The Crossroads by Chris Grabenstein

CHESTER—“Miracle Mary” O’Claire, the sole survivor of the Greyhound bus accident of June 21, 1958, died in her sleep at the County Rest Home on Monday night.
    She was called Miracle Mary because she walked away from the infamous bus wreck that killed 38 passengers, the driver, and the occupant of the Ford Thunderbird it collided with. She was the only survivor.
    Miracle Mary boarded the Greyhound Scenicruiser in Massachusetts. When the bus neared North Chester, it was broadsided by a Ford Thunderbird convertible driven by a Spratling Clockworks employee named Clint Eberhart. Mr. Eberhart had been traveling south on Highway 31. The bus was headed east on Route 13. A state motorcycle trooper was also killed that night, raising the total number of casualties to 41.
    The accident, still the worst in county history, led to public safety hearings and the installation of a blinking red light at the crossroads of 13 and 31.
    After escaping the bus wreck uninjured, Mary O’Claire disappeared from the public spotlight. Her son, born three months after the accident, later achieved his own notoriety.
    In 1983, at the age of 25, Thomas (Tommy) O’Claire and his wife, Alice, were gunned down by Sheriff James Jennings in what was described as the “tragic and fatal conclusion to a bungled blackmail scheme.” The shootings took place outside Spratling Manor.
    Miracle Mary is survived by one grandson, William O’Claire, a plumber who still works in the North Chester area. Mr. O’Claire could not be reached for comment.

Zack stood barefoot on top of the rock jutting out over the swimming hole.
    â€œJump in, sport!” Davy floated in the water below. “There ain’t nothin’ to be scared of!”
    â€œI didn’t see
you
jump in!” Zack shouted to Davy.
    â€œDon’t worry. Water’s over ten feet deep. You won’t crack open your head bone!”
    â€œBut the water’s freezing!”
    â€œWait for the sun. Here it comes. Clouds are partin’! Jump, Zack! Jump!”
    For the first time in his life, Zack did something he knew was extremely foolish. He went running across the slick stone and kept running after he reached its edge.
    â€œGeronimo!” He plunged feetfirst into the frigid pool and sent up a foamy geyser.
    It was dark and cold underwater. Zack should have been terrified, but instead he felt exhilarated. His toes touched the slimy creek bottom, so he pushed off and kicked his way back to the surface.
    â€œWhoo-hoo!” he screamed through a rush of bubbles when he sprang up. “Whoo-hoo!”
    â€œBy jingo, you did it, Zack! You dove off Dead Man’s Bluff.”
    â€œI want to do it again!”
    â€œAll rightie. Have at it!”
    Zack swam to the shore and hauled himself out of the water. The pockets of his cargo shorts bloated out into water balloons.
    â€œThis time, I’m gonna do a cannonball!”
    Zack clambered up the cliff and took off running. He leapt and kicked and climbed into the air. He tucked his knees up to his chest and screamed as he plummeted into the briny depths of the bounding main. He smacked the top of the water with a stinging, thumping whack.
    â€œWhoo-hoo!”
    When Zack bobbed back up to the surface, he saw Davy in the woods, pulling on his overalls.
    â€œHey, where you goin’?” In the distance, Zack could hear a bell softly chiming.
    â€œPops is ringing the bell. Must need me to do some chores.”
    â€œWhat? It’s Saturday. Nobody works on Saturdays.”
    â€œFarmers do.”
    â€œOh. But what about the big plan?”
    â€œYou know what we need next.”
    â€œSure, but…”
    â€œYou’ll find it just where I said.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Zack? Somethin’s troublin’ you, I can tell.”
    â€œPromise you won’t laugh?” Zack climbed out of the pond and pulled his T-shirt off the branch