Chapter 22

“That’s a mighty big ladder,” said the driver.

And I said, “Big boat needs a tall ladder.” As if that should be obvious.

“So ... where is this boat?”

“Across the road,” I said.

And from the backseat came, “I wanna boat.” It was spoken with a whine and a rising inflection.

And front seat said, “It’s winter ... what would you do with a boat?”

“Oh.”

And I said, “Got any money?”

Front seat looked indignant but backseat said, “Birthday money ... Two thousand fifty two dollars and...” she commenced to count her change, “ ... ninety seven cents.”

“You can buy and build a registered number precut 3.7 Farr kit for that or you can badger your mom for 15 thousand and buy a new one made right here in Pentwater.” I said.

I shut up ... I was hoping. I have a used one I’d give away. It’s in the way and I need the space.

“Ooo ... build one?” This from the backseat.

Driver said, “You’re too young.”

My mouth ran away before my brain kicked in. “I’m ten almost 11 ... I built two and helped in the construction of twenty more. I finished the 3.7 Masters race in September ... didn’t make the podium but I was close.”

Backseat said, “I’m 12 ... almost 13.” <If you can do it ... so can I> Can’t you just hear the sarcasm?

Well ... she is two years older and two years is forever at preteen age.

“May we come back ... I really need a restroom,” front seat said.

I looked at Junior ... she looked at me. Her stomach made funny noises, my stomach growled in response.

“We’ll meet you there,” Junior said. “It’s almost lunch.”

And I said, “The Wendy Burger is to die for.”

“Would you care for a ride?” Rear seat asked.

“We’ll ride with the marina crew.” They were just starting to come out the shop door.

David hollered, “Haven’t you got the ladder across the street. I knew it was too heavy for you. Give me that.”

He scampered up the ladder and secured the ladder rails to the life lines.

Thank the gods ... It’s not the carrying ... it’s the lifting of that damn heavy extension up to the railing that’s the hard part.

David did it.

“Lunch?” He asked.

“Can we ride with you?”

“Come on.”

Well, that was easy.

Uh oh ... the bus ... remember the bus? The bus was at the Antler. The exhaust was adding to the swirl of a lake effect snow.

Lunch was going to take some time.

Junior and I headed for the kitchen. Ernie was going to need help.

It wasn’t COMPLETE chaos in the back ... truth be known ... it was just starting. There were 25 people on the bus... 25 extras for lunch.

Ernie was just starting to dither ... the panic would come later ... when the bus broke down.

Oh yes ... when the driver missed the rumble of the Detroit 400 hp Diesel engine and looked out the door the bus wasn’t running. He made a dash but came right back. He was immediately on the phone.

But ... neither Junior nor I got to see that part. By the time that happened I was elbows deep in suds and Junior was building burgers, shredding lettuce, and slicing ‘maters just as fast as Ernie could slide ‘em off the griddle. Between slices she was draining fries and lining wicker baskets with kitchen paper.

Half way into the lunch, David came to the kitchen batwing doors and said, “The bus is broke down and the company won’t have another until tomorrow.”

While I was scrubbing stuck mustard and greasy spoons, I was cogitating where we were going to stick 26 bus riders and driver for the night.