Herb had dubbed it Happy Campground. This was the good life. Better than a hotel, even.
The previous night, after Dad had pulled the truck off the highway and rumbled into a service station, Herb had perused lottery tickets (which his dad still refused to buy, even though Herb reminded him to “just think about it” every time they stopped) while he listened to Dad and Lucy talking to the man in charge. He’d overheard the man say that all the mechanic shops were closed until morning, but they were welcome to leave the truck there for the night until someone could come and take a look at it.
So, all four Peaches (along with one tank of mice, two tents, and three big bags of gear) loaded into the gas station attendant’s minivan, left their weary food truck behind, and got a ride to the nearest campground. It was late—almost ten o’clock—when they checked in, but Lucy begged Dad to let Herb take a quick swim before bed to get the wiggles out. As he settled into his sleeping bag, wet hair soaking into his pillow and stuffed pig, Herb felt pretty sure he had never gone to sleep happier.
First thing the next morning, Dad headed back to the service station to check on the food truck, while Herb and his siblings enjoyed a whole morning free! No baking, no cleaning, no planning, no strange customers, no generator humming, no pie smell in the air, nothing.
Glorious, glorious nothing.
It was perfect.
Herb spent part of the morning collecting empty toilet paper rolls for his mice to chew on and play with. Next, he found a few choice pine cones that he added to the box he’d been filling with nature souvenirs from their trip. Then he and his siblings swam until their fingers and toes were wrinkled and pruney, played a few games of pool, and ate watermelon left over from the breakfast buffet. After, they each got an ice cream cone and roamed around the campground, checking out other campsites while Freddy introduced himself to their neighbors.
After they’d been wandering for a bit, Freddy tossed more than half his ice cream into a big dumpster. “I can’t eat this,” he groaned. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m officially sweeted out. I’ve eaten too much pie these past two weeks. If I eat any more, I’m gonna need to pull a Herb.” Then, to make sure the other two understood what he was saying, he pantomimed puking. “Did you know that the pumpkin pie–eating champion earned a world record after she ate fifty pieces of pumpkin pie in ten minutes?”
“Gross,” Herb said. “I dare you to try to beat that.”
Freddy filled his cheeks with air, then blew it out again—making a glurching, vomity noise. “I pass.”
“I know I’m not supposed to say this, but is anyone else kinda glad our truck broke?” Herb asked softly, glancing at his siblings.
“Yes,” Freddy and Lucy said in unison. Herb kicked a stone, watching it roll down one of the dirt-crusted lanes that crisscrossed the campground.
“The past couple weeks have actually been pretty fun,” Lucy admitted, as Herb slipped his small hand inside her bigger one. “Exploring Minneapolis was great. And I liked selling pies to all those bearded dudes at the music festival in Madison, even though we got that ticket. Chicago was cool, too. But I’m not sure I can survive another two weeks of baking and working in the food truck….” Herb caught his sister glancing at Freddy. “I know it’s really important to you and Dad that we make some real money and win the Ohio Food Truck Festival, Freddy, but—”
Herb cut her off. “But hard work is hard?”
Lucy laughed. “Exactly. And if it were just the Food Truck Festival we had left, that would be one thing. But another few weeks running the Peach Pie Truck might actually kill me! Don’t you guys ever just want to do nothing?”
“We can’t give up now,” Freddy said seriously. Then he shook his head and plucked a perfect stick out of the wooded area at the edge of the campground. Just as Herb was jealously admiring his brother’s glorious find, Freddy broke the stick in half and handed Herb the longer piece, so they could have a stick battle. “But yeah, I hear you—a break would be nice. I’d love to have a little more time to draw and explore and stuff.”
Herb slapped his stick against his brother’s. “I forgot. How do they decide the winner of the Food Truck Festival, Freddy?” Maybe, Herb thought, they could just take the next few weeks off to swim and play and relax here at Happy Campground, and then they could head straight to Delaware, Ohio, for Dad’s big competition.
“People vote for their favorite truck, based on taste and customer service,” Freddy explained. “Then they combine customer votes with how much money each truck earns during the Festival, and that’s how they figure out each truck’s total score.”
“So basically, we’re a shoo-in,” Lucy giggled. “We’ve made…how much so far? Negative dollars on this trip?”
“We’re not exactly running like a well-oiled machine,” Freddy muttered, kicking his stick high with the toe of his sneaker.
Herb swung his and Lucy’s linked hands through the air. “Well, hopefully they have some oil for the truck at the service station. Then we’ll be well-oiled, right?”
“Oh, Herbie,” Lucy said, laughing. “If only it were that simple.”
Dear Great Aunt Lucinda,
Dad told me about some of the road trips he used to take with you and Uncle Martin. They must have been so much fun! I hope someday our family can have adventures like that. Without Mom, we haven’t really had much fun as a family the past couple years—but I think things are finally getting better? This Experiment is helping us figure out how to work together, at least a little bit. But what happens if we fail? We CAN’T fail. We just can’t.
Miss you!
Lucy
20
DAD’S PLAN
Freddy had just finished eating a monster-sized breakfast at the campground’s buffet on Sunday morning when Dad traipsed into the dining area with a big smile on his face.
