Twenty Minutes Late

by Caroline Crane

  “Okay, your job is to watch it,” Maddie said. “If it starts with no trouble, you close the hood quick and jump in.”

  She turned her key. Cree leaped back as the engine flew apart. Maddie turned it off, pounded the seat, and screamed.

  Cree suggested a tow truck.

  “I don’t know any tow trucks,” Maddie wailed. “They cost money. All I know is home and Ben had better answer.”

  Cree started to warn her about Ben finding them at Kelsey’s house. Maddie had already pressed the number.

  The only answer came from a machine. Maddie shouted at Ben to pick up. When he didn’t, all she could do was leave a message.

  “What if he didn’t hear you?” said Cree. “Give it to me, I’ll call my grandma.”

  “Would your grandma know how to fix this?” Maddie stared down at her engine. It was the same jumble as before, a tangle of wires, conical objects, and holes that looked as if something belonged in them but wasn’t there.

  “I did put them back,” Maddie said. “They won’t stay. If Ben didn’t hear me we’ll have to wait until Rhoda gets home.”

  “Do you call your father by his first name?”

  “No, he’s Daddy. I don’t remember how I started with Rhoda. Ben does it, too. The name’s Greek for ‘rose.’”

  Several cars passed by. No one stopped. At some point Maddie would have to give up and call a tow truck. Would a tow truck take them anywhere, or only take the car and leave them to walk? It was a long way to Maddie’s house and the afternoon was growing cold.

  Chapter Nineteen

  More traffic came around a bend and hurried on, ignoring the sight of a disabled car with the hood up and two girls standing next to it.

  “What’s the matter with those people?” Maddie said. “Can’t they see we’re in trouble?”

  “They don’t want to see it,” said Cree. “Because then they might have to do something.”

  Finally, a bright gentian blue approached, slowly. Maddie jumped up and down. “He heard me! He heard me!”

  Cree thought perhaps he came because Maddie mentioned the trailer and he knew what was next to it.

  Maddie spoke into her ear. “Don’t tell him about the trouble yesterday. He’ll chew me out for not taking care of it, but it might not be related. This whole car is crap.”

  Ben took one look inside it. “Your sparkplugs are loose.”

  “I know that,” Maddie said. “I’m not completely and hopelessly stupid. I put them back but as soon as I started it they popped out again.”

  “They have to be tightened by machine. Where did you get your tune-up?”

  “Sluskin’s.”

  “Don’t go there again.”

  “But Mr. Sluskin is so nice.”

  “What does ‘nice’ have to do with it? You just got a tune-up. This shouldn’t be happening. I can tighten them for now but they have to be done by machine.”

  He got a tool kit from his truck and set to work. Cree watched his hands. He knew exactly what he was doing. How could he make such a mess of his personal life? She understood it better after reading the Internet.

  It didn’t take him long. He reminded Maddie once again about machine tightening. “And don’t wait. What were you doing here, anyway?”

  Cree answered before Maddie could put her foot in. “I wanted to show her the trailer. We were trying to turn around when it happened.”

  He gave her a long look. She wasn’t sure if he was remembering their sunny afternoon, or only skeptical of her excuse.

  “That should get you home,” he told Maddie. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Cree had a faint hope of riding in the blue truck, but Maddie needed moral support. She couldn’t be abandoned.

  Maddie drove cautiously, afraid of shaking things loose again. “Stupid car.”

  “It can’t help being a car,” said Cree. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “About Kelsey? He’d kill me.”

  “Then what’s it all for?”

  “It’s for a direct assault on Kelsey. Don’t worry, nothing physical. We’re going to confront her and make her understand that she’s punishing the wrong person for a stupid dream and for one sick creep at the movies. None of it had anything to do with Ben. It’s irrational, it’s evil, and she needs to get over it.”

  Risking Maddie’s annoyance, Cree asked, “What about him keeping after her? Isn’t that what got him in trouble?”

