The Crossroads

Late Tuesday afternoon, Zack and the boys finished drilling.

There were so many one-inch tunnels sinking down into the stump, it looked like a giant wheel of Swiss cheese. Zack put the drill back into the toolbox at the construction site before Davy even touched it.

“Summer’s the busiest season on a farm,” Davy explained when he showed up after the other guys had gone home. “So many chores, it’s a wonder I’m still alive!”

“Whatever,” Zack said. He placed a big rock on the edge of the tarp covering the stump.

“Hey, pardner—you ain’t mad at me, are you?”

“Well, maybe. A little. You come up with all these big plans, but you’re never around to do any of the work!”

“I know. I know. Like I said, Pops has been—”

“And what about the kerosene? What if it explodes? What if there’s spontaneous combustion or something? We need someone who’s done this kind of thing before, someone who’s worked with kerosene and stumps and…”

“Like a farmer boy who’s cleared him a field or two in his day, hunh?”

“That’s right. We need you, Davy.”

“Zack, you’re right. We’ll do her tonight!”

“What?”

“You and me, pardner. We’ll soak in the kerosene tonight!”

“Really?”

“Yep! Here’s how we’ll swing her. We’ll tell your stepmom we’re camping out up in the tree fort. She’ll go for that, right?”

“I guess.”

“Sure she will. Shucks, she’ll probably even cook us a late-night snack!”

“No way.”

“How come?”

“Judy doesn’t cook. She’s from New York City.”

“Here you go, boys.” Judy put two Burger King sacks into the mop bucket. “Whoppers, fries, and chocolate shakes. And some Milk-Bones for Zipper. You can let him have some of your burgers, but no onions, okay? It’ll make him gassy.”

“Thanks!” Zack hoisted the snack up to the tree house. Zipper pranced on his hind legs. Zack unwrapped a burger and placed it on the floor, back where Judy couldn’t see Zipper having a feast, onions and all.

“Of course, Zipper’s sleeping with you guys tonight,” Judy said, “so what do I care if he, you know, gets gassy?

Real gassy.”

Zack realized “gassy” was a grown-up word for “fart.” He tried to pull the Whopper away, but Zipper’s front paws had already trapped the wrapper.

“Do you have your lantern, Zack?”

“Yep.”

Judy saw the big gas cans sitting on the ground under the tree house.

“Do you need that much kerosene for one lantern?”

“We might,” Zack said. “Especially at night. In the dark and all.”

“You never rightly know,” Davy added. “Best to be prepared.”

“Okay. But don’t stay up too late, promise?”

“Promise,” said Zack.

“Have fun, boys.”

“We will, Mrs. J.!”

Judy noticed the shadowy tarp draped over the stump. It was propped up to a pup-tent peak by the plastic statue’s head.

“What’s with the tarp?”

“Well, Mrs. J., I heard what that galdern old lady said to you.”

“You did?”

“Hard not to, what with her hollerin’ and all. I heard every nasty word that old witch had to say.”

“Now, Davy…”

“Ma’am, if you ask me, folks shouldn’t ought to say things like that. Dwellin’ on the sad parts of life when you ought to be livin’ each day and bein’ happy. So, if you don’t mind, we’d rather not have to look at her galdern stump and statue all week long.”

Judy smiled. “Good night, guys.”

“Oh, Mrs. J.? Can Zack sleep over at my place tomorrow night? I asked Pops and he says it’s okay by him if it’s okay by you.”

“Well, we’ll see. Let me check with Zack’s father when he calls tomorrow. Good night, boys.”

When Zack was certain Judy was gone, he turned to Davy.

“I get to sleep over at your place tomorrow? Neat!”

“Well, that’s the little white lie we’ll be telling your stepmom. Meanwhile, I’ll tell Pops I’m sleeping over here.”

“Is this another part of the plan?”

“Yep. Just because I ain’t been doin’ any drillin’, don’t mean I ain’t been doin’ any thinkin’.”

“Cool! Want a burger?”

“No, thanks. I ate at home.”

Zack munched a few salty fries. Zipper padded over, hoping for seconds.

“You sure you don’t want a burger?”

“Positive. Let Zipper have at it.”

“He’ll fart.”

“I reckon he might. Just don’t light a match nowheres near his butt if he does.”

“Yeah, he might make the kerosene explode!”

“Dang right! And we don’t want that to happen—not till tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yep. Why do you think we’re planning us that sleepover date?”