LITMIR.BIZ

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still talk like this?”

      I wrinkled my nose. “Grandma says those fishing cabins at Sander’s are gross.”

      Grandpa chuckled. “Your grandma thinks anything less than the Ritz Carlton is gross.”

      “You think it’s going to snow tonight?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Can we fish if it snows?”

      “Wouldn’t live here otherwise.”

      “I figured you’d say something like that. One day I heard Grandma say that Layton Clayton would fish in a toilet if that were his only option.”

      Grandpa snorted. “Yeah. She chased me out of the kitchen with a broom when I told her we were going fishing.” He turned onto the highway and began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. We rode along in silence until Patsy Cline sang her last song, Crazy. Appropriate, I thought.

      Grandpa turned off the CD player. “You’ve been mighty quiet,” he said. “What’s goin’ on?”

      “I’m just tired and hungry. Can we stop for dinner somewhere?”

      “Too late. I want to get to the cabin before dark. I brought some sandwiches and chips.”

      “Why? There are lights in those cabins. Aren’t there?”

      “Kerosene lanterns. But, I need a little daylight to get them goin’.”

      I placed my hand on my forehead. “Please don’t tell me what else is missing.”

      Grandpa narrowed his eyes. “Just don’t drink too much before you go to sleep.”

      The minute I stepped into the cabin it was obvious Grandma was right. It was gross. And, Grandpa failed to mention that there was no creek at Sander’s Creek. We would have to drive another ten miles, before the sun came up. However, tonight he took great pride in pointing out the creature comforts the cabin had to offer. Mainly, two lumpy bunks with brown wool blankets that looked like they had been rescued from the set of a war movie. After he demolished three sandwiches I opened the Scrabble game I brought, ready to let him beat me. I needed him in the best mood possible when I reignited my help Madison get an “A” campaign. After he had won four games, mostly using nonexistent words, he climbed into his bunk and started snoring so loud I thought the windows might shatter.

      At five-thirty the next morning Grandpa pulled off my covers. I peered out the window. A blanket of fresh snow covered the ground. “Time to hit the road,” he said. So after a fast breakfast of stale doughnuts and lukewarm coffee, we took off. We rode along passing nothing but white fields bordered by forests of naked, black trees. I had almost fallen asleep when the pickup started coughing and then jerked to a stop. Grandpa must have turned the key ten times, then slapped the dashboard, slid out of the cab and lifted the hood. I could tell he didn’t have any idea what he was doing, because he was cursing under his breath. I rolled down my window. “Get inside,” I said. “Someone will come along. You’re shivering. You’re gonna freeze.”

      “I ain’t gonna freeze. I’m just shiverin’ at the thought of having to be towed home and face your grandma.”

      He climbed back in the truck and slammed the door. I reached for my cell phone. “I’ll call a tow truck.”

      “Won’t do no good. No reception out here.”

      “Well,” I said, as long as we’re waiting for a miracle worker to appear, we need to talk again.”

      “Oh no. I hate that phrase. Besides, I know what you’re getting at and I already said no.”

      “But Grandpa. You’re the one person I can always count on. My life is riding on nailing this assignment. I will absolutely die if I get picked and have to bail because of a few not so hot grades.”

      “Well, you’ve got a problem. You should have started thinking about those grades a long time ago.”

      “They just announced the festival last week. No one will have to know that you’re my subject. I could write it up like I had interviewed some old guy at a bus stop. And maybe for once in my life I could do something that would make Mom proud.”

      “Good luck with that,” Grandpa mumbled. He hopped out of the truck, and looked at me. “Now listen, I ain’t making no promises, but I’ll think about helpin’ you out. ‘Cept I don’t know why anyone with a lick of good sense, would want to go to New Orleans. Bunch of swamps, hurricanes, perverts dancing in the streets.” Grandpa shook his head so hard his chin jiggled. “I’m going to check the truck bed and see if I’ve got some emergency flares.”

      He returned empty handed and with a sour face, then glanced across the road. “What the heck is that?”

      Fourth Chapter

      I stuck my head out the window to see what Grandpa was looking at. I didn’t know if it was the creature that had emerged from the woods, beating a path through the snow, or the freezing air that caused a sharp pain to shoot through my chest.

      Grandpa let out a soft whistle. He reached into the bed of the truck and grabbed his shotgun.

      “Grandpa! No!”

      “Might need to get off a warning shot. It’ll turn tail.”

      I breathed a sigh of relief and hopped out of the truck to get a better look. But by the time my feet hit the ground, I decided I had not made a wise choice. A crazy-looking man, waving his arms like windshield wipers staggered towards us. I pulled my jacket tight.

      Grandpa narrowed his eyes and aimed his gun. He looked scared, which made me even more scared. Here we were: stuck beside a frozen field in the middle of nowhere, in a dead pickup, with a madman stumbling our way.

      The man threw his arms straight up in the air. “Put that thing down, old man.” His voice echoed as if it were rising from a well. “I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he hollered and continued traipsing through the fresh snow.

      “Dang fool looks like he’s doin’ a little dance,” Grandpa said, but waited to lower his gun until the man was practically on top of us.

      When I looked at the pathetic sight that stood before me, every ounce of fright vanished. A black sweater cap, the kind that could make Einstein look stupid, sat at a cock-eyed angle on his head. Tangled strands of gray hair stuck to his reddened ears, and every finger on his right hand poked through his knitted glove. He was wrapped in a ratty long black coat with tarnished buttons pushed through the wrong holes. He was so skinny he looked like a walking clarinet. A worn out leather satchel hung over his shoulder. His grimy face was pretty much hidden by scraggy whiskers, so it was hard to tell how old he was, but he sure didn’t have wrinkles like Grandpa. He gave me a curious look, cleared his throat, then ran his hand across his mouth.

      “All I want is a ride to town,” he said in a scratchy voice. “Been walking all night. Can’t believe they threw me off the train in this miserable weather. Pretty hungry.”

      “Grandpa slapped the truck fender. What’s the matter with you fella? You think I’d be standing next to this heap if it was working?”

      The man raised his eyebrows. “Tell ya what. Let me have a look. If I fix it, you give me twenty bucks and a ride to town.”

      “And if you don’t?”

      He shrugged. “We freeze together.”

      He dropped his satchel on the ground, stuck his head under the hood and thumped on everything he could reach until he straightened up and let out a disgusting, gargley cough. I flinched and got back in the truck.

      He nodded at Grandpa. “Got a wrench?”

      “Tool box is in the back.”

      The man returned with a wrench the size of a sledgehammer and started pounding so hard I expected our truck to be reduced to a pile of bolts. I winced, thinking

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