  “He wouldn’t have done it if she’d just been reasonable and answered his questions.”

  “What if she’s not reasonable? Something must have made her have that dream.”

  “That’s what I mean. It’s possible something did, but how is that Ben’s fault? I completely believe he kept after her, but not in a threatening way. He wanted answers and he really wanted her friendship, only his Asperger’s kept him from understanding what a pest he was being. A pest, not a menace. Carrying a knife, my ass. I’d really like to see inside her head.”

  Ben must have suspected more than they thought. When they reached the Canfield house, he looked straight at Cree. As straight as he could, somewhere below her eyes. “Is that really all you were doing? Showing her the trailer? What for?”

  She answered smoothly, “Because it’s so out of place right there on Fremont with all those nice houses. She thought so, too. Maddie, could I use your phone to call my grandmother?”

  “I’ll take you,” said Ben. And to his sister, “Don’t wait on getting that fixed. You know where to go.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t need fixing.” She backed around to park facing the road.

  Almost immediately, the rattling began. She clenched her fists, let out a shriek, and banged her face on the steering wheel.

  Ben took out his BlackBerry and made a call. It was brief, and when finished, he told her, “You’ll have to wait here for the tow truck. It’s going to cost you.”

  He seemed to enjoy that. Maddie clutched at her head.

  * * * *

  It wasn’t his fault Maddie needed an expensive tow. She was still furious the next morning and complained all the way to school. He tried not to listen, until she said, “I won’t be needing a ride home. My car should be ready by then. How long does it take to tighten a few sparkplugs?”

  He assumed she wanted an answer. “Depends on how busy they are. And if anything else needs work.”

  She grumbled about that and reminded him they had to pick up Cree. He couldn’t help wondering about that assault on Cree’s bike. To stop her from using it, but why? He kept those thoughts to himself, to avoid any cracks about conspiracy theories.

  When school was out, he looked for Maddie to ask if she wanted a ride to pick up her car.

  She growled, “I’ll walk. I need to work off steam. Your precious garage still hasn’t finished, can you believe that? Something to do with the electrical system, as if that isn’t going to cost. So go on home and check your mail.”

  It bothered him that she noticed he checked the mail every day. Did she know for what? He tried to find Cree, but she had already left.

  Driving home, he reflected that Maddie had one thing right. Southbridge was big and noisy. More so than Lakeside. The whole world, in fact, was noisy, mostly from people. The animal kingdom was relatively quiet, except now and then for birds and barking dogs. Trumpeting elephants and roaring lions. Okay, but anyway the plant kingdom was quiet.

  He hated noise. Often he found himself hating his whole life. What was the point of living if it was going to be such a wreck?

  He knew he had to take some responsibility, maybe a lot, for what happened at Lakeside. He’d been a jerk and didn’t realize it until too late. At times like that he needed an interpreter to explain the world to him. There were interpreters for deaf people, so why not?

  Crossing the bridge, he thought of Cree and that boulder. He saw it fall. He hadn’t looked up to see where it came from, there wasn’t time. She could so easily have been killed right before his eyes. />
  But she wasn’t, so why project? Instead, there had been that quiet afternoon, the jelly sandwich, and she almost seemed to get what he talked about. Was it possible for a non-Aspie to understand?

  He was actually glad Maddie wouldn’t be home. Or Rhoda, whose car wasn’t there but might show up any time. He took in the mail and sorted through it.

  Nothing yet. That windbag Yeager must have had other things to do besides draw up charges. Or else there were so many charges that it took time. Or Yeager was putting on pressure by making him wait, a kind of psychological warfare.

  Then there was the hearing still to come. They wouldn’t even give a hint as to when it would be. That really was psychological warfare.

  He was about to turn on his computer when the doorbell rang.

  He considered not answering it. With elections coming up, it’d be a local candidate, though usually they came around on weekends when more people of voting age were home.

