The Wrong Bus Read online

  LOIS PETERSON

  The Wrong Bus

  illustrated by

  AMY

  MEISSNER

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Text copyright © 2012 Lois Peterson

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 Amy Meissner

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Peterson, Lois J., 1952-

  The wrong bus [electronic resource] / Lois Peterson ; illustrated by Amy Meissner.

  (Orca echoes)

  Electronic monograph.

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 978-1-55469-870-7 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-55469-871-4 (EPUB)

  I. Meissner, Amy II. Title. III. Series: Orca echoes (Online)

  PS8631.E832W76 2012 JC813’.6 C2011-907536-9

  First published in the United States, 2012

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011942582

  Summary: When Jack’s grandpa dies, Jack boards the wrong bus, which turns out to be the right bus to say goodbye to his beloved grandfather.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council®.

  10% of author royalties will be donated to Volunteer Grandparents (Vancouver)

  Cover artwork and interior illustrations by Amy Meissner

  Author photo by E. Henry

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 5626, Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4 ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  15 14 13 12 • 4 3 2 1

  For my grandsons, Copper Johnston and Colton Brunt.

  In memory of my own grandfather,

  Joseph Lemmon, who worked “on the buses.” —LP

  Many thanks to the crew of the Arctic Passage —ACM

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Mom wouldn’t let Jack go to Grandpa Nod’s funeral. “Eight-year-olds don’t belong at cemeteries,” she said.

  But she did let him take the day off school. She left him with a word-puzzle book, two new green felt pens (his favorite kind) and a handful of fruit strips. “I’ll be back at three,” she said. “Mrs. Barrett will stay with you until I get back.”

  Jack waited for his mom to lock the door. Then he looked out the window and watched her go.

  Soon the Number 26 bus came along. Mom got on. He waved, but no one waved back.

  Jack watched seven buses go past before Mom came home. Her eyes were red. She was carrying a white daisy. She put it in a skinny vase on the table. When she took off her coat, a bundle of tissues fell out of her coat pocket.

  “You didn’t even open that book,” she said. “I thought apple strips were your favorite.”

  Jack couldn’t tell her he had been waiting for Grandpa’s bus. If he did, she would tell him he should stop waiting. Grandpa Nod was gone. He couldn’t come back, even if he wanted to.

  Jack didn’t tell her he wished he had said goodbye.

  “Hospitals are not for eight-year-olds,” she had told him more than once. Just like funeral homes and cemeteries weren’t either.

  Chapter Two

  “School today, as usual. Off you go,” Mom said the next morning.

  Katy Doyle, from the upstairs apartment, was in Jack’s class. She waited for the bus with him, as usual. So did Leah from the third floor. Today Leah’s tights were black and white squares. They reminded Jack of a checkerboard.

  “When I grow up, I’m going to buy my clothes where Leah does,” said Katy, as usual.

  As usual, Leah didn’t look at Jack or Katy. She just cracked her gum and stared at the sidewalk.

  Jack didn’t mind. He knew teenagers only had time for eight-year-olds when they babysat them.

  Jack let Katy and Leah on the bus first. Then he let on the lady who carried her dog in a basket.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” said the bus driver.

  “Come on, Jack,” said Katy. She waited for him on the top step.

  “This is my grandpa’s bus,” said Jack.

  “I bet you’re Jack. Noddy’s grandson,” said the driver. “He told us all about you.”

  “This is my grandpa’s bus,” Jack said again.

  “He died,” Katy told the driver in her helpful voice.

  “I’m sorry about your grandpa,” said the driver. His voice was kind. But his hand was on the knob that closed the door. “Hop aboard now. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Come on, Jack,” said Katy.

  Jack picked up his backpack and climbed on the bus.

  Today, instead of sitting beside Katy, he sat behind her. He pressed his face against the window and watched the streets swim by.

  Mr. Singh was sweeping the sidewalk outside his shop. He swept it every morning. A man carrying a briefcase and a tennis racket boarded the bus at the Rec Center. He caught the bus every day. A teenager with a skateboard and lots of tattoos loped up the stairs. He boarded like that every morning.

  Everything was the same as usual.

  Except Grandpa Nod was not driving.

  If Jack’s grandpa had been driving bus Number 26, he would have said something special to everyone who got on. And he would have called Jack a candy name. Something like Double Bubble. Maybe Sen-Sen. Or perhaps his favorite—Jawbreaker.

  This driver only grunted, “Hello.” Or said, “Let’s get this show on the road,” if people took too long.

  Jack and Katy got off the bus at school. Instead of saying, “See you later, Jelly Bean,” the driver didn’t say anything. He waited until Jack and Katy were safely down the steps. Then he closed the doors and drove away.

  “Who’s going to meet you after school now that your grandpa’s dead?” Katy asked as they walked into school.

  “I have to catch the bus home with you,” Jack said.

