Chapter Six
Jack had an idea where they were going. But he wasn’t sure. He had never been to a cemetery.
Grandpa Nod drove along some streets Jack knew and some he didn’t. They passed the grocery store where Mom shopped. They drove by the clinic where Jack once went to have a huge splinter removed. Jack peered out the front window and held on to the silver pole. He wondered where Grandpa Nod was taking him next.
His grandfather sang “The Wheels on the Bus.” Jack thought eight-year-olds were too old for that song. But there was no one around to hear him hum along.
Jack had never been on an empty bus. He liked it. He felt like he was in a private world.
His grandpa drove through two more Stop signs and crossed over a bridge on the wrong side of the road. He drove through a crosswalk when a man with a boom box was walking in it. He made a left turn on Pine Street, even though it wasn’t past six o’clock yet.
At last, Grandpa Nod pulled the bus into a handicapped parking spot at the park. He set the brake and pushed the knob that opened the doors. “Coming?”
Jack and his mom often came to the Pine Valley Rec Center. They walked through the gardens and watched runners circle the track. Sometimes they went inside to watch people make pottery or play squash.
Today the water park was filled with babies splashing and toddlers running around with slappy footsteps. Mothers picked up towels and told children not to push.
Jack stopped at the sign that said For Children Six and Under.
His mom often said many things were not for eight-year-olds.
He was seven when they built the water park. He had always wanted to play there.
Jack checked to see if anyone who worked there was watching. But no one was looking their way.
“You coming or not?” asked Grandpa. “This might be your only chance.” He was standing under a red spout. Water poured over his driver’s cap and down his driver’s uniform and into his shiny black driver’s shoes.
Jack went down the waterslide twice. No one yelled at him when he bumped into a toddler who didn’t seem to notice.
He and grandpa held hands and turned in circles. The sprinkler rained warm water down on them. None of the mothers told them to watch out for the babies.
Jack turned the wheel that made the water go on and off and on again. The little girl standing under the nozzle didn’t complain.
They walked back to the bus. They were both dry before they got there. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” said Jack.
“I figured as much, Licorice Whip,” said Grandpa. He turned out of the parking lot the wrong way. “Just one more stop on my Magical Mystery Tour,” he said.
Chapter Seven
Grandpa ignored the young woman directing traffic near some road works. Even though the sign said Traffic Fines Double in Construction Zones. He didn’t even slow down when a little dog ran onto the road in front of the bus.
Jack looked back. He was relieved to see the dog had arrived safely on the other side.
They drove up a big hill where they could look down over the town below them. Grandpa ignored the sign that said Authorized Vehicles Only. He followed a curving path to the very top.
When he turned off the engine, everything was very quiet. A bird flashed in front of the window. From far away came the sound of a lawn mower.
“Let’s go walkabout,” said Grandpa Nod.
They left the bus parked in the middle of the path. They stepped off the bus onto the grass. All around them were gravestones, statues and flowers. Some flowers were fresh and in vases. Others were faded and lying on the ground.
Jack shivered. “Is this where they buried you?” he asked.
“Sure is. Did you ever see such a peaceful spot?” said Grandpa. When he took Jack’s hand in his it was cool as a breeze and soft as a feather.
He led Jack through the cemetery. They stopped to read the names on the headstones. They straightened a flower that had fallen out of its vase. They studied a statue of a smiling cherub.
They came to a small patch of ground under a tree. A shiny black slab of stone said:
Selena Deacon 1952–2002
Loved and lost but never forgotten.
Beloved wife of Neil (Noddy) Deacon
“That was my grandma, wasn’t it?” asked Jack. He had heard lots about her. She had died before he was born.
“That she was,” said Grandpa Nod. “She got here first. Always had a competitive streak, my Selena.”
Next to his grandma’s grave was a seam in the grass where a roll of sod had recently been laid. Jack noticed a pottery vase holding more daisies. A square black slab, just like Grandma’s, was behind it.
“Go ahead. Take a look,” said Grandpa. “It won’t bite.” Jack looked up into the branches of the tree overhead. The leaves shivered and shimmied. He looked at the clouds scudding across the sky. He looked down over the town.
“Take your time, my little Wunderbar,” said Grandpa. His hand on Jack’s back was like someone breathing a secret against his skin.
Chapter Eight
Jack stepped closer.
The white writing on the shiny black stone said:
Neil (Noddy) Deacon 1953–2011
Beloved husband of Selena and father of Jeannie
Beloved grandfather of Jack Finch
“That’s you,” said Jack. It didn’t seem strange to be looking at his grandfather’s headstone while he held his hand.
“So it is,” said Grandpa.
They sat on the grass and looked at the headstone. Grandpa put his arm around Jack. Jack leaned against him. His grandfather felt as soft as a pillow and as cool as the breeze curling around Jack’s head.
Together they listened to the birds in the tree above their heads. They watched the city traffic far below. The cars and buses looked as small as toys.
“I miss you,” Jack said. How could he tell his grandfather he still felt all the missing he knew he would feel later?
“Of course you do,” said Grandpa. “But just think of it. I get to spend my days close to Selena again. In a peaceful place. Me singing to the birds and the birds singing to me.” He got up. Jack stood up too. “Now you know there’s a quiet place you can come visit me anytime. That suit you, Tootsie Roll?”
“Mom said eight-year-olds are too young for hospitals, funeral homes and cemeteries.”
“So I hear,” said Grandpa. “But perhaps you can change her mind.”
They stood together looking down at the graves. Then they walked back down the slope to the wrong bus.
“Besides,” said Grandpa, “you’re nine soon. Your birthday is just around the corner, if I recall.”
In all the sadness and worry of Grandpa getting sick and then dying, Jack had forgotten all about his own birthday.
