The Hole in the Wall - Lisa Rowe Fraustino [10]
And a good-bye to you, too, I almost said, but instead I bit my tongue and said “Ouch.” Odum gave me a puzzled look as he reached into his pocket and tugged out a fat wallet. No wonder his pants rode so low. He shuffled through dozens of Ben Franklins and Ulysses S. Grants and a few Andrew Jacksons before he pulled out an Abe Lincoln.
Pa reached into his pocket for his wallet. Which was very skinny. Odum held up his hand. “No problem, Craig—keep the change. If you ask me, Claire doesn’t charge enough for her hard work. Fresh organic eggs ought to be at least twice the price of those mass produced at a factory farm.”
Yeah, whatever he said!
“A dozen eggs, comin’ atcha,” said Pa, “laid fresh this morning,” and he disappeared inside.
Odum made a squinty face at me. “Can’t see too good without my glasses, son,” he said, pulling a pair out of his shirt pocket. The lenses were milky colored like seashells. Eerie. My neck prickled with goose bumps. Then Odum smiled, and the glasses fit perfectly with those pearly whites.
He started wandering around the yard, sidestepping the mud, kicking a rock now and then. He picked up a pebble and tossed it from hand to hand, whistling “The Star Spangled Banner,” when Pa threw open the kitchen window to call in the charming polite voice he used in front of anyone not related to him, “Sebastian, could you please come in here for a moment?”
Who, me? Usually I only answer to “Hey, Seb, get your blankety-blank in here.” But since we had company I went along with it.
“Stan, we’ll have the freshest eggs in the world ready for you in a jiffy,” Pa said with a nod and a smile.
Inside, Pa was on his knees in front of the refrigerator. Jam jars, juice cartons, Cheez Whiz, mustard, leftovers, and all sorts of stuff was spewed all over the floor.
“Where the blazes are the eggs for sale?” he said.
If there weren’t any cartons on the special shelf just for eggs, we didn’t have any for sale. Ma had explained it time and again. I looked at the front door, wishing her and Grum would choose this second to walk through it. Why did it have to be Senior Citizen’s Discount Day at Love Your Hair? Why did Grum even need her hair permed? It always looked like asbestos anyway.
“We must be sold out,” I said. “Except for those.” I pointed at the basket of eggs on the counter next to the sink, waiting for Ma to wash and carton them for the Dogstars. She was very particular about that part of the business and didn’t want anyone else doing it.
Pa put his forehead in his hand and rubbed the wrinkles. Then he looked up at me again with that watch-out edge in his eyes. “I promised the man his eggs. Why didn’t you tell me they weren’t ready? Are you ever gonna get your head out of your rear, boy?”
With Pa there’s no use answering questions like that. No matter what you say, you just get yourself into more trouble. The only hope is to get him on another track.
“Bet you anything Ma kept some eggs out for us to use. We can give them to Mr. Odum. They’re still fresher than store-bought. He’ll never know the difference.” This, I decided, would be safer than suggesting that Pa wash and carton the morning eggs himself.
“Ain’t no eggs in this refrigerator! Can’t you see I’ve looked!”
After all these years finding room for his beer in the fridge, you’d think he’d know where we keep our own eggs separate from the ones for sale. I’d have fished them out myself, but I wanted to stay out of arm’s reach from Pa.
“Try that veggie compartment,” I said, pointing. “Sometimes they’re in there.” (Always.)
He pulled out a cardboard egg carton like a rabbit out of a hat, then tugged up his belt loops. Pulling himself together.
“Aren’t you going to count them?” I said.
Pa glared at me, fumbled with the carton notches, then let loose a curse that made even my ears burn. “Eleven!” He looked around wildly at all the walls, as if to find one more egg behind the calendar.
I hurried to the sink, carefully washed the crusted slime off a fresh egg so I wouldn’t break it, dried it on my T-shirt, and handed it to