The Absolute Value of Mike (6 page)

Tyrone lurched and I waved out the window to Past and took a last look at the little kid on his cart who looked like me. And I realized I had never asked him who the kid was or what he was doing on his shopping cart like a poster for a missing child.

“Hey, Moo, have you seen the picture of that kid on Past's cart?”

“Oh, yes. Isn't he sweet? He's coming here.”

“From Romania?”

She nodded, smiling. “We're adopting him.”

I stared at her. “You and Poppy?”

“Oh, no, it's a team effort.”

“Who's on the team?”

“The whole town!”

“The whole town is adopting a kid?”

“You've heard that it takes a village to raise a child, haven't you?” She looked over at me and grinned. “Well, not really, but it feels like that. We're all trying to raise money.”

“Cool. My best friend, Sasha, was adopted from Russia.”

“Then you know all about adoption!”

“Well, not
all
about—”

Tyrone lurched to a stop in front of a strip of stores with glass fronts, mostly abandoned except for the phone company.

Moo peered at the door. “Oh, dear. They're closed, aren't they?”

My head flopped back onto the headrest. “Great. Now we have no phone service, either.” And I'd need to make several more calls before I could be sure that Dad would actually check his phone.

Moo patted my arm. “I'm so sorry, dear. I'm sure you want to talk to your dad. I wish my cell phone worked.”

I jerked upright. “You have a cell phone?” Maybe Past knew more than I thought.

“Yes, Doug gave it to me for Valentine's Day, right before he—” She bit her lip and pulled her hoodie strings. She took a deep breath, blinked a few times, and added, “He even prepaid the bill for six months.”

I counted the months on my fingers. “It's still under contract! Where is it?”

She pulled Junior onto her lap and dug around. “Here.”

“Moo! This is a smartphone!”

“It is very stylish, isn't it?”

“No, I mean, this gets Internet and everything!”

She shook her head, started Tyrone, and pulled back on the road. “Doug didn't pay for that part because he didn't think we'd use it.”

“Oh.” I tried turning it on. “And it's dead. Do you have a charger?”

She looked doubtful. “If I do, it'd be in Junior. Why don't you take a look-see?”

I rummaged through
O
magazines, receipts, a thermos—“Coffee,” Moo explained—granola bars—“I need to have my snacks, Mike”—Dentu-Creme, pens, tissues, even a trial-size bag of dog food—I didn't ask—before, amazingly, finding a car charger, which I immediately plugged in. Yes! A signal! I called Dad. No answer again. I left a message and texted but wondered if that would be enough. “I need to e-mail him.”

“Okay, dear, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, except I need to find Wi-Fi.”

“Who?”

“Where's the library?”

“In Hedgesville, but it's not open now.”

Of course. “What time does it open?”

“September.”

“September?”

“It can't afford to operate during the summer and can barely stay open three days a week during the school year.”

“That's crazy!” I guess my teachers were right. We
were
privileged. “Do you guys have a coffee shop or restaurant with Internet connection?”

She smiled. “Mike, the correct term is Internet buffet.”

I stared at her. She was serious. “Actually, it's Internet
ca
fé.”

She waved her hand. “
Buffet, café,
either way, it's food
and
the computer. No wonder you young people love it so much.”

“Let's just drive around some neighborhoods.” Someone had to have Wi-Fi.

Tyrone headed up and down streets, but no luck. It wasn't exactly a Wi-Fi kind of town. The few I did find were locked. I held the phone out of the window, trying to get closer to the houses we passed.

Finally, I looked down at the phone and saw an unsecured network:
AdamsFamily
. “Stop! I think I've got something!”

Not only did Moo stop, she ran around Tyrone to my door, putting one hand on it and raising the other high in the air. “Is that better?”

“What are you doing?”

“I'm being your antenna.”

“But I don't need an an—”

“Hurry up, before my arm gets too tired.”

“But—okay, fine.”

I quickly started an e-mail, putting “FROM YOUR SON” in the subject line so Dad would notice. Between the sender name “Mike Frost” and “FROM YOUR SON,” he might actually realize it was me.

“Okay, done.”

Moo ran around and hopped back in the driver's seat. “What did your dad say?”

“Nothing yet.”

She shook her head. “Well, I don't think it's such a smart phone then if you can't even get an answer.”

We passed the Kmart, so I knew we were getting close to home, when Tyrone slowed down. “Oh, dear,” Moo sighed. “GAS!”

“What, again?”

“Tyrone's not out of gas. It's me.”

“You're out of gas? Or . . .” I moved closer to the door. “You have gas?”

“
GAS
is an acumen, Mike. The first letters stand for items on my to-do list.”

“You mean
acronym
.”

“That's it!
G
stands for Gladys,
A
stands for Allegheny Power—because I have to do both those errands tomorrow morning—and
S
stands for Shop 'n Save. I should've found a way to buy scrapple, at least, because we're all out and now I have none for Poppy's dinner.”

I grinned and held up my five pounds of scrapple. “Don't worry, Moo, it's in the bag!”

“Mike, you are such a savior. Where would we be without you?”

Moments later, she sang, “Home again, home again, jiggity jog!” Yanking Tyrone's wheel, she careened into the driveway, spraying gravel everywhere. We were headed straight for the parked Suburban and we weren't slowing down.

“Whoa! We're going to hit the”
—Crunch!—
“Suburban!”

“Of course, dear. That's what bumpers are for. Besides, it's only Poppy's.”

No wonder Poppy didn't like Tyrone. I got out of the car shakily and watched Moo navigating the buckets in the front yard. She stopped and said, “Karen's here! That's her scooter!”

“Who's Karen?”

“She's a teacher—”

“A teacher?” Oh, jeez, had Dad found a teacher in Do Over to tutor me all summer? It wouldn't be the first time. “What's a teacher doing here?”

