Owl's Outstanding Donuts

by Robin Yardi

  The morning-rush customers jingled out the door.

  Aunt Molly wiped down the counter.

  “If we can’t call the sheriff, could we call somebody else?” Mattie said. “Like the mayor or something? You wouldn’t need to say anything about the owl part if you don’t think they’d believe it. It’s that truck I’m worried about.”

  Aunt Molly scrunched her mouth into a worried squiggle, and Mattie was immediately sorry she’d said anything. She slumped a little lower in her booth.

  “Mattie,” Molly said, “This dream about the owl—”

  “It wasn’t a—” Mattie started.

  “Was your owl dream last night really a funny one?” Aunt Molly continued. “Or was it scary? Is that what’s got you so worried?”

  Mattie didn’t know how to answer. Lately, admitting to being worried meant talking about things she didn’t really know how to talk about. She froze like a deer peeking through the redwoods. Like Aunt Molly might not say anything else if Mattie stopped blinking.

  But her stillness only made Aunt Molly say, “Mattie, if that other dream is back, you don’t have to start school in two weeks. You don’t have to take the bus if you’re not ready.”

  “But, you said!” Mattie shot up, squeaking against the vinyl seat. “Sasha and Beanie are expecting me to go with them. It wasn’t a nightmare last night—I swear . . .”

  “Okay, okay.” Aunt Molly held up her hands. “I just think you shouldn’t rush it. Sasha and Beatrice would understand.”

  Mattie vowed silently to keep any more midnight owl sightings to herself. She didn’t want to give Aunt Molly a reason to think that the nightmare, the one she’d had the first few months after Mom died, was back. And it really was gone. July and August had been one-hundred-percent nightmare-free. But she could see how Aunt Molly would get confused.

  Mattie’s dream had always been the same. She was in the back of her mom’s old car and she thought Mom was driving it, but then all the doors flew open.

  And Mom was gone.

  The car kept running, and the highway slid past in a blur. Every curve of the road filled Mattie with a horrible swoop, like she was falling. She had to stop the car. She had to get out. Mattie yanked at her seatbelt, but it was stuck. The car sped up and swerved. There was a crunch.

  And Mattie woke up shivery with sweat.

  Anyway, that dream was gone. Mattie had still avoided cars and trucks and buses all summer, it was true. When the dream started, she had been nervous about riding in them. But she’d decided that wasn’t going to stop her from taking the school bus up Highway One. She was going to Pacific Valley Elementary, period.

  There were exactly eight days of summer left, not two weeks like Aunt Molly had said. That still gave Mattie enough time to get ready. Beanie, who wasn’t even seven, might understand if Mattie chickened out about riding the school bus. But Sasha was almost eleven. Sasha was Mattie’s best friend in Big Sur, and no way would she be happy if Mattie didn’t start fifth grade with her.

  When Mattie had lived in Monterey, she had wished she could go to school in Big Sur with Sasha and Beanie, her summer friends. But now part of her wondered if it was okay to be happy about something even though her mom was gone. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to want anything. Not donuts, not friends, not new pencils and a new school.

  But she wanted to start school anyway, even if it made her feel guilty somehow. Even if it meant riding a bus on the highway. So she decided not to think or dream or talk about anything owl-related. Especially not with Aunt Molly. She wouldn’t say anything that could make people think she was still scared.

  “Can I go to Sasha and Beanie’s?” Mattie asked. “It’s Sunday, and Sasha said I could help check in the new campers, and Mrs. Little is going to pay us and everything.”

  Aunt Molly sighed. “Yes. Fine.” She bent down and slid two matching donuts into a bag. “Take these.”

  Mattie hopped up, grabbed the white paper bag with a crunchy crumple, and swung through the door before Aunt Molly could change her mind.

  The Chocolate Rainbow

  A firm cake donut with cocoa icing and a rainbow of fiesta sprinkles. Classic, simple, and fun!

  Outside, Mattie smirked. Mrs. Mantooth was still at the edge of the parking lot, wiping off her driveway’s oversized No Trespassing sign. Before she had even built her fancy house, she’d posted the sign right where Aunt Molly’s asphalt became her dusty gravel. Mattie didn’t know why she bothered. Most customers still backed the butts of their cars into her driveway, just a little bit, before turning out onto the road.

