Whisper Down the Lane, Clay Chapman [best short books to read txt] 📗

When they pulled up to the first window, Mom had to count out exact change, taking her time to pick through the pennies until she got the right amount.

“You said two Happy Meals, right?” It was the voice Sean had heard through the drive-through speaker. A bored high schooler eyed Sean’s mom, still holding both cardboard boxes in his hands, the handles of the Happy Meals shaped like golden arches. He was hesitating.

“It’s for my sister,” Sean spoke up from the back, leaning forward in his seat to speak through his mother’s rolled-down window. “She’s back at home. She’s really sick.”

The cashier sniffed before handing over their Happy Meals. “Sure. Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” Mom said.

The toy inside both Happy Meals was a cloth doll of Ronald McDonald. What a rip-off! Sean had his heart set on adding another Hot Wheels to his collection. There were fourteen in all, while supplies lasted. That was way too many visits to McDonald’s. More than Mom would ever allow. He only had three cars, so collecting the whole set was practically impossible now.

Today’s take was an utter bust. Lousy twin clowns. There wasn’t much Sean could do with a pair of dumb dolls. They were like puppets without any place to put your hands. Both Ronalds simply grinned back at him. Each had a loop of red thread attached to the top of its head, for slipping on the Christmas tree, even if Christmas was still months and months away.

The two ate their Happy Meals in the parking lot in silence. Mom let Sean crawl up into the front with her so they could dine together, using the dashboard as their dinner table.

Mom pulled down her sun visor and checked her makeup in the mirror. Sean hadn’t realized she’d been wearing makeup until she reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out a tube of mascara and eyeshadow, touching up the charcoal accents along her eyelids. Seeing her perform this ritual in the mirror brought her face into sharper focus for Sean.

“We’ve got to hurry. Mom’s got a job interview in…” She glanced at the radio’s clock. “Oh, jeez, thirty minutes! Think you can finish that cheeseburger, Big Man?”

“Will you pick out my pickles?”

“What’re you talking about?” she said in mock horror, even though Sean always requested that she perform this culinary exorcism. “The pickles are the best part!”

“Pleeeease.”

“Tell you what—I’ll eat your pickles if you finish my Hi-C for me.”

“Deal.” The two pinkie-swore, making the transaction official.

Mom peeled back the bun on his cheeseburger, as if skinning some small woodland creature. A rabbit flashed through his mind. He could hear the tacky sound of ketchup unsticking the bread from the patty. She plucked out the pair of pickles between her fingers and plopped them in her mouth.

“Onions,” Sean reminded her.

Mom swiped her pinkie across the patty, the same pinkie she used to swear by, now sweeping away the diced onions. She brought her finger up to her mouth and sucked the onions away. All that was left was a scab of melted cheddar. “I can eat the rest if you want…”

“Nooo!” Sean reached for his cheeseburger, still in Mom’s hands.

“You sure?” She reeled back, holding the burger just out of his grip.

“Give it to me!”

“You’re probably not hungry anymore…”

“Give it back, give it back!”

Eating in the car was one of their little rituals. Watching the world outside the window as if it were a movie. Life’s own drive-in theater.

Sean knew not to ask about the ball pit. He glanced out the rearview mirror, spotting the Play Land inside the restaurant. It was so close. All he had to do was step out of the car, cross the parking lot, and dive in. But Mom had sworn off McDonald’s Play Land on account of sanitary reasons. There’s germs all over those balls, she’d said. That place could make you sick.

There had been that one time when Sean got to go to Play Land, tumbling through the ball pit with a bunch of other children. Somebody else’s kid got sick and vomited all over everything. Mom had to fish him out before he touched those wet orbs. No more Play Land.

She must’ve sensed what was on Sean’s mind. Mom lined up a row of French fries along the dash, just above the glove compartment. As soon as Sean took one to eat, she would lay down another. Then another. A greasy line of train tracks leading directly into Sean’s tummy.

“I know this is a lot of change,” she eventually said. “It’s going to be hard at first. But it’s for the best, Sean. Trust me. For both of us. We get to start over again. Start clean.”

Clean. Sean wanted to be clean.

Greenfield was supposed to be the answer to all their problems. Whatever their problems were. Sean wasn’t sure he knew, not exactly, but it felt like the move was only making things worse. Greenfield felt smaller. Their new home, smaller. Everything was small now. She swore his new school would be special, calling it something different. A private school. Sean imagined a building filled with secret rooms and hidden corridors. A labyrinth of classes. You’ve got a real opportunity here, hon, she’d said. A chance I never had when I was your age. Even he knew they couldn’t afford a school like Greenfield Academy, but Mom had bandied about a new word—scholarship—to anyone willing to listen. Scholarship. The answer to all their problems. Scholarship. The magic password into the secret chambers of this private school.

“Wait here,” Mom said. An idea had taken root in her head. Whatever it was, she couldn’t shake it. “Keep the doors locked until I get back. Don’t open them for anyone else.”

And just like that, Mom slipped out the car. She closed the door behind her, knocking on the window to get Sean’s attention. She pointed to the lock on the driver’s side door. Sean had to crawl over