Aces Wild (8 page)

“It’s fine. Ace just got into the restaurant through the back door and went into the dining room. He was probably trying to find us. And, well, you know how some people are about dogs.”

“The policeman said Ace stood on a table and put his feet on the plates! And he ate a lady’s ps’getti and meatballs!” yelled Sam. “So he’s gonna have to pay for them!”

“Not him,” I corrected. I winced before adding, “But maybe us. The officers said we might have to pay.”

“Did they say how much?” asked my dad.

“Seventy dollars, I think,” I said quietly. “The bill’s on the counter. He might have eaten off a bunch of people’s plates.”

“They said he liked something called teer-uh-mee-ZOO!” added Sam. “It’s not a zoo, though. It’s a dessert!”

My dad picked up the bill and put one hand over his eyes. This was not good.

“Interestingly,” said my mom in an unhappy voice, “Ace-the-dog was not the only Ace who got into a little hot water today.”

“He didn’t get into the hot water,” corrected Sam. “The ps’getti was already cooked.”

My mom had to smile a little at that.

“Oh?” said my dad.

Grateful to Sam for lightening the mood, I looked expectantly at my mom. But instead of continuing, she said, “Zelly, please. Go give Ace a bath. And, Sam, go help her.”

I opened my mouth to protest. But then I realized that, one, I wasn’t getting a lecture about Ace’s bad behavior or a consequence—like
no sleepover
—and, two, if Sam and I left the room, my mom would tell my dad her story about what happened with Ace and the car. Still, she’d be suspicious if I didn’t put up a little bit of a fuss, so I gave her one “Do I have
to?” to seal the deal. As soon as we were out of the room, I picked up Ace to keep him quiet and told Sam to shush. The three of us froze, listening.

Sure enough, my mom explained about Ace’s accident. He had been parking the car when it happened. She said the officers figured he hit the gas instead of the brake, so the car kind of jumped forward and crashed into the car in front of it. Ace, however, insisted that the brakes were broken.

“So it’s going to be in the shop for at least a week, probably more,” said my mom, “and of course we’ll have to cover the damages to the other car too.”

“To the tune of?” asked my dad.

My mom mumbled something I couldn’t hear, and my dad let out a low whistle.

“Vey iz mir,” said my dad, sounding remarkably like Ace. “Never a dull moment. But what matters is, he’s okay. He
is
okay, right?”

“I think so. Although, I swear, Nate, he really does seem to be in a fog sometimes. Half the time I talk to him, I don’t think he hears a word I say.”

“Yeah, and the other half of the time he doesn’t listen,” said my dad.

My mom laughed softly. “At any rate,” she said, “he’s home, which is the important thing. They didn’t feel the need to keep him for observation. Frankly, I think he was more embarrassed than anything.”

Yeah, right
, I thought as the spaghetti-slurping scoundrel struggled to wriggle out of my grasp. Ace-the-grandpa is often
embarrassing
. But
embarrassed?
Never.

“What was he doing at the golf course in the first place?” asked my dad.

“You’re asking me?” said my mom. Even though I couldn’t see her, I could tell she was giving my dad a look.

“Is Grandpa’s heart getting attacked again?” whispered Sam, looking scared. He fiddled with the collection of rubber bands he’s refused to take off his wrist since Ace went into the hospital last summer.

“Grandpa’s fine,” I told him.

And I meant it. Ace-the-grandpa was as loud and weird and embarrassing and unstoppable as ever. Ace-the-dog was as rambunctious and wild and untrainable as ever.

What was in critical condition was my sleepover plan.

The next night, Ace appeared at my bedroom door shortly after dinner.

“NU?” he said. “YOU READY FOR CLASS?”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Ace had been in his room more or less nonstop since Mom had brought him home from his fender bender. Over pizza, she had told me and Sam not to bother Ace, since he was a little “shaky” from the car accident.

“How am I supposed to get to class tonight if Ace doesn’t go?” I had asked.

“Well, I suppose I could take you.”

“How? Dad has the station wagon and Ace wrecked the other car.”

“He didn’t wreck it,” my mom had said. “But you’re right. We’re carless at the moment.”

“Plus what about Sam?”