  Mrs. Mantooth complained constantly that visitors to the donut shop were damaging her road. Her rocks. But even if they were, how would that be Aunt Molly’s fault?

  Mattie gave the parking lot one last look before turning toward Sasha and Beanie’s place. She laughed a little, seeing a shiny red car slip into the lot.

  It was the real estate agent, Adelaide Sharpe.

  This really was not Aunt Molly’s day.

  No matter how many times Ms. Sharpe visited in her shiny high-heeled shoes, Aunt Molly could not convince her that they would never sell the little slip of land along the highway. Adelaide Sharpe was not someone who knew how to give up.

  Anyway, Mattie wasn’t sorry to miss that lady’s visit to Owl’s, so she hurried across the parking lot.

  She didn’t have to take a bus or ride in a car to get to Sasha and Beanie’s place. She didn’t even need to walk along the highway, with all those cars and trucks and motor homes careening past—which was a good thing, because she wouldn’t have. All Mattie had to do was hurry past Aunt Molly’s shiny trailer, swoop along the dirt path to the riverbank, and hop down the steep stone steps to the Big Sur riverbed. Halfway through August, the water was shallow and lazy but still as cold and black as the back of an old mirror.

  Mattie slipped off her shoes and left them on the last stone step before the river.

  Holding the white paper bag of donuts above the splashing water, Mattie made her way downstream toward the Little Family Campground. With every soft sploink of her bare feet in the water, she thought about that odd owl and the mysterious truck. She couldn’t help it. Mattie could still hear the tapping on her window, the smash of the pot, and the squeal of the truck swinging around the bend.

  It had to be real.

  Maybe she should try telling Sasha and Beanie.

  But what would they say?

  Beanie would believe anything. Her birthday was coming up in a few days, and Sasha had her convinced that she was about to turn ten. That she’d finally reach double digits. Mattie didn’t have the heart to tell Beanie she was only going to be seven. Calendars weren’t something Beanie really got yet. Anyway, convincing Beanie wasn’t going to be a problem. Mattie was not so sure about Sasha. So she’d better not to say anything. What if word got back to Aunt Molly? Beanie wouldn’t tell, not on purpose, but no way did she know how to keep quiet.

  Well, Mattie did.

  Mattie passed the battered white sign for the Little Family Campground posted at the base of a redwood tree on the nearest bank. Next, she walked under the netted bridge that swung over the river like a giant drooping hammock. Green plastic chairs littered the low banks. Here and there, chairs stood in the shallow river too, dragged there by campers, mostly old ladies in flowery swimsuits with skirts attached.

  Mattie made her way across the river, toward the campground side. In the middle, the cold water was still slow, barely tugging, but it tickled at the backs of her knees. She teetered up the far bank, hopping from rock to rock. Finally she thumped up the back steps of Sasha and Beanie’s cabin. It was the only one on the property that people permanently occupied.

  Getting on her tiptoes, Mattie peeked through the windowpanes of the back door. Mr. and Mrs. Little were probably out at the entrance kiosk, but Beanie was inside, dancing on the bench by the kitchen table. Over the soft campground sounds of crackling fires and clinking coffee pots, Mattie c
ould hear her singing.

  Through the door. Way off all the keys.

  Mattie grinned and twisted the knob of the stubborn back door. “Morning, Beanie,” she shouted over the blaring music and Beanie’s awful singing. She plunked the donut bag down on the kitchen table, which was covered in newspapers and mail, cereal bowls and juice glasses, coloring pages and a half-glued kite.

  “Did you bring the good ones?” Beanie asked, jumping down from the kitchen bench. She gave one more little shimmy to the music and pushed her nose into the crumpled paper bag. “Yessss!”

  Beanie lined up both chocolate donuts on the edge of the table. She put her nose super close, sizing them up. She’d want the one with the most sprinkles. But no matter which donut Beanie picked, Sasha would always claim to have gotten more sprinkles than her sister, because she could count that high and Beanie couldn’t yet. Not without getting the numbers all mixed up.