  “Cool. How about you sit beside me this time?”

  Instead of taking the bus home with Katy, Jack would rather have his grandpa meet him. When Grandpa Nod picked him up, he always checked if Jack had eaten his sandwich, apple and carrot sticks. Then he ate whatever was left as they headed to the park, the bird sanctuary or the river to watch the tugboats.

  Sometimes they took the bus. Grandpa had a bus pass, so he could get on for free. He knew all the drivers. When Jack was with him, the drivers let Jack on the bus for free too.

  But usually they walked. And Grandpa Nod would sing.

  Jack walked into class. “Glad to see you back,” said Mr. Haworth.

  “Jack’s grandpa died,” Katy helpfully told everyone.

  Jack went to his desk. He put his lunchbox inside it and waited for roll call.

  Chapter Three

  After sch
ool Katy said, “I just remembered. I have to stay and practice for the concert.”

  “You should have told me,” Jack said. “Mom says eight-year-olds are too young to ride the bus alone.”

  “You won’t be alone, silly. It will be full of people. It always is after school.”

  Jack waited and waited for the Number 26 bus. The Number 13 passed. Then the Number 17.

  Maybe he could walk, he thought. His grandpa often walked him home from school. Jack knew the way.

  There was no number on the next bus. Jack stepped back. He expected it to pass by, headed for the depot. But it stopped in front of him.

  The doors wheezed open.

  The sun shone in Jack’s face. He couldn’t see the driver.

  “Hop on, son,” a voice said.

  “This is the wrong bus,” Jack said. “I need the Number 26.”

  “This will do. Hop on, Jawbreaker.”

  Jawbreaker! Jack raced up the stairs. “Grandpa!”

  The doors wheezed shut behind him.

  “Who else?”

  “Mom said you died.”

  “I did. But here I am. What a lark!”

  Jack didn’t know what to do. His grandpa had got sick. He was checked into the hospital. The hospital that was no place for an eight-year-old. So Jack hadn’t been able to visit him. Then his grandpa died. His body went to the funeral home. The funeral home that was no place for an eight-year-old. Then Jack’s mom left him at home while she went to the cemetery. The cemetery that was also no place for an eight-year-old.

  But here was Grandpa Nod!

  “You’d better sit down,” his grandpa said. “You look a bit shaky. And we’re in for a heck of a ride.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Jack.

  “Here, there and everywhere in between. A Magical Mystery Tour.”

  Jack grinned. It was just the kind of thing his grandpa always said. “Where are the other passengers?” he asked.

  “They can get the next bus.” Grandpa Nod chuckled. “As you said, this is the wrong bus. For everyone but the two of us.” He put the bus in gear. “Sit down. It’s time to make a break for it.”

  Jack sat on the long seat. He could watch his grandpa from there. He wrapped his hands tight around the silver pole.

  The bus went through the intersection instead of turning right. “You’re going the wrong way,” Jack said.

  “It’s the wrong bus. Of course it’s going the wrong way. Did you eat your lunch? ” Grandpa asked.

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Good-oh!” said Grandpa. “All the more for me.”

  Grandpa Nod drove the bus past the park. He turned onto a side street.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Jack said. “The sign says One Way Only.”

  “My bus doesn’t care about signs,” said Grandpa.

  He stopped beside a very tall building.

  Emergency Department was written across the big windows. “It says No Parking,” said Jack. “Why are we here?”

  Grandpa turned the engine off. He stood up. “Come on, Tic Tac. Let’s go walkabout.”

  Jack held his grandfather’s hand. It was cool as a breeze and light as a feather.

  They left the bus on the yellow line and walked through the doors into the hospital.

  The hall was long and narrow. People in white coats hurried in both directions.

  Jack waited beside his grandfather in front of an elevator. “It says Staff Only,” said Jack.

  “It makes no nevermind to us,” said Grandpa. The doors opened. Grandpa Nod winked at the lady on the gurney. Jack smiled at the porter holding an IV pole. But no one smiled back.

  “Hit the button. We want the fifth floor,” said Grandpa.

  When they arrived, Jack and his grandfather waited until the gurney was rolled out. Jack didn’t feel a thing as the wheels rolled over his feet. His grandfather didn’t flinch when the porter bumped into him. “This-a-way,” said Grandpa. They walked down another long hallway. It was lined with trolleys, bins and medical equipment.

  Grandpa pushed open the swinging doors that said No Entry. He led Jack past racks of blankets and carts loaded with bottles and basins. Everyone was too busy to notice them.

  They stopped at Room 148.

  Grandpa peered through a glass window in the middle of the door. He pushed the door open and stepped aside. “After you,” he said to Jack.

  Chapter Four

  The ward was dark and quiet. A door to the bathroom was open. But no one was inside.

  One bed was empty and covered by a flat white sheet. The curtains were closed around the other bed. When Grandpa slid them open, the hooks rattled.

