyway filled with Kosroy girls, led by Banana windmilling her arms and yelling, “It’s time to REAP THE WHIRLWIND!”
She was followed closely by Apple, Cookie, Daff, and, finally, a goose hissing like it had swallowed every rattlesnake in the world.
WE ARE NOT RIDING FIFTY MILES
The girls came to a skidding halt in front of the crucible. “Go get him!” Banana said to Goose Lee, pointing at Chuck.
Goose Lee barely looked at Chuck, though. Instead, he swayed his neck back and forth, focusing on Cookie with hungry menace.
“How did you get here?” Mom asked the girls.