  Beanie picked up her chosen donut, holding it high for one last look before taking a huge, triumphant bite. With her free hand, she pushed Mattie toward the room she shared with her sister.

  “Go wake Sasha up. Dad says that after 9:30, we’re late!”

  “Nah-uh,” Mattie said. “You wake her up. She’s not my sister.”

  Messing with Sasha’s sleep was kind of a risk.

  Beanie gave Mattie a no-way-not-ever look, and Mattie gave in. If she made Beanie wake Sasha up, and then Beanie was too loud or too silly or too anything, the morning could turn into kind of a catastrophe.

  “Fine,” Mattie said, picking up the second place donut to offer to Sasha. It’s really hard to be grumpy when you’re eating a donut. Even right after someone wakes you up.

  Mattie slunk down the hall and into Beanie and Sasha’s cozy bedroom. The wooden dresser oozed leggings and shirts, like it had a summer cold and the girls’ clothes were boogers. Books dangled from shelves, and the floor was an obstacle course of toys. Somewhere, Mattie was sure, a forgotten orange was going moldy. Mrs. Little hadn’t gone on a cleaning rampage in a while.

  Sasha was asleep in the room’s top bunk, letting out a stuffy-nosed rattle of a snore. One arm was draped over her eyes, keeping out the summer sunshine. Mattie climbed the ladder on the long side of the bunk, next to Sasha’s head, holding the donut carefully in one hand. She made sure its chocolate icing didn’t get smushed and not a single sprinkle fell off.

  She peeked over the edge, watching Sasha sleep.

  She nudged at Sasha’s elbow.

  Nothing.

  She blew at the wavy hair plastered to Sasha’s forehead.

  Snort!

  “Sasha,” whispered Mattie. “I brought you a donut.”

  Sasha moaned and turned onto her side.

  “Okay . . . I’ll go see if Beanie wants it,” Mattie said, hopping down a rung.

  Sasha flung her arm aside, whapping Mattie on the head.

  “Ouch!”

  Sasha heaved herself up and plucked the donut from Mattie’s hand. “Sorry, Matt. But you know better.” She giggled, and Mattie half-smiled back.

  Sasha slumped down her bunk ladder, shoved her feet into water shoes, and marched out into the hall. “S’go! We’re gonna be late for work.”

  Mattie followed, listening to Beanie and Sasha’s inevitable argument in the kitchen.

  “How many did yours have, kid?”

  “Two hundred and . . .” Beanie’s voice trailed off.

  “Too bad, ’cause mine had exactly three hundred and four.”

  “No way!” Beanie squeaked. “You didn’t have time to count that high. Dad says you’re always just teasing me.”

  Mattie sighed. She should just stop bringing them donuts.

  “Who are you gonna believe? Dad or me?” Sasha asked, pointing to herself before taking a bite of her donut. “Now let’s go,” she said, still in her pajamas. “You’re always making me late!”

  Beanie followed her sister, and Mattie trailed down the stairs behind them, hiding a squished smile. Beanie didn’t like it when you laughed at her. Mattie wondered, just for a second, what would have happened if that owl had woken her up in the middle of the night!

  She couldn’t help but giggle at that. No one would have believed Beanie either, and no way would that have been okay with Beanie.

  “What?” Beanie peeked back at Mattie.

  “Nothing,” Mattie said, still kind of laughing.

  Sasha rolled her eyes like she knew exactly what Mattie was trying so hard not to laugh at.

  “No secrets,” Beanie complained. “Mom said.”

  “There’s no secret. Promise.”

  “Pinky?” Beanie asked, holding out her little finger.

  “Pinky promise,” Mattie said, hooking her finger in Beanie’s.

  Mrs. Little was pretty serious about the girls not keeping secrets from Beanie. They weren’t allowed to leave her out. Ever. So if Mattie wanted to help the Littles with their campground check-ins, which she absolutely did, then she had to keep Beanie happy.

  And that owl wasn’t really a secret. It was just something Mattie hadn’t figured out how to explain yet.

  Not without messing anything up.

  The Turkey Talon

  A fluffy marzipan-and-raisin-filled Big Sur version of a classic bear claw. These turkeys are pretty wild!

