Living Together

When the Children Grow Up

W H E N T H E C H I L D R E N G R O W U P Tom Grover’s school bus was twenty minutes behind schedule, but that was normal for the first day of school, when mothers dragged out their good-byes to little ones, though a few of the mothers looked downright relieved. The long stretches of country between houses were filled in with Christmas tree farms and empty acres of jack pine and pin oak. Much of the stands of poplar had been cut by beavers resident in nearby lakes and streams. Kids, unhappy about boarding a school bus on an August morning , straggled out of their houses defiantly wearing shorts and flipflops . Out of habit and temperament, Grover was sympathetic, believing that starting school before summer was over, and not a leaf off a tree, was cheating the kids. Driving the bus suited Grover, who was of a contemplative nature . Afternoons were busy as the children got rid of their pent-up energy, but in the mornings they climbed onto the bus still groggy with sleep and settled down like pastured sheep, leaving to Grover any piece of the world he wanted. He pulled the bus up a foot or two from Crystal Davidson, who stood at the road’s edge with her seven-year-old daughter, Heidi. Heidi was a second grader this year. Even the year she started kindergarten she had given no trouble, climbing into the bus for the first time like it was a job she was hired for. Grover decided 1 2 5 Crystal’s presence beside her daughter this morning was a wish to get out of the house and try out the summer day. You might have thought Crystal was one of the older kids herself, for she was a small thing with long brown hair and a childishly round face full of unanswered questions. Like Heidi she was wearing a T-shirt and cut-offs. It looked more like Heidi holding onto Crystal than the other way around. In the background was the Davidsons’ house, a trailer with a half-completed porch jammed rudely against it as if the porch had not wanted to be there. Driving by in his truck this summer, Grover had noticed Crystal working on her garden. The county was built on sand and Grover had brought in a truckload of manure from a nearby turkey farm to build up his own vegetable garden, but it didn’t look like Crystal was going in that direction. Instead she had planted what you could find along any roadway: Queen Anne’s lace, butter and eggs, mullion, and field daisies, flowers that didn’t ask for much. The bus door swung open and Heidi got on. Before Grover could stop her, Crystal climbed in after her daughter. He was so surprised it took him a couple of seconds to admonish her. “Crystal , parents aren’t allowed on the bus.” She paid no attention but just followed Heidi down the aisle and sat in the seat next to her. Grover switched off the ignition and went after them. “Crystal, I’m sorry but you got to get off the bus. It’s a matter of policy. Insurance ,” he said, reaching for a word he thought had some push. She didn’t look at him but just sat there like they were in two different worlds, worlds that had a long way to go before communication was established. He was suffering from lack of sleep and had five more pickups. The kids around Crystal were turning rest1 2 6 less, a flock of birds with a strange bird in their midst. He couldn’t heave her out bodily, certainly not in front of the kids, who looked embarrassed at being around adults who weren’t making things work. He tried once more but there was nothing doing. All that was left to him was to go back to his seat and start up the bus. He had little experience in breaking the law and listened for sirens. In spite of a lifetime of evidence to the contrary, he believed every criminal was caught and punished. Even though it might be hard on him, he thought it should be so. It was a small town, so he had heard gossip about Crystal and her husband, Jason. It was the old story, marry...