Running Lean (29 page)

T
he tachometer needle shuddered near redline even though Calvin wasn’t touching the throttle. Heat radiated off the engine and exhaust pipe, cooking his legs. Calvin pinched the bridge of his nose. His pounding sinuses made it hard to think.

His ride yesterday had been anything but fun. The Yamaha had choked out at the top of a rise, was a bear to start up again, and then limped back to camp. Calvin couldn’t risk taking it out again until he fixed the problem.

Okay, engine running hot and idling way too high, but cutting out if he revved it—carburetor problem. Still running lean, even though he’d replaced the plugs and double-checked the timing—too much air getting into the cylinders. Somehow.

Flannery joined him, drying her hands on her pants legs after cleaning up the breakfast dishes. “Dude, that ain’t right.”

“You noticed.”

“Hard not to. You’re smoking up the place.”

Good thing people at the nearby campsites were four-wheelers and bikers too. They’d appreciate the need to make repairs in the woods.

Calvin sighed. “Do me a favor. Hold the bike up while I check something.”

Flannery took hold of the handgrips while Calvin shimmied off
the back of the bike. He knelt beside the muffler. Whitish exhaust fogged his vision and breached the gunk clogging his nose, even though he held his breath. Popping sounds, but no different than yesterday. He traced the shape of the exhaust pipe, his hand an inch from the metal, searching any air movement that would indicate a crack. He rubbed his stinging palm against his thigh as Tyler walked up beside him.

“Figuring it out?”

Calvin shifted his weight to a more comfortable squatting position. “Running lean. But not bad plugs or timing. I’m wondering …” Cylinder head, gasket … He didn’t want to voice those possibilities tugging at his thoughts. They’d be
bad
.

“What?” Tyler knelt beside him.

Would Dave have brought many tools on the trip? Flannery’s bike was new, Tyler’s just a year old. And it wasn’t like they’d come for anything more serious than messing around in the woods. Not like a motocross race, where making repairs would be serious business.

“Flan, think your dad would have any Stick Weld?”

She leaned toward him, the bike tilting with her shifting weight. “Maybe. He had a toolbox in the back of the SUV.”

A toolbox. She was probably thinking about the big tackle box where he kept all his fishing lures. Didn’t matter anyway. Dave and little Nigel had headed out in the SUV again to go fishing.

The Yamaha’s engine sputtered, idled down, and coughed.

Calvin snapped his gaze to Flannery. “What’d you do?”

Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

He stood to stretch out his knees. “Man, I totally don’t need this now.”

A break in the exhaust pipe might suck air back up into the cylinders. He could fix that with the Stick Weld. But if the problem was a crack in the cylinder head or a bad gasket, that would mean he was done riding. Maybe for a long time.

“Wish Dad was here.”

“He should be back soon,” Flannery said.

“No, I meant my dad. Whatever.” Calvin pressed the heel of his hand to the middle of his forehead. “Who am I kidding? I can’t fix it good enough to ride today. Cut the engine, will ya?”

She merely looked at him.

Tyler knuckled Calvin on the shoulder. “Come on, man. If anyone can fix it, you can.”

“
If
it’s a crack in the exhaust, and
if
I can find it, and
if
Dave has any putty. Forget it. I’m done.” He stomped toward the tent. “Cut it off, Flannery!”

The campsite got quiet. Calvin plopped into a camp chair and stared into the underbrush. “Y’all go on. I’ll stay here. My head hurts anyway.”

Someone kicked Calvin’s chair. The tilt of her head and slightly narrowed eyes suggested Flannery stood somewhere between compassion and anger. “Come on, don’t give up. Maybe someone around here’s got some tools.”

Calvin gazed at the old bike. Tyler stood beside it, his expression pinched—trying to figure out the problem or deciding whether to shove the bike over.

Flannery slapped her thighs. “Fine. Give up. Sit there. I don’t care.”

Calvin scowled at her.

She scowled back. “Hey, I’m here to have fun. Not sit around and—and cry over Stacey.”

“Hey!”

“I mean, I’m sorry she’s sick. Really sorry. But her parents know now and they’ll take care of her. And all you’ve done for two days is pout and snivel. No, I take that back, you were acting that way even before she showed up. She’s been ruining things for you for
weeks
!”

“Flannery, what the—” Tyler jumped between them, forcing Flannery to step back from the chair. “What’s the matter with you?”