  It rang again. The dogs went crazy. This candidate wasn’t giving up. He went downstairs.

  It was a middle-aged man wearing a jaunty Alpine hat with a feather. Any other details escaped him when the man said, “Benjamin Canfield?” That gave it away.

  He wanted Ben to sign something. Ben said, “The name is actually Bennett. It’s not going to match.”

  That didn’t bother the man. He handed Ben an envelope. “Have a good day.”

  Ben clutched it with numb fingers. He had never considered that it might come by process server.

  He started to open it, then changed his mind. Not downstairs, when Maddie might come home, or Rhoda. He took it to his room and began to read.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was not a bad day for walking. Not yet, but wait till winter. And the winter after that. Cree had two alternatives. She could drop out of school right now, get a job, and hear what Mom had to say about that. Or she could take some of her New York money and get a new bike. She liked the first option better, except for Mom.

  Ben was right. Going all the way back to her slashed tires, those things couldn’t be simple coincidence. But why her? Why her bike? That thing with the rock, maybe Stacie realized it was going too far and scaled back to attacking only the bike.

  But why? Could Troy possibly have said something, like maybe he missed Cree? Not much chance, but it would make Stacie bonkers.

  He hadn’t, though. He didn’t even acknowledge her, much less make any move. And Stacie hadn’t yet returned to school. Maybe she never would.

  Grandma kept the front door locked now even when she was home. Cree used her key and tried not to look at her bike, all crushed and bent, just inside the door. Mom wanted her to dispose of it but she couldn’t quite yet. That would make it all too final.

  Grandma and Jasper sat together on the sofa watching a courtroom show with a sassy judge. Was there ever a courtroom show that didn’t have a sassy judge?

  “Feeling better?” Grandma held out her cure-all, a package of Pecan Sandies. Cree took as many as she could hold in one hand.

  Before stuffing her mouth, she said, “You told me I could borrow your car sometimes if I don’t get any scratches on it.”

  Grandma’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this, one of your emergencies?”

  Cree tried to think of an answer that would keep Grandma from wanting to go with her. “I need to see Maddie and she’s at the garage. We have a homework project we’re doing together.”

  “That’s it? Homework?”

  “A project for social studies.” Someday a thunderbolt would strike her down. Or her nose would grow, like Pinocchio’s. She would have to warn Maddie not to call and blow her story.

  “I’ll be home before dark,” she promised.

  “You better be. And don’t forget, dark comes earlier every day.”

  Grandma stood at the door to wave her off and worry. Cree hadn’t had much experience driving. It was hard to get experience without a chance to drive.

  The hardest parts were Grand Street and the bridge. She got past both and started up the hill, trying not to look at the cliff. Even if Stacie were there with a crowbar, she couldn’t know it was Cree in that orange car.

  On Fremont, the sun shone brightly. She would have a little time before it set.

  She slowed when she came to A. Santiago. If any cars were there, they were hidden in the two-car garage. She wanted a better look but didn’t dare go in.

  As she lingered, the front door opened and a woman came out leading a small child by the hand.

  A girl.

  They could have disguised Kip as a girl.

  The woman zapped one of the garage doors open and they went inside. Cree drove on, thinking.

  Why would they want Olive’s child? Why would the whole family be in on it? If it were only Emerson, she could understand. He was so unpredictable.

  A more logical explanation came to mind. She did not want to accept it because it left her back at square one. But it seemed possible that Emerson’s father had remarried and started a new family. How could she find out for sure?

  As long as she was here, she could check on that house they thought was Kelsey’s. She considered places from which she could check. There was the grove of lilac bushes where Ben had parked, then sneak through the woods between the trailer and the house. She hoped the woods was sneakable and not dense brambles.

  Reaching the lilacs, she paused and wondered if her bright orange car would show through them. Of course it would. Already more leaves had fallen. Why couldn’t lilacs keep their leaves the way Maddie’s rhododendrons did? Why couldn’t Grandma have picked a more subtle color?