“She's also our temporary minister. She's a teacher during the school year. I bet she's here to talk to Poppy about the artis—artees—arteedge—”

“Artesian screw?”

“That's it!”

I hoped Karen was as persuasive as one of those televangelists who got people to send them all their money and everything they owned. She'd need to be strong to deal with Poppy.

Moo must've been thinking the same thing. “If anyone can get through to Poppy, Karen can. And Oprah, of course, but I don't think she's coming.” Moo ran up the front steps. Pushing the front door open, she turned to me. “Mike, Karen will need to rely on you for the artesian screw.”

“Me? Why me? And what's Karen got to do with—”

But her little yellow sneakers had already disappeared inside.

—equations describing certain relationships

 

 

B
efore I reached the front door, I heard a loud “Moooo!” When I walked inside, I found Moo hugging a large woman with even larger hair. Her dress was only a few shades redder than her hair.

“Mike,” said Moo, “this is Reverend Valentine.”

Valentine? I guess that would explain the red color.

“Oh, you can call me Karen! I'm so glad you're here to help Poppy, Mike.”

I heard a grunt from Poppy's chair. He had a frown, or maybe I should say his usual expression, on his face and the stupid yardstick clutched in his fist.

Moo shook her head. “I'm afraid Poppy's still thinking about Doug.” She sucked in her lips and pulled on her hoodie strings.

Karen heaved a big sigh and gave Moo a hug. “And the other guys are lost without Poppy. Looks like we're going to need a miracle to get Poppy moving.”

Moo brightened instantly. “We
have
a miracle!”

Karen and I both stared at Moo. I wasn't ready for the word that came out of her mouth. “Mike!”

I stood there looking as petrified as Poppy, only my mouth was hanging open, as Moo told Karen about all my “miracles” to date: getting us out of the airport, making her cell phone work, and buying five pounds of scrapple.

“Uh, Moo, we have to talk.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I can't run this project. I don't have a clue what to do. I'm just a kid.”

She looked at me hard through her thick glasses. “And Poppy is an eighty-three-year-old geezer who's away with the fairies.”

Okay, she had a point. But still. An engineering project? I shook my head. “I'm sorry, but that's . . .” I wanted to say
the craziest wacko idea of this century.

Moo's face fell and Karen's hair drooped.

Karen turned around to face Poppy. “Come on, big guy! We have orders from all over the country!”

How many artesian screws was he making? I hadn't even seen one yet, let alone lots.

“You've got to get this artisan's crew together,” Karen ordered.

“Artesian screw,” I corrected her.

Karen laughed and slapped my back so hard, I almost fell into the coffee table. “He's a funny one, isn't he? Now, Poppy,” Karen continued, “you've got to get started. You're in charge here! We're counting on you! Let's get to the workshop! How about it, big guy?”

An unearthly grunt came out of Poppy's chair. Karen took a step back. I looked over at Poppy. His eyes had changed. They were slits, accentuating his devil hair horns. And his hands were in tight fists, one of them clutching the yellow yardstick.

“I take it that's a
no,
” said Karen.

There was a squeaky cry out of Moo. “I need to vacuum now.”

Karen cringed. “Oh, dear, I'm so sorry!”

Moo ran past me to the front hall closet and pulled out a vacuum cleaner and started sobbing. Karen plugged the cord into the wall and Moo fumbled with the switch until it turned on with a roar and the stench of old dust.

As Moo vacuumed her way into the kitchen, Karen patted my shoulder. “It's okay,” she shouted over the vacuum. “This is what she does because she doesn't like to hear anyone cry, even herself. She vacuumed for three days straight after Doug died. When I came to pick them up for the funeral, she was still vacuuming.”

I looked over at Poppy. “What about him?” I shouted in Karen's ear.

She motioned for me to follow her out onto the front porch, where we could talk a little easier, as long as you didn't look down at the red and orange swirly carpet. “Poppy didn't even pick up his feet when she vacuumed around his chair.”

“So he hasn't done anything since Doug died?” I asked.

“Not a thing. Not even a word.”

“That's just weird.”

“It's very upsetting to lose a child, no matter how old.”

“Yeah, but what about Moo? She does everything around here and he just sits there!” I thought about Dad. And me. “It's not fair for one person to handle everything.”

“I agree with you. But he'll come around. Soon, I hope.”

I thought about Poppy the Giant Turnip. And Dad. And I wasn't so sure.

“Maybe you can help,” Karen said.

“I wouldn't even know how to start this project.”

“I meant maybe you could help bring Poppy around. But as for the project—”

“Forget that,” I said, shaking my head. “I can't—”

“But I need your help!”

Why was an artesian screw so important to her? “I'm just a kid!” And not a very smart one, either.

Karen took my hand in hers and looked at me intently. “I want a child, Mike. You have to help me.”

My eyes popped wide open when I realized the implications of her statement. For the third time in ten minutes, I squeaked, “I'm just a kid.”

“I know! And I want to adopt one just like you. Is that too much to ask?”

“Adopt? Oh. No, that's not too much to ask at all. That's, like, totally reasonable.”

“All I'm asking is for you to help out with our project.”

“Okay, but what does building an artesian screw have to do with adoption, anyway?”

Karen's brow wrinkled. “Artesian screw?” She pronounced the words slowly. “What is that?”

“That's the big project Poppy's supposed to be working on!”

She tilted her head.

“Moo told me about it.”

Karen was still staring at me like I was making no sense.

“You know”—I gestured toward the garage—“out in his workshop?”

“Oh!
Artisan's crew! That's
what Moo was saying.” She laughed. “Sometimes she gets her words mixed up. Have you noticed that?”