Calvin groaned and tugged at his hair with both hands. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

“We’re here to have fun!” Flannery said. “Maybe he’d feel better if he just let himself have fun, like he used to before—”

Calvin surged up out of the chair. He lunged toward Flannery and shoved her shoulder. “I said shut up! I don’t wanna hear it, okay?”

Tyler thrust his flattened hand into the middle of Calvin’s chest. “Stop! I
know
you’re not going to fight a girl.”

Calvin stopped. His eyes flicked back and forth between his two friends, both glaring at him.
What? What did I do?

Her full lips pouting despite the anger flaring in her eyes, Flannery turned away. “Maybe I should have gone fishing with Dad.”

Her mother leaned out the camper door. “What’s going on? What’s with the bad vibes?”

“Nothing. We’re done.” Flannery squeezed past her mother into the camper.

Calvin snorted back mucus. He flopped down into his camp chair. “Y’all go riding. I’ll read a book or something.”

Tyler glared at him, no sympathy in his narrowed eyes. “Did you even bring a book?”

Calvin waved his hand uselessly.

“So Flannery’s right. You’re going to sit here and play the martyr.” Tyler pointed at the Yamaha. “Why don’t you go over there and
fix
that piece of junk and get out on the trails?”

Calvin crossed his arms and sank deeper into the chair. He shoved his legs out, taking the weight off his feet—so he couldn’t bounce up and slug his best friend.

Tyler groaned and stepped toward the tent. “I’ve had enough. I’m going out. You can sit here and cry if you want.”

Calvin swallowed a lump the size of a walnut. He pushed out of his chair so forcefully that the thing fell over, and stomped back to
his motorcycle. He’d borrow some Stick Weld from somebody and seal up the entire engine and exhaust if it would get him back on the trails. Flannery and Tyler were right—sitting around moping would kill him.

He knelt beside the bike and stared at the engine. His breath puffed in and out, and his insides trembled. The fins of the piston casings blurred in his vision. But even if he could see perfectly, his task was impossible. A miniscule crack could be sucking just enough air into the engine to mess up the fuel/air mix. Maybe he could find it if he were in the workshop at home or at Dad’s auto shop. But out here?

He heard footsteps in the pine straw on the other side of the bike. Tyler took hold of the handlebars and eased the Yamaha upright. “Want me to start it?”

Calvin sniffed, rubbed his wrist across his nose. Thank God for Tyler’s loyalty. “Uh, not yet. I need to think about this.”

His own meager set of tools sat in an open metal box by the rear tire. Torque wrench, a few sockets—could he tighten down the cylinder heads, maybe? Was he strong enough that it would even make a difference?

Pebbles popped under large tires, disrupting his thoughts. Calvin looked up to see the white SUV pulling into the campsite. He stood, and Tyler eased the Yamaha back onto its kickstand.

Nigel flew out of the passenger side. “Dad caught a fish, like,
this big
!” He held his hands as wide apart as they would go.

Calvin shoved his hands into his pockets. Dave’s big-fish story could be a welcome diversion.

Dave got out of the SUV and circled the front. “Nigel, you left your door open.” A grin played on his lips, though, as he closed the passenger door.

Nigel ran to the camper while Dave went to the back of the SUV
and opened the rear hatch. His grunt, as he lifted out a big, battered cooler, sounded exaggerated.

The little boy dragged his mother out of the camper by her hand. Even Flannery followed, though she crossed her arms and refused to look at Calvin. Her father lifted something monstrous out of the cooler. Calvin gawked. Everyone in the campsite—and maybe a neighbor or two—gave exclamations of amazement. The catfish measured at least thirty inches long and its head was wider than Dave’s fist.

“Eh? Eh? Pretty nice, huh?”

“Fabulous!” Patty said. “We going to cook it or mount it?”

“Eww! Tell me you’re not going to put that thing on the wall!” Flannery whined. Just like a girl would. Calvin shook his head and looked back down at his bike, not ready to grin at her yet.

Patty laughed. “Not at home. In the camper, maybe.”

“Oh no. Please. No. I beg you, no.”

Nigel jumped up and down. “Yes! Yes! It’ll be like having a pet.”

“Pets are furry and cute and
alive
,” Flannery said.

Calvin knelt down and grabbed his torque wrench.