  A man lay in the bed with his eyes closed. A blanket was pulled up to his neck.

  “This was my bed,” said Grandpa. Jack stared at the man. He looked at his grandfather.

  “When your ma visited, I was a scary sight,” said Grandpa. “Hooked up to all kinds of gizmos. Bells and whistles. Tubes here and there.”

  Jack held Grandpa Nod’s hand. “Did it hurt?” he asked.

  “A bit. Nothing I couldn’t bear.” Grandpa grinned. “The nurses were mighty nice,” he said. A big man in a white jacket came into the room. A stethoscope hung around his neck. He twiddled with the machine above the sleeping patient’s bed and went out again. “Even the big ugly ones like Ralph,” said Grandpa.

  “Who’s Ralph?” asked Jack.

  “That was Ralph,” said Grandpa.

  “Why did you die?” asked Jack. “Couldn’t they fix you?”

  “Too many bits were all worn out. Any minute they would start falling off.” Grandpa patted the corner of the empty bed. “They did what they could. And I am much better now.”

  Jack looked across at the sleeping man. Maybe he had a grandson too. Maybe one who was younger than eight but was allowed to come and visit.

  Jack walked around the room. He checked out the cards on the bedside table. He sniffed the limp flowers in the jug.

  He stood over the man and watched him sleep.

  Footsteps passed in the hall. Voices rose and fell. No one came in.

  Grandpa Nod stood at the end of the man’s bed, waiting for Jack to finish checking things out.

  When Jack had finished his tour of the room, Grandpa Nod asked, “Seen enough?”

  “Yes,” said Jack. He took his grandfather’s hand. It was cool and soft.

  They walked back to the elevators. A nurse hurried toward them. Jack stepped aside so she wouldn’t run into him. She walked past and kept going as if they weren’t there.

  They boarded the public elevator. A man studied a clipboard. A lady in a terry-towel housecoat and flip-flop slippers rode down with them. No one said a word.

  Back at the bus, Jack checked the windshield. No parking ticket. “Don’t you have to get back to your route?” he asked Grandpa.

  “Not us. Places to go. People to see,” he said. He drove through the intersection without stopping at the Stop sign.

  Chapter Five

  Grandpa ran through three red lights and another Stop sign. He drove the wrong way up two one-way streets.

  He ignored all the bus stops with people waiting in long lines.

  No one honked at him. No police cars chased after them.

  He pulled into a reserved parking spot at the Restful Haven Funeral Home. “Wanna come looky-look, Juicy Fruit?” he asked.

  Jack walked past a long black limousine. Two ladies held on to each other’s arms. Two men eased a casket into the back of the car.

  Indoors, the lobby was shadowy and cool. Soft music played. A vase of flowers stood on a table. The scent filled the room like all kinds of mixed-up candy.

  A man with a bald head and a dark suit ignored Jack and Grandpa as they walked toward the doors that said Visitors Please Use Chapel Entrance.

  They entered a room filled with caskets. Some had half the lid wide open. Others were closed with little shiny plaques on top.

  Jack stood
close to his grandpa, holding his hand. He looked around. The lights were dim. A thick blue carpet covered the floor. Their footsteps did not make a sound as Jack’s grandpa led him around the room.

  “Which would you choose?” Grandpa asked.

  One was shiny black all over, with silver studs along the edge of the lid. One was pure white and very small.

  They all stood on high tables, so Jack couldn’t see into the open ones. Most had big handles. Beside each casket was a sign with the price.

  One cost $3,000. It sounded like a lot of money to Jack.

  He walked to the back of the room. He laid his hand on a casket made of plain wood. It looked as if it had just come out of someone’s workshop. It smelled of sharp-scented, fresh-cut wood. It had no fancy handles or gold plaques. Jack felt his grandpa watching him. “I like this one best,” said Jack.

  “You’ve got good taste, Life Saver,” said Grandpa. “That’s the one I would have picked.” He stroked a dark brown casket. “But your ma wanted something fancier. As befitted the stature of the man inside.”

  “Was it dark in there?” asked Jack. “Could you breathe?”

  “Didn’t need to. It’s all for show,” said his grandpa. “But your ma was happy to see me tucked up tight.”

  Jack wondered if his grandpa wore his bus uniform and cap inside the casket. But he didn’t ask.

  “Seen enough?” asked Grandpa.

  Jack looked around the room. It was so quiet and peaceful. He wouldn’t mind taking a nap inside one of the coffins. But he didn’t say so.

  As they walked back out to the bus, people in dark suits and black dresses were headed in. No one moved to let them past. They skirted through the crowd without anyone saying anything to them.

  “Where are we going now?” asked Jack.

  Grandpa pulled away from the curb. He turned onto the street without stopping to check both ways first. “How can this be a Magical Mystery Tour if there’s no mystery?” he said. “Stick with me, Milk Dud. You’ll find out soon.”