Thinking about it now, a bubble of happiness started to grow in his chest. He felt it melt the lump that had been there for days while his mother was visiting his grandfather in hospital. The lump had got bigger as she made plans at the funeral home. It had grown as hard as a stone when she left him home alone while she watched them bury his grandpa in the shiny brown coffin.
“My birthday is in two weeks,” Jack said. He should start planning. Would he invite Katy over for cake? Maybe Mom would take them all out to a movie.
“I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten,” said Grandpa, “just because I won’t be there to help make a fuss of the birthday boy. I have something for you.”
“What is it?” asked Jack.
“All will be revealed,” said Grandpa. “In the fullness of time.”
Chapter Nine
Back in the bus, Grandpa Nod let Jack pull the knob to close the bus’s doors. Jack sat on the long seat where he could watch his grandfather and the road at the same time.
This time, Grandpa stopped at the cemetery gates. He looked both ways before he pulled into traffic. At the bottom of the hill, he waited for the red light to change to green. Farther along, he hum
med happily as he waited for the lady holding a Stop sign to let them go around a hole in the road.
He went the right way down one-way streets. He yielded to traffic when the sign told him to.
He stopped at a crosswalk while a man with a yellow Lab crossed the street. He stopped at another one while two ladies pushing shopping carts crossed.
But he didn’t pull up to any bus stops. He just waved at the waiting passengers. He called out, “This is the wrong bus. Another will be along soon.”
No one waved back.
Jack sat across from his grandfather and held on tight to the shiny pole. He studied Grandpa Nod’s rosy cheeks. His eyes followed the creases down his face. He looked at the line across his forehead where his driver’s cap had made a mark.
Over and over again Jack whispered the words on the gravestone at the top of the hill.
“Beloved grandfather of Jack Finch.”
“Last stop,” said Grandpa. He pulled up in front of Jack’s school. “This is as far as this bus goes.”
Jack could see three people waiting at the bus stop outside his school. But no one knocked on the door to get on. He felt the vibrations of the bus engine under his feet.
Jack knew it was time to get off. But something kept him in his seat, holding the silver pole. He studied his beloved grandfather in his blue uniform.
Grandpa Nod turned toward Jack. “Time’s a-wasting, Milky Way.”
“You said you had a present for me.”
“So I did.” Jack’s grandpa rustled around in an untidy heap of papers on the dashboard. He slapped his forehead. “You have it already. In the side pocket of your backpack. You’ll see.”
Jack let go of the silver pole. He stood next to the driver’s seat and leaned against his grandfather.
“I’m passing on my route schedules to you, Jelly Bean,” said Grandpa Nod. “Everything I know that matters to anyone is in there.”
“Everything?” asked Jack.
“Of every route I drove, for every day of the week.”
Jack had been on all of Grandpa Nod’s routes, at least once. Even six-year-olds and seven-year-olds are old enough to travel on buses alone if their grandfather is the driver.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
His grandpa tapped the side of his backpack. “Keep them safe,” he said. “You never know when you might need them. Now, give us a hug.” He swung his legs around.
Jack hugged his grandpa. He felt warm and light in his arms.
“This is your stop, Oh Henry!” Grandpa pulled away and sat facing the steering wheel again. He pushed the knob. The door wheezed open. “Can’t hold up this bus,” he said.
Jack walked slowly down the stairs with his backpack tight on his shoulders.
Down on the sidewalk, he looked back up and waved. He couldn’t see his grandfather’s face. “Bye, Grandpa,” said Jack.
He thought he heard the words “Goodbye, Jawbreaker,” as the doors wheezed shut.
But he couldn’t be sure.
Jack stood on the sidewalk and watched the bus merge with the traffic and drive off.
Chapter Ten
“Have you been here the whole time?” asked Katy. She was at the front of the line at the bus stop. Her coat was falling off one shoulder and her face was pink. “I thought you would have left already,” she said. “Were you afraid of taking the wrong bus?”
Jack looked into the traffic. There was no sign of his grandpa’s bus now. He turned and looked the other way. The Number 26 was coming in their direction.
“I’m not worried about taking the wrong bus,” Jack told Katy.
He thought of his grandpa’s schedule safe in the pocket of his backpack.
“You going to sit next to me this time?” asked Katy.
“Sure,” Jack said. “On one condition.”
“What condition?”
“Quit telling everyone about my grandpa.”
“That he died?” said Katy. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
“I know. But don’t do it. Okay? If I want anyone to know, I can tell them.”
Katy shrugged. “Okay. Here’s our bus.”
Jack let Katy go ahead of him. He looked at the driver as he came up the stairs. It was a woman. A long ponytail hung over her shoulder. “Hi, Sweet Pea,” she said. She checked his bus pass. “Had a long day at school?”
“Pretty long,” said Jack. “But good.”
He sat down next to Katy. She turned to look out the window.
Jack dug into the side pocket of his backpack. He found his grandpa’s thick bundle of bus schedules at the very bottom. They were held together by an elastic band.
He thought about the Number 13 bus Grandpa Nod drove on weekends. He drove it over the big bridge that soared over the Fraser River. And the Number 17. It was always full of noisy university students carrying takeaway coffees. He remembered the stops on the Number 31’s route. It went right out to the ferry, where herons stood in the mud along the road.
He tucked the bus schedules back where he found them. He zipped up his backpack.
“The driver’s new,” Katy said. “I hope she knows where she’s going.”
Jack smiled. It didn’t matter if the driver got lost. He would always have Grandpa Nod’s bus schedules to help him find his way.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to editor Christi Howes, who helped The Wrong Bus safely reach its destination.
Lois Peterson discovered a new world when she started writing for kids of all ages. The Wrong Bus is her sixth book for Orca Book Publishers. For more information, visit www.loispeterson.blog.com.
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