“We’re not leaving until tomorrow,” Flannery said. “It’ll stink up the SUV in that old cooler.”

“No, it won’t. We’ll pack ice around it real good.” Was Dave seriously considering mounting the thing? “Get the camera, Patty. Let’s get some shots o’ this sucker.”

They took pictures. And Flannery stood on the other side of Calvin’s bike, chatting with Tyler. Calvin sat on the ground and crossed his legs, gently tapping his torque wrench against the crankcase. Maybe eventually someone would notice him.

Selfish thinking, but he couldn’t help it. They were all having fun, and he couldn’t. With everything that had happened—was happening—how could anyone expect him to laugh?

“All right, we’re gonna have some good eatin’ tonight,” Dave announced. “Start gutting this bad boy and filet it, Patty-girl.”

“Ugh. I just knew you’d make me do the nasty work.”

“Oh, come on now. I’ll carry it in for you, then I’m going to see what’s up with this young man’s motorcycle that’s got him all sour-pussed.”

Calvin almost smiled.

With the cylinder head tightened down and every inch of the engine and exhaust inspected by Dave’s more expert eyes, the Yamaha ran a little better. Just not enough that Calvin felt confident following Tyler and Flannery on one of the trails rated “difficult.” Besides, he wanted to be alone. An easy ride through the woods would clear the angry thoughts from his head.

With Tyler’s cell phone secure in his back pocket, Calvin followed a rolling trail weaving southeast. Toward a cell tower, he hoped.

The Yamaha’s exhaust still sputtered. He tried to think of another reason. Condensation in the gas tank? Could be something that simple. Or not. Because the work they did this morning wouldn’t have changed anything.

A split-rail fence divided the trail from a gravel parking area. Calvin glided to a stop next to the fence and put the bike in neutral. It popped and coughed, but kept idling. He didn’t dare turn it off. If the engine died and he couldn’t start it, he’d be sorely tempted to abandon the bike rather than push it back to camp.

He removed his helmet and balanced it on a fence post, then pulled the phone from his pocket. Two bars; good enough. He dialed Stacey’s cell phone. Like before, the call went straight to voice mail.

Okay, okay … home phone
.

A tremor ran through him as he listened to the ringing. He willed Stacey to answer. Not her father. “Hello?” a woman’s voice said.

Calvin released his breath. “Mrs. Varnell. Hey. It’s Calvin. May I speak to Stacey?”

“I’m afraid she’s asleep, dear.”

Really?
“Well, um, c-could you wake her? I mean, I’m still at Badin Lake and I had to ride away from the campsite just to get a cell signal.”

“Um, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s been through a lot and she needs her rest.”

“Yeah, I understand, but—”

“Calvin …”

There was a long pause and a sort of whooshing scrape. Then another scrape, followed by a thump. Sounded like she’d opened and closed the sliding glass door to their back deck. So someone in the house wouldn’t hear?

“Calvin, I don’t think it’s your fault, but Stacey did run away from home to find you at that campground. Her father doesn’t even want her driving far from home because she’s only had her license a few months. Stacey knows that. And it’s clear now that she’s sick, that she’s got this eating disorder.”

Calvin cut into her parental speech. “So you know about it. Good.”

“Yes.” A short pause. “Calvin, I agree with my husband. I think it’s best if you and Stacey have some distance from each other for a while. At least until we can get this problem under control. Stacey doesn’t need anything upsetting her right now.”

“Upsetting her? But—”

“Dear, I’m very sorry. Maybe it’ll only be a little while. Right
now we need to focus on her health more than anything else. I’m sure you understand.”

Her words pressed down on Calvin’s shoulders like thousand-pound lead weights. Suddenly the smell of the Yamaha’s exhaust made him nauseous. “Yes, ma’am. I do. But, could you at least tell Stacey I called?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

Appreciate it? Like he was inquiring as to the wellbeing of an elderly neighbor or something, not his girlfriend of eight months. Real sweet.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Have fun with the rest of your camping trip, dear.”

“Uh, yeah. Bye.” He hung up, and stared at Tyler’s phone for a long time. They weren’t going to let him see Stacey. He shouldn’t be surprised. He still couldn’t believe that Stacey had driven all that way to find him. Dumbest thing she’d ever done. Yet for a moment, ever so brief, when she looked into his eyes and touched his chest over his heart, he’d dared to think …