“Really good news,” Dad said.
All the kids looked up hopefully. “We’re staying here in Michigan?” Herb asked.
“They canceled the art fair in Columbus?” Freddy guessed. Because of their truck’s mechanical trouble, they had been forced to skip their next planned stop in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and were heading straight down to Ohio instead. Dad had paid for a permit to sell pie at some kind of art fair in the city of Columbus. Freddy wiggled his eyebrows, and said, “So you’re thinking we should stop in Sandusky and go on roller coasters at Cedar Point instead? Did you know that’s the Roller Coaster Capital of the World?”
Dad gave him a strange look. “A different kind of good news,” he clarified. “They have a Laundromat right here on-site at the campground!”
“That’s the really good news?” Lucy asked.
“We can finally catch up on some of the important stuff that’s fallen by the wayside while we’ve been dealing with other things,” Dad explained.
“And the ’important stuff’ in this equation is laundry?” Lucy guessed.
Dad went on, “That’s right. Lucy. I’d like you to gather up all our dirty rags, clothes, and blankets and spend the day handling laundry duty.”
“Why do I have to go to the creepy Laundromat?” Lucy huffed.
“We all need to do our piece,” Dad barked. “You’ve got to step up and do your fair share or this whole experiment will fall apart.”
Freddy watched his sister’s eyes widen. What did Dad think Lucy had been doing this whole trip? And what did he think she’d been doing for the past two years? Lucy always did her fair share. More than her fair share.
After their mom died, Lucy had been the one to comfort Freddy and Herb during the scary months that followed. She helped them get breakfast every morning, she took them to the park and built forts and read them stories when their dad was working, she created fun scavenger hunts for them when Dad brought them along to his science conventions, and she had even taught Freddy how to make Frenc
h toast and scrambled eggs all by himself, so he didn’t always need to rely on her to feed him. In many ways, the past few years had been one big, fat experiment (and not the fun kind). But Lucy always—always—stepped up to do her part and more.
“That’s not fair,” Freddy blurted out after a split-second’s hesitation. “Lucy shouldn’t be the only one stuck doing laundry.”
“I can do it,” Herb offered.
“You’re too little,” Dad told him.
Herb squeezed his lips into a thin line. “I could try.”
Freddy had witnessed his little brother trying—over and over throughout this trip—to contribute and help out in his own special way: by creating Herb’s Cinnaballs; by caring for and entertaining his (terrifying) mice; by keeping tally of their truck profits with his Tiny Genius math skills; by offering Lucy hugs, even when their sister wouldn’t admit she needed one. But mostly, Herb never gave up hope that their broken family was capable of succeeding at something together, despite all their failures of the past.
Sometimes Herb wasn’t much help. But sometimes no one would even give him a chance to try. “Herb can help,” Freddy insisted. “We all can. But, Dad, couldn’t we wait and do some of this stuff tomorrow? The truck is still getting fixed, and there’s a ton of other—funner—things we could do today instead. It is Sunday. Don’t we deserve a day off?”
“There’s the lake, and the pool,” Herb chimed in. “I can show you some of my best cannonball moves, and Dad, if you came swimming with us, we’d have even teams for noodle wars.” Herb squirmed and bounced on his toes. “Ooh! And the front desk guy told me there’s an island in the middle of the lake where you can canoe out and have a picnic! A picnic in the middle of water!”
Even as Herb’s excitement built to a crescendo, Dad continued to shake his head. “We just don’t have time to waste on nonsense. We’ve got permits lined up in our next few cities, and there’s so much to do to make sure we’re ready for the Food Truck Festival. We can use this forced downtime to prepare for the grand finale.” He took a deep breath, still shaking his head, and then headed off toward the campground office lobby with his laptop. “Eyes on the prize,” he declared, almost entirely to himself. “We’ve gotta keep our eyes on the prize.”
Freddy huffed. He did have eyes on the prize; he desperately wanted to see this experiment succeed, and to help his family win the Food Truck Festival. He’d love to win that cash prize. Being crowned festival champ would be a tangible, obvious mark of success. Even better than a perfect quiz in math. And if Mom were there, Freddy had no doubt they would win. If they failed, Dad would realize none of this had been worth it. Freddy needed to make sure they succeeded—for Mom, and for the future of their family.
But even as he considered this, he couldn’t help wondering: Was winning the Food Truck Festival really the ultimate prize on this summer trip? Or had they been so focused on their final destination that they’d missed an important turn somewhere along the way?
21
HERB’S DECISION
“I decided it’s time,” Herb announced to Lucy on Monday morning, right after their dad had set off to collect the fixed-up food truck. Before he left, he had told the kids they had an hour or so left to relax, but that they should be ready to hit the road and get back to work just as soon as he got back from the shop.
“Time for what?” Lucy asked without looking up from her book. She’d been reading in the campground’s game room while Herb pretended to play video games. He didn’t actually have any quarters to put in the machines, but that didn’t matter. It was fun to pretend.
“I’ve decided to leave my mice here in Michigan,” Herb said.
“What?” Lucy glanced up. “Why?”