My mom had let all her breath out at once. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. “It sounds like class isn’t in the cards tonight.” I had wanted to suggest other ways I could get there, but the tone of her voice told me to drop it. But now it sounded like Ace had worked some magic after I went upstairs.

“We’re going?” I asked Ace. It was disorienting to see him acting like his usual impatient self, plus he seemed to be suggesting the exact opposite of what my mom had said earlier. “Did Dad come back or did Mom find us a ride?” I asked.

“NEITHER. BUT I GOT IT ALL FIGURED OUT,” said Ace. “GET YOUR COAT.”

“Okay, but how—?”

“I TOLD YOU. I GOT IT ALL FIGURED OUT. FOLLOW ME.”

Ace-the-dog wagged his whole body with excitement. Clearly, he thought this was a terrific plan!

“Fine,” I said, grabbing an extra sweater and my hoodie. Together, we went downstairs.

“Shouldn’t we tell Mom?” I asked.

Ace shrugged. “WE’RE OFF TO CLASS,” he bellowed.

“What are you talking about?” asked my mom, rushing into the kitchen looking concerned. “You’re not supposed to be driving. And besides, Nate has the only working car.”

“I MADE A PLAN. WE’RE ALL SET.”

“You’re getting a ride?”

“NO. WE’RE GOING TO FLAP OUR WINGS AND FLY.”

From the look on my mom’s face, I could tell she wanted to say something else.

“Please, Mom,” I said before she could. “I really don’t want to miss class.”

My mom looked from Ace to me.

“Mommy!” whined Sam from upstairs. “I can’t find Susie.” Without her, Sam could not, would not, sleep.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” called my mom. To Ace, she said, “Okay, fine. Nate can pick you up if you need him to.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I told her. I ran to catch up with Ace, who was already out the door.

“This is your plan?”

Ace wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and craned his neck, looking up the street.

“DO YOU WANT TO GO TO CLASS, OR DO YOU WANT TO GO TO CLASS?”

“I do, it’s just—I thought we were getting a ride,” I said.

Either the wind was too strong or Ace was pretending not to hear me. I waited until I caught his eye before yelling my next question: “You’re sure the bus runs at night here in Vermont?”

“WE’RE NOT IN THE BOONIES, KID. THIS IS BURLINGTON. THE BIG CITY. OF COURSE THE BUSES RUN AFTER DARK.”

“And you’re sure they let dogs on the bus here in Vermont?” I asked.

“WHAT IS THIS, TWENTY QUESTIONS?” said Ace.

“No. It’s just—how long are we going to have to stand out here? I’m freezing.”

“I TOLD YOU TO WEAR A COAT.”

“Yeah, but you also told me we were getting a ride. You didn’t tell me we were going to stand outside in the cold waiting for the bus. Which isn’t coming.”

“IT’LL COME,” insisted Ace.

“When?” I asked.

“SOON,” said Ace. “YOU WANT MY MUFFLER?”

“No,” I said, pulling the strings on my hoodie tighter and hugging Ace to my chest. He shivered against me, poor little guy. Just then, the smell of burning leaves hit my nose, making me turn. “What are you doing?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE?”

“Grandpa! Mom said you’re not supposed to smoke anymore!”

“WHAT SMOKING?” said Ace, but I could see a stubby brown cigar sticking out from between layers of his scarf. “I’M JUST LIGHTING IT. TO MAKE THE BUS COME.”

“That’s it,” I said. “I’m going back in—”

“AHA!” said Ace. “YOU SEE?”

Sure enough, two blocks away, I could see the bright lights of the bus heading toward us.

“Okay, great, but now what?” I remembered reading a book about Henry Huggins taking his dog Ribsy on a bus in a big cardboard box. But this was real life—how was
that
supposed to work? “They’re not going to let us on with a dog.”

Ace carefully stubbed out the cigar. He took off the Baxter State and unwrapped his scarf, so I could see that he was smiling. His caterpillar eyebrows started wiggling with excitement. He took one end of the scarf and wrapped it around Ace, who was still in my arms. Then he took Ace from me and turned his back on me.

“GO ON. TIE IT,” he instructed. “QUICKLY!” I took the scarf ends, which were sticking out from underneath his armpits and pulled them together, tying a knot, then knotting it again. When he turned around, Ace was pinned to his belly like a fortune cookie fortune taped to the refrigerator. “NOW THE COAT!” barked Ace, so I grabbed it, helping him pull the sleeves back on while nervously looking over my shoulder for the bus.