  Alfred awoke with a flinch of feathers as a car careened around the bend beneath his roost. Screeeech. The car slammed on its brakes and honked at the battered station wagon turning left into Owl’s Outstanding Donuts. The summer season, Alfred shivered, could be almost unbearable. Reckless tourists!

  Ordinarily he would have grumbled himself back to sleep, but this morning he chose to grumble himself across the wooden platform in the scraggly redwood tree that had become his home. The wooden beams had once housed a pair of nesting eagles, and they had been good enough to leave behind a rather comfortable nest. Alfred extended his long feathery legs and hopped down from the magnificent pile of sticks, positioning himself at the platform’s edge. He needed a better view of the highway.

  Met with the bright sun, his black pupils contracted to pinpoints—ouch. He closed his eyes halfway to keep some of the morning light out.

  To his surprise, the ditch where the strange figures had been was not a flurry of human activity. No one was investigating what had occurred the night before. True, there wasn’t much to observe, aside from some dark, damp splotches in the gravel. But didn’t that dampness give anyone pause? It hadn’t rained for weeks. And couldn’t people smell that horrible sourness?

  Apparently not.

  A noisy flock of wild turkeys gobbled its way across the highway. In no rush whatsoever. And as far as Alfred could see, the girl hadn’t done a thing about last night’s suspicious commotion. He clicked his beak. All his trouble with that flowerpot had come to nothing! And he still had several cactus spines poking around his ankles. Really, besides donuts, what were people good for?

  Alfred closed his eyes, trying to devise a way, any way, around what he had in mind. Daylight jaunts were beneath his dignity. But he could think of nothing else.

  Alfred flew from tree to tree, through the thick forest of redwoods that lined the river. He’d keep to the shadows as he made his way to the Little Family Campground.

  Think like a hawk, he counseled himself. Think like a hawk.

  He swooped over the riverbed. None of the elderly ladies, up to their ankles in the water, gave him the slightest glance. Excellent.

  Alfred landed on the limb of a sycamore and pressed himself against the mottled gray bark.

  Then, just below the sycamore, he spotted the girl with green eyes.

  But she was with two other humans. Also girls. A tall one and a wiggly one. The tall one held a clipboard and walked ahead of a lurching van. The wiggly one and the girl with green eyes were pointing to an empty campsite. Once the van had come to a halt, the tall one began spouting off a list of campground rules, while the girl with green eyes patiently answered questions
about bathrooms and trash. The wiggly one just bounced up and down.

  That fledgling was clearly too young, Alfred huffed, to be of any practical use.

  Alfred considered the three girls through narrowed eyelids. He knew that children sometimes did unpleasant things like throw stones or pinecones upon seeing an owl. Horrible! But the green-eyed girl didn’t strike him as capable of those things.

  Now how would he get her alone?

  Mattie rocked up onto the tips of her toes. Mr. Little always said the girls should look right into a camper’s eyes when they were working, and Mattie could pretty much do it as long as the customer was even a little bit nice back. The woman smiled, and pretty freckles sprinkled her nose, but her breath smelled like coffee and the baby she was bouncing up and down smelled like . . . something else. Mattie decided to focus on the smile and not breathe too deeply while her nose was near the baby’s diaper.

  “Here’s your car pass,” Mattie said, handing over a little pink ticket. “Just come to the kiosk if you have any more questions.”

  “Yep,” squeaked Beanie.

  “Let’s see if we can break the record today,” Sasha said, already zooming up the road that snaked through the campground. “Think we can do twenty-one check-ins?”

  Mattie was about to remind Sasha that the day they did twenty-one check-ins for Mr. and Mrs. Little, Mrs. Little had told them they shouldn’t rush the process. If they did, they might forget some of the things they were supposed to tell the customers, and anyway, camping was supposed to be relaxing. But the only time Sasha ever relaxed was when she was asleep or reading a book.

  Sasha was the only one who really cared about their record. Mattie tried to think of a way to remind Sasha that they weren’t supposed to speed through good customer service—without Sasha getting mad—when a shadow flickered over her. But when she looked up, all she saw was an empty sycamore branch.