  Anyway, something was already there. Something shiny and blue.

  She pulled to the side of the road, barely avoiding the ditch. She didn’t see Ben anywhere, not at the stone wall, not in the woods on either side of the trailer’s driveway. Not even when she made her hands into binoculars.

  What would he be doing here? It was not the best view of Kelsey’s house, and Ben was not the spying type. He had stayed with Cree that other time only because she was hurt and he had some crazy idea about responsibility.

  He couldn’t really be up to anything sneaky. She had the impression that Aspies didn’t do sneaky. On the other hand, each Aspie was an individual and they were all different. She locked her car and crossed the road.

  Even before she reached the lilacs, she heard his engine running. And smelled the exhaust. Ben was very concerned about pollution. He might have been either starting or parking, but nothing moved and the engine stayed on.

  She didn’t see anyone in the truck. He wouldn’t go off and leave it running, not Ben. Maybe it wasn’t his. She had never noticed his plate number.

  The ground was rough, full of rocks and roots. If her ankles hadn’t been strong from ballet, she would have fallen. She reached the truck and looked inside.

  He was there, asleep. On the back seat. Why would he—

  The engine. Running.

  She tugged at the door. It was locked.

  She tried the other doors. She pounded on the windows. Shouted his name. He couldn’t be—she didn’t want to think it.

  She climbed into the truck bed and tried the rear window. Now she really wished she had a cell phone. Even then, it would take time. Just when she needed them, no cars came along the road.

  She was about to climb down and look for a rock to break the glass when she noticed how the window worked. It opened upward, like an awning. She pulled at it, with no result.

  Her adrenalin surged. She jumped down and ran to Grandma’s car for the tire iron. Puffing and gasping, she pried at the window. With all that disturbance, why didn’t he wake up?

  She tore a hole in the rubber gasket. The window didn’t budge.

  She never knew her arms were so strong. It must have been the adrenalin. If this didn’t work, and right away, she would have to get that rock.

  Bit by bit, grinding on glass, she opened the window a crack.

  Then
a little more. Still he didn’t wake. Fear gave her strength. Alternately tugging and prying, she succeeded in opening it just enough to put her arm through.

  Even then, she couldn’t reach him. She couldn’t see if he was breathing.

  Nor could she reach the door lock, even with the tire iron, nor open the window enough to climb in. Maybe leave it open, let it ventilate.

  If she hadn’t learned anything else in driver’s ed, she knew that an open rear window could suck in more exhaust.

  That made her wonder why he hadn’t kept it open, if exhaust was what he wanted.

  Gently she prodded him with the tire iron. She shouted, screamed. Either he was unconscious, or—don’t go there.

  She aimed the iron as far as she could reach toward the door lock. Her arm trembled with the effort. She forgot to breathe. When she did, she got a lungful of exhaust.

  She strained again. Another half inch. It wasn’t enough. She stretched so far, it was all she could do not to drop the iron.

  “Ben!” The call was weak. Even that one syllable tired her. She took another breath of poison fumes.

  Resting was not an option. Concentrate. Only a little more.

  The iron slipped. She grabbed for it and knocked her head on the partly open window. She was sure she had dropped it, but it was still in her hand. Her brain wasn’t working. Too much exhaust.

  The lock was a rocker button. She narrowed her eyes for a better focus. She would have to hit it exactly. Her head swam from the fumes. They made her sick.

  Again the iron slipped. Barely grasping it, she pushed it against the door to slide it further into her hand. It clattered to the floor.

  Her eyes blurred. Her vision went dark. She tried to see if she had gotten it anywhere near the lock. Couldn’t see a thing with blurry eyes. She climbed down and tried the door.

  It opened.

  She stared, not believing. Quickly she unlocked the front door and turned off the engine.

  Then she touched his face.

  He was quiet, sleeping. She touched him again. His cheek felt warm. She knew it took a while for the body to cool after death.