The Great Peach Experiment 1 Erin Downing (spicy books to read .TXT) 📖

repeated. He nodded; he needed his brother and sister to believe it, too. “Things are different now, but different doesn’t have to be bad. At least, not all the time. She’s not here, but that doesn’t mean she’s gone.”

Herb set off at a slow walk again, stopping when they reached the sauna. There was a big, grassy field stretching out behind the old wooden building, and lots of comfy trees and brushy areas where his mice could set up camp. There were also lots of holes under the building, where his friends could hide out from any bad guys.

“I’m going to miss you,” Herb whispered softly to his mice. He held the box close against his chest, hoping his friends could hear and feel the thumping of his heart. “But I’ll always remember you.” He was pretty sure they understood.

“Fare thee well,” Freddy said, saluting formally from afar.

“We’ll miss you,” Lucy told the mice, placing her hand gently on Herb’s shoulder. “Enjoy your new adventures.”

Slowly, carefully, Herb lowered the box to the ground. His mice were restless, as if they could sense what was in store for them. One by one, Herb lifted his friends out of the box and set them in the grass. “I love you, Fuzzy,” he told the littlest mouse. Fuzzy scrambled out of Herb’s hand and sniffed at the air. “I love you, Lump,” he told the chubby mouse. Lump lumbered off, immediately hiding under the nearby woodpile. When Herb opened his hand to let Hound out, Hound held back. “Go on, Hound,” Herb urged. “I love you, pal. And you’re going to love it here. It’s way better than the stuffy, hot food truck.”

Hound tumbled out of Herb’s hand but didn’t stray far. Herb so badly wanted to pick his little buddy back up, hide him in his pocket, and keep him forever. But that wasn’t what was best for his mouse friend. He’d begun to realize that no matter how tight he held on, sometimes the things he loved needed to be let go.

It was hard to say goodbye, but he was ready.

Herb pushed the box and T-shirt behind the woodpile, way back where no one would see them. The three mice sniffed at it, and then, together, they set off into their big, new world.

MIDDLE OF MICHIGAN MONEY:

(BY HERB)

∗ Cost of Pie Supplies, to get ready for the art fair in Ohio: $467

∗ Sales: $0

∗ Total Profit: -$467

22

  KEEP ON TRUCKIN’

Lucy wasn’t quite sure when the mutiny started. But she had noticed a major shift in her siblings’ attitudes as soon as they left Michigan.

After Herb bid farewell to his mice, he was quiet for the rest of the day. Her sweet baby brother didn’t even want to read a chapter of The Penderwicks that night before bed. He just crawled under his covers and closed his eyes. When Lucy crouched over his sleeping bag to kiss his forehead, he didn’t roar or make funny faces or attempt a tickle surprise attack like he usually did. He just lay there quietly, pretending he was already asleep. She knew letting the mice go had been hard for him. He didn’t like to let anything go. She was surprised to realize how much Herb had grown up in the past few years, and even more so in the past few weeks.

Freddy was grumpy, too. As they’d pulled out of Jackson, Michigan, heading southeast toward Columbus, Ohio, Freddy had reminded their dad—for the fourth time—that the World’s Largest Cherry Pie Pan (as well as the second largest cherry pie pan) was not far away in northern Michigan, and that those were two of the strange roadside attractions he’d been most looking forward to seeing along the way. In response, Dad had said, “Oh, Freddy, stop being silly. We just don’t have that kind of time. We can’t get sidetracked now, or this whole thing is going to crumble to pieces.”

“But,” Freddy said, pleading, “you said we could stop and see weird stuff on the trip. That was supposed to be part of the fun—and it’s my goal. A giant pie pan is too cool and too perfect to miss. We’re already in Michigan; it can’t be that far out of the way!”

Dad snapped, “End of discussion. We need to buckle down and focus on what matters. There’s been enough dillydallying.”

In Lucy’s estimation, there had been almost no dilly-dallying, but who was she to judge? (If Dad had asked Lucy, she would have told him that he was the only one who’d done any real dillydallying, because he kept sneaking away from the food truck to check in with work. But he didn’t ask.)

Then, on Tuesday morning, while they were finishing up all the pies they were hoping to sell at that day’s art fair, Lucy discovered they were out of whipped cream for the French silk and turtle pies. “Oh, well,” Freddy replied, shrugging one shoulder.

“Oh, well?” Lucy asked, rattled by her brother’s bad-itude.

“We’ll just get more tomorrow,” Freddy grumbled, hastily crossing French silk and turtle pie off their chalkboard menu.

Lucy stared at him in disbelief. From day one, Freddy had been the Peach most committed to this venture. He had flung himself into this crazy idea feet-first, just like their mom would have done. Freddy was constantly brainstorming new pies to try, doing research by chatting with other food truck owners, figuring out clever new ways of drawing customers to the truck, and checking supply levels to make sure they never ran out of any key ingredients. But now, Freddy didn’t even seem to care that they were going to lose sales. They were still thousands of dollars away from reaching their goal, yet her brother seemed to have lost some of the Freddy “spark” that had gotten everyone fired up at the beginning of the trip.

As a result, their first day at the art fair was utterly miserable. And by the second day, somehow