go to New Orleans, and Mom would be proud.
After school I told Anna I wanted to clean out the room over the garage and asked her to send Dad up when he got home.
“What are you up to?” she asked.
I flashed my best smile. “Something really good, amazing. Anna did not look convinced but didn’t push the issue. I climbed the rickety stairs to the guesthouse, stepped inside, set off the bug bomb and ran out. The directions warned, in big red letters, to wait at least one hour before reentering. I didn’t want to perish with the bugs, so sat on the steps and did homework for two hours. Revolted at the thought of what might be strewn across the floor, I stretched my hoodie across my face and found my way to the window. Luckily, it opened.
I went downstairs to collect some cleaning supplies and got a leaf blower out of the garage. I was not going to touch one dead bug. No one had set foot up here since we moved to Harriman. Dad was thrilled to have a place where he could stash everything he had accumulated since he was sixteen. He’s sentimental. Mom’s the annihilator. The only thing she has in the room is the old upright piano she used as a kid. The biggest thorn in her side is Dad’s 1965 Corvette, which hasn’t moved on its own power since before I was born. Every New Year’s Day his resolution is, ‘I’m going to restore the Vette. As soon as I get some time.’ Neither of my parents had any idea the Vette was destined to be my secret weapon.
I hustled back upstairs, tied a surgical mask around my face, and started blowing crickets out the door. Then I plopped into an ancient overstuffed chair, releasing a cloud of dust. I was fairly certain I’d develop asthma before this job was completed. Asthma, I realized, might be the first of many self-induced problems. I hadn’t leaked a word to Oil Can and just assumed he’d be thrilled to go along with my plan. What if he had his own plans and refused to come? I walked to the sink, washed my hands and whirled around when I heard footsteps. Dad’s lanky frame filled the doorway.
“Whoa. You scared me,” I said.
Dad sneezed and ran his hand across his nose. He pulled out a kitchen chair, turned it backwards and sat down. “What’s going on?”
I wiggled onto an old yellow ottoman and poked my finger into a split in the leather. “I might as well get straight to the point.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Oh boy. I can feel it coming.”
“Come on Dad. Just hear me out. Have you talked to all the new admissions on your rounds today?”
“Of course.”
“Then I assume you’ve met Oil Can Henri.”
Dad frowned. “You know that guy?”
“Mavis didn’t tell you what happened?”
“No. Mavis was off today. Her back’s giving her a lot of trouble.”
“First,” I said, “I’ll tell you what happened. Then I’ll tell you my solution to the problem.”
After I told Dad the whole story, he said, “So what’s the problem?”
I took a long breath. “Oil Can has no place to go when he’s released. He’s homeless.”
Dad shook his head. “I wasn’t aware of that. But social services will find somewhere to place him until he can get back on his feet.”
“No!” I jumped up. The ottoman tumbled over. “His feet aren’t good. He needs a home. A job. Someone to care about him.”
Dad’s eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me that’s why you’re cleaning this place.”
I smiled.
“ Madison. I can’t house every charity case we dismiss from the hospital. And oh good God. I don’t even want to imagine what your mother would have to say.”
I held my hands up. “Calm down. Number one, Oil Can’s not just another charity case. He’s special.”
Dad folded his arms.
“Number two,” I continued, “Mom’s at school during the week. And when she is home she won’t come near this place. The mess makes her crazy. So, Oil Can won’t be bothering her, and by the time she’s home for the summer, he’ll be rehabilitated and gone. But here’s the best part. Your Vette, that Mom threatens to have hauled away every New Years Day…”
Dad’s jaw tightened. “I am going to restore that car.”
“You know you don’t have time, which leads me to the best part of my plan. Oil Can can restore the Vette. He fixed Grandpa’s truck in nothing flat. And you can tell Mom that you’ve realized that it’s really inconsiderate to have an old car that doesn’t run stored in the garage. So you have hired a mechanic to restore it. He’ll do the work super cheap if he can have room and board. Cool?”
Dad was silent, but only for a minute.
“This is very charitable of you, Madison. But I sense something else is going on.”
I widened my eyes. “Like what?”
“Like a payoff for you.”
“Oh. That,” I said, then mentioned my grades and the music festival, and how I’d die if I couldn’t go. “But honestly, Dad, when I first came up with the idea I had truly altruistic intentions. It’s just turned out to be a perfect solution. For everyone.”
Dad’s eyes searched the ceiling. “Altruistic?”
“Come on. Think about cruising around with the top down, cushy leather seats, a shiny new paint job.”
Dad wet his lips. “You know I’m going to have to talk this over with your mother.”
“There’s just one thing.” I hesitated “Don’t say anything to Mom about the festival or my using Oil Can for my term paper. I haven’t told her I’m trying out. If I don’t get selected, I don’t want her to know.”
“Why? She’d be thrilled to know you want to go to the festival.”
“Maybe. But she won’t be thrilled if I blow it. Let’s just hold off a while. Please.”
“Okay, hon. I’ll trust your judgment on this one. But about Oil Can, I absolutely need to learn more about him before I give you an answer.”
I threw my arms around my father. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you to do the right thing.”
Twelfth Chapter
Saturday morning seemed to have forgotten it was morning. There wasn’t a hint of sunlight. The snow that had fallen last week made Harriman look like it belonged in a magazine to lure tourists. But now the snow had turned to a gray slush that met up with the colorless February sky. As I pulled on my favorite sweats, I watched sheets of sleet splash against my bedroom window.
Dad had left for the hospital early, which meant I was doomed to take a stinky, diesel belching city bus, if I intended to start interviewing Oil Can today. Something told me I’d better get there fast, because depending on what kind of mood