“They’re old enough to take care of themselves now,” he explained, his bottom lip quivering the slightest bit. “I helped take care of them when they were little, when they needed me most. But they’re bigger now and I don’t want them to be sad. I love it here, and I know they do, too. I wish we could stay here forever, but we can’t because we have to go to Ohio. But I can leave my mice in the big, grassy field over by the lake, and I think that will make them happy.”
Lucy smiled sadly. “Oh, Herbie. That’s really sweet of you. I think they’d really like to stay here.”
Herb let his sister pull him in for a tight squeeze. Lucy’s hugs felt good. And even though they didn’t make his sadness go away, they made it shrink just a little bit. “Will you come with me when it’s time to say goodbye?” Herb asked.
“Of course I will,” Lucy told him. “And I think Freddy will be happy to say goodbye to them, too.”
Herb laughed. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
* * *
A few minutes before Dad was due back at Happy Campground, Herb loaded his mice into a small box. He tucked his favorite T-shirt inside the little enclosure, and Lump nestled right into it. Herb had already decided that he would hide the shirt and box deep behind the woodpile near the campground’s sauna, just in case his mice missed him and needed a soft, safe place to sleep at night.
“You’ve done a really good job of caring for your little friends over the past few weeks, Herb,” Lucy told him as she watched Herb get everything ready.
Herb nodded. “I know.” He sat on the picnic table with the box cradled in his arms. “Hey, Lucy?”
His sister sat down beside him. “What’s up?”
“Sometimes I used to worry that I did something wrong when Mom was sick,” he admitted.
Lucy shook her head and pulled him close. “Oh, pal,” she whispered. “You didn’t.”
“I know that,” Herb said. “But I used to wonder, if I did a better job taking care of her, maybe I could have saved her?” Lucy took a deep breath and started to say something, but Herb cut her off. “Now that I’m older, I’m pretty sure I did exactly what she needed me to do. I loved her, and I brought her snacks and water when she needed them, and I snuggled close and tried to make her laugh.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said, her voice shaky. “You did all of that stuff really well.”
“I did the same thing for my mice,” Herb said, gazing up into his sister’s beautiful, kind face. “And now it’s time to let them go—just like we had to do with Mom. That’s what’s best. My mice will be happy to be free; just like Mom needed to be free of her cancer. I know it hurt her a lot at the end.”
Lucy nodded, her eyes full of tears. “You’re really something, Herb Peach.”
“You are, too, Lucy-lu.” Herb smiled at her and gazed down at his mice. It was time.
With his siblings in tow, Herb carried his mice through the campground, along the path to the lake. As they trekked across the waterfront, Herb held the box tight and Lucy wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Herb looked up at his sister, and said quietly, “I miss Mom.”
Lucy nodded. “Me, too, buddy. Me, too.”
Herb paused for a second. “But we’re gonna be okay, I think.”
Freddy kicked at the grass a few paces off, but Herb knew he was listening.
Lucy sighed, though she didn’t say anything.
“We’re gonna be okay,” Herb repeated. He nodded; he needed his brother and sister to believe it, too. “Things are different now, but different doesn’t have to be bad. At least, not all the time. She’s not here, but that doesn’t mean she’s gone.”
Herb set off at a slow walk again, stopping when they reached the sauna. There was a big, grassy field stretching out behind the old wooden building, and lots of comfy trees and brushy areas where his mice could set up camp. There were also lots of holes under the building, where his friends could hide out from any bad guys.
“I’m going to miss you,” Herb whispered softly to his mice. He held the box close against his chest, hoping his friends could hear and feel the thumping of his heart. “But I’ll always remember you.” He was pretty
sure they understood.
“Fare thee well,” Freddy said, saluting formally from afar.
“We’ll miss you,” Lucy told the mice, placing her hand gently on Herb’s shoulder. “Enjoy your new adventures.”
Slowly, carefully, Herb lowered the box to the ground. His mice were restless, as if they could sense what was in store for them. One by one, Herb lifted his friends out of the box and set them in the grass. “I love you, Fuzzy,” he told the littlest mouse. Fuzzy scrambled out of Herb’s hand and sniffed at the air. “I love you, Lump,” he told the chubby mouse. Lump lumbered off, immediately hiding under the nearby woodpile. When Herb opened his hand to let Hound out, Hound held back. “Go on, Hound,” Herb urged. “I love you, pal. And you’re going to love it here. It’s way better than the stuffy, hot food truck.”
Hound tumbled out of Herb’s hand but didn’t stray far. Herb so badly wanted to pick his little buddy back up, hide him in his pocket, and keep him forever. But that wasn’t what was best for his mouse friend. He’d begun to realize that no matter how tight he held on, sometimes the things he loved needed to be let go.
It was hard to say goodbye, but he was ready.
Herb pushed the box and T-shirt behind the woodpile, way back where no one would see them. The three mice sniffed at it, and then, together, they set off into their big, new world.
MIDDLE OF MICHIGAN MONEY:
(BY HERB)
∗ Cost of Pie Supplies, to get ready for the art fair in Ohio: $467
∗ Sales: $0
∗ Total Profit: -$467
The Great Peach Experiment 1 Page 11
