The Ridiculous Retreat Of Monica and Pete Robertson

The Ridiculous Retreat of Monica and Pete Robertson Chapter two

CHAPTER TWO

I fell asleep, as soon as my head hit the pillow.

My arms felt like jelly from pushing that stupid car.

It had to be about 3:00 a.m. when we finally got it in the driveway.

Peter stayed outside exchanging the flat one with a slightly less deflated one.

It wasn't a fix, but dad wouldn't notice, when he did his daily car inspection.

He had been checking the gas mileage for years to make sure that we didn't go further than the grocery store.

When I'd asked Peter what he planned on doing about that, he'd simply said,

"don't worry about that. Go get some sleep."

So, I did.

"Gas tank's pretty low. Whatcha been doing boy?" Dad grumbled, stuffing pancakes into his mouth.

I held my breath, hoping Peter would come up with a good excuse.

"Oh, uh Mrs. Nolan came by with a batch of brownies yesterday, while you were asleep. I drove her home," Peter answered smoothly.

"Oh," dad replied, getting up from the table.

"No more free rides," he mumbled, before heading to the kitchen.

Peter turned to me and rolled his eyes.

I just shook my head.

"We're leaving," Peter whispered, "tonight!"

"How? The tire's"-

"Jerry's gonna take us to the bus station. Then we'll ride to the airport."

A small smile crossed my face. "We've never been on a plane before."

Peter smiled back at me. "I know."

About a month ago, Carl's Grocery Mart burned down.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I was standing behind the counter, waiting for customers I knew would never show up.

Peter was dusting the shelves and as usual dad was in the back room, watching Judge Judy.

"I don't see why we have to keep this place clean. It's not like anyone's gonna come," Peter grumbled, dusting a can of beans.

"They might," I sighed, resting my elbows on the counter.

Peter gave me a look, that said, get real.

"You're probably right," I finally admitted.

And he was.

Ever since Henry Micro and his wife Winnie opened H and W's across town, our customers had been coming in a trickle, instead of a wave like before.

Now we were lucky if we even got two customers a day.

Peter had suggested to dad, that we get a bright L.E.D sign and even shoot a commercial.

But dad flat out refused.

I could see how frustrated Peter was getting.

"Might as well just stay home and let this place go to the dogs," he mumbled, slamming the can of beans down.

"I guess. But then- Wait! Do you smell smoke?"

"Oh, shit dad!" Peter exclaimed, running to the back.