The Way to Schenectady Read Online Free PDF Page A

hand, and read it quickly. Tobias Oberdorf had died at the age of sixty-eight, which struck me as awfully old to be someone’s little brother. I wondered if Marty had ever thought, when he was my age, that his little brother would someday be old enough to leave a grieving widow, Marie; a son, who was an ex-Mr. Olympia New York State; and a whole bunch of cousins, who were prominent in the church community. And that was not all.
    “Listen to this,” I said to Bill. “ ‘An elder brother, Martin Oberdorf, passed long ago from the family circle, but not from our hearts,’ ” I read. “ ‘Old wounds can still be healed.’ ”
    Marty groaned.
    “We’ve got to get him home,” I said to Bill, putting the clipping in my pocket.
    It was the right thing to do. When you know something is right, you have to act on the knowledge, or else you’re not doing the right thing. Mom said that. Come to think of it, Mom’s job was all about getting people homes.
    I so want to be like her. That was why I’d dyed my hair last week. My own hair is dark, like chocolate, and Mom’s is almost red: chestnut, she calls it. And the label on the hair dye in the drugstore read CHESTNUT RED TINT . “I have to try it,” I told Bridget, who frowned at the other dye we were considering – purple – and said,
    “I thought chestnuts were brown.”
    If Marty slowed us down, well, Mom would have to wait. I was pretty sure we’d still be in time for the show.
    “Get up, Marty,” I said. “You walked all the way here. Of course you want to go home.”
    “But I’m no good. They don’t want to see me.”
    “We’re going to get you home,” I said. “We’re going to get you to -”
    “Schenectady,” said Bill. He loved the word. His eyes lit up. “His native planet! Schenectady, the world of Oberdorfs.”
    I was glad that Bill was enthusiastic. My plan couldn’t work without him.
    Marty sniffed.
    “Listen, both of you,” I said. “Here’s what I want you to do.”
    I was relieved to see Grandma stubbing out her cigarette when I got round to the front of the gas station. A lot of time seemed to have passed since we’d stopped. Dad and Bernie were struggling in the middle seat of the van, trying to get the seat belt over Bernie’s shoulders. I sauntered over casually. I wanted to look behind me to check that Marty and Bill were in position, but there was no point in making a plan and then not following it. I kept walking.
    “Help!” A bit faint, but it came from the right spot. “Help!” Louder now, with more feeling in it. “Help, Dad! Help, Grandma!”
    Now I risked a look – not at Bill, who was stuck to the barbed-wire fence on the far side of the gas station – but behind me. Marty peered around the corner, by the washroom door. So far, so good.
    “What the …” said Dad, somewhere between alarmed and angry.
    “Help!” Bill sounded like he was in trouble. And, of course, he was in trouble because he’s not supposed to climb on other people’s property. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but I needed a diversion, so he agreed. He knows that there are times when he has to do what I say. After all, he’s my little brother. I suppose it’ll be the same when I’m seventy and he’s sixty-eight. Right then he sounded as if he was about to fall off the fence.
    “Hang on, Bill!” shouted Dad. He abandoned Bernie and hurried toward the fence. Grandma was moving, too. All according to plan. The sliding door of the van was open. I climbed in and stood over Bernie.
    “Let me strap you in,” I said. “Then we’ll play hide-and-seek.” My plan was to give Marty the signal when Bernie covered his eyes.
    “Okay.” Bernie liked hide-and-seek. “You hide your eyes first,” he said.
    That wasn’t part of the plan. “No, Bernie. You hide yours first.”
    “You.”
    “YOU.”
    “YOU!”
    “Bernie,” I said. I could see Marty edging out from the cover of the gas station. A small man moving carefully. “Bernie,”