“What if we just kept saying, ‘You’re riding a bike. You’re riding a bike,’ over and over?” I said.
Jeanine started back up the porch steps. “I’m getting the car keys.”
“You are not! I told you, that’s crazy and, like, against the law.”
“So how are we getting there?”
“I have another idea. It’s crazy too but not against the law.”
“What?”
“What about the baby buggy?”
“For who?”
“Dad!” I called as I ran off to get it.
Behind the house, a big plastic sheet covered the brand-new, two-person bike. Nobody had even ridden it yet, but it was already set up with the baby buggy attached. I pulled off the sheet. The bike was so shiny that the blue paint looked silver. I flicked up the kickstand and wheeled it out front.
“Dad and I haven’t even tried it out yet.” Jeanine said.
“You ride it like a regular bike. I rode one with Mom in Montreal that time.”
Jeanine studied the bike. “Maybe I could fit in the buggy with Dad.”
“What are you talking about? Dad’ll just barely fit in the buggy by himself. Plus, I can’t pull both of you.”
“Well, why does Dad need to go in the buggy at all? Why can’t he ride on the second seat?”
“It’s for a kid. Dad’s legs are way too long. Besides, you saw him on the bike. After five minutes, he’ll fall right off or just tip over and take us all down.”
“Hey, guys?” Since his bike adventure, Dad had been sitting on the porch steps staring into space. “What’s this for?” He held up the ice pack.
“Your head. You fell off the roof,” I said.
“Why was I on the roof?”
“Because you’re a nuddy,” Jeanine said.
I poked her hard through her bathrobe.
“What? He’s not going to remember in five minutes.” She looked back at the bike and took a deep breath. “Oh, fine. We’ll take him in the buggy.” Then she snapped her fingers right in Dad’s face. “C’mon. We’re going. Get up!”
Dad looked confused but stood up.
I tied the dish towel around the remaining cake and put it in the baby buggy. “We’ll have to walk down to the road.”
“You heard him, walk!” Jeanine said, giving Dad a shove.
Again, Dad did as he was told, which just made me sad. I would have given anything right then to hear him go off in French at Jeanine for bossing him around.
When we started down Terror Mountain, I was leading the bike and Jeanine was leading Dad. But when we hit the first steep bit, the baby buggy swung downhill so fast, the bike ripped out of my hands and crashed into a tree. After that, Jeanine and Dad walked on either side of the buggy to keep it from veering into the woods. Jeanine kept reminding Dad to stay right up next to it, but of course, he kept forgetting, and before she could remind him again, he’d fall behind, and the buggy would skid off his side into a tree. Then the bike would stop suddenly, and the handlebars would smash into my chest.
“Dad!” I’d yell.
“Oh, was that me?” he’d say. Again.
It took forever, but we did finally make it to the bottom, and somehow, even with all the crashing into trees, I was pretty sure none of my ribs were broken, and we hadn’t wrecked the bike or the buggy, though neither looked brand-new anymore.
“Okay, get in,” I said when we’d wheeled the bike and buggy out onto the road.
“Where?” Dad said.
“Here.” I held open the zippered flap on the buggy.
Dad snorted a laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s the only way,” Jeanine said.
“Why can’t I bike?”
“Because…because…you just can’t! Now get in. And put this on your head.” Jeanine handed him back the ice pack.
Dad stuck out his lips just like Zoe does when my parents yell at her, but he held the ice to his head anyway and said, “Fine.” Then he turned his back to the buggy and lowered himself into it, leaving his feet still out on the road.
“We need all of you in there,” I said.
“What do you suggest I do with these?” he said, kicking his legs straight out.
“They fold, don’t they? Fold them.” I picked up his legs one by one and put them inside the buggy. “See, no problem.”
“Oh, yeah. This is great.” Dad rolled his eyes.
I’m not going to lie. It didn’t look comfortable. And, for sure, if we hit a bump, his kneecap would give him a nosebleed, but at least all he had to do was sit there.
Jeanine and I were just about to get on the bike when I realized she was still wearing her bathrobe. “Take off the robe.”
“But it’s cold, and I only have on pj’s.”
“You’ll warm up on the bike.”
“I can’t ride into town in pj’s,” she said, as if two kids on a tandem bike pulling their six-foot father in a baby buggy wouldn’t give people enough to talk about.
“How is your bathrobe better than pj’s?”
“It kind of looks like a coat. People won’t be able to tell it’s a robe.”
“Uh, they will if they’re not blind. Look, it could get caught. It’s dangerous.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Why don’t you ever believe me about anything? I know I’m not a genius, but I’m not stupid. I do know some useful things.”
“Fine.” Jeanine took off the robe and stuffed it into the buggy. “It’s freezing.”
I put a leg over the bike and held it up while Jeanine climbed on behind me. Then I pushed off.
I was expecting to feel super wobbly at least at first, but the bike felt pretty balanced.
“I like this,” Jeanine called from behind. “It’s kind of fun.”
Just then, the bike swerved, and I had to lean way out to keep it from falling over. “Jeanine!”
“Sorry. I was just trying to get more comfortable.”
“Don’t move. I mean, just move your legs.