When Ace got the Baxter State back on and zipped it up around his bulging belly, he looked like a sumo wrestler. Plus, even though he didn’t zip it all the way up, I couldn’t see Ace, so I worried he was going to suffocate inside.

“What are you doing?! Grandpa, take him out of there!”

“WHAT? HE’S FINE. WHAT COULD HAPPEN?”

“Lots of things! They could kick us off the bus. They could call the police. We could be sent to jail!”

“NONSENSE,” said Ace. “BESIDES, AN IDEA THAT IS NOT DANGEROUS IS UNWORTHY OF BEING CALLED AN IDEA. WILDE.”

“It’s not wild! It’s crazy!”

“NOT
WILD
. WILDE. OSCAR WILDE. THE WRITER. HE SAID THAT.”

“Oh yeah? Was he wearing a dog when he said it?”

“DOG? WHAT DOG?” said Ace.

Before I could protest anymore, the bus pulled up and the door opened right in front of us. Holding his belly with one hand like he was afraid it might explode, Ace grabbed the handrail and started to waddle up the stairs. I had no choice but to follow. He had my dog.

“AI-YI-YI,” grumbled Ace as he carefully maneuvered his way up the bus steps. When he got to the top, he steadied himself on the railing and addressed the bus driver. “A NIGHT LIKE THIS IS NOT FIT FOR MAN OR BEAST.”

“Ummm-hmmmm,” said the bus driver evenly.

“W. C. FIELDS,” Ace informed him.

“Come on, Grandpa,” I said.

We walked back and slid into the first available seats, Ace on the left side, sitting sideways and blocking the aisle, and me on the right.

“Did I tell you?” said Ace, whispering for once. “All figured out. Gedaingst?!”

“Of course I remember,” I told him. “I just didn’t actually think it would work.” That was the thing about Ace. Many of his ideas were crazy. But some were so-crazy-they-just-might-work.
Whew
, I thought,
that was a close—

“You forgetting something?”

I looked up. The voice came from the bus driver, who was staring at us in the rearview mirror.
Oh no
, I thought.
This is the part where we get thrown off the bus. Or thrown in jail. Or worse
.

I looked at Ace. He was leaning very, very far into the aisle, almost like he was about to keel over, still holding his bulging waist with his left hand. He looked very strange, stranger than usual. Just then, I had a scary thought, and my own heart started to pound.
His face was very red. Did that mean something? Was he having another heart attack? What was I going to do?

“Grandpa?” I said, my voice very small all of a sudden. “Grandpa, are you … okay?”

Ace didn’t answer. He was reaching behind himself with his right hand while still clutching his “belly” firmly with his left one.
Oh no—Ace!

I had to do something. So I stood up and started walking quickly to the front of the bus to tell the driver—well, I wasn’t sure what.
Excuse me, but my grandpa might be having a heart attack. Oh, and by the way, he has my dog strapped to his belly
.

“ZELDALEH.”

I turned, surprised to hear Ace’s booming voice, and even more surprised to hear him calling me something other than kid. The last time he did, I was pretty sure he was still in the hospital, recovering from his heart attack. But when I turned around, Ace looked normal again. Well, normal for an old man wearing a Budweiser beer hat with earflaps and a dog smuggled under his coat. Normal for Ace. He was waving something triumphantly.

“HERE,” said Ace, holding it out to me. I realized why the bus driver was glaring at us … and what Ace had been digging out of his back pocket. I ran back to Ace, grabbed his
wallet, and practically danced up the aisle to apologize and shove dollars and coins into the fare box. As I sat down again, Ace caught my eye and winked. He unzipped the Baxter State a few inches, enough so I could see Ace snuggled inside, but not enough so Ace could see that he could wiggle his way to freedom.

“SUCH A WORRIER,” Ace scolded me after we got off the bus. “YOU COME BY IT HONESTLY.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“YOU GET IT FROM YOUR MOTHER,” said Ace.

The topic of the evening’s class turned out to be teaching your dog to heel. Ace, however, seemed to think the topic was attacking the heel of the person who is walking you.