DEAD HORIZON — Chapter 10: Saturday

Saturday mornings at the Johnson house smelled like coffee and motor oil. 

Arthur woke up to the sound of the garage door. His dad was already out there. Had been since 7AM, probably. That was normal. Mr. Johnson ran Johnson Auto Repair six days a week. Saturday was his “day off,” which meant he only worked on his car instead of customers’ cars.

Arthur pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair was a mess. He didn’t fix it. He walked downstairs. 

The kitchen was loud. Penny was at the table, nine years old, legs swinging, cereal bowl empty except for milk. She had a math worksheet in front of her and a frown that meant she’d been stuck for ten minutes.

“Mom,” she said, “why is x being mean?”

Mrs. Johnson stood at the counter, mug in one hand, spatula in the other. She had on her weekend uniform: old jeans, LHHS Lions shirt from when Arthur was in middle school. Her hair was up. She looked over at Penny’s paper. “X isn’t mean, sweetie. X is just unknown. Like your brother’s social life.”

Arthur grabbed a banana. “I’m right here.”

“I know.” She flipped a pancake. “That’s why I said it. You spend all day in your room and you still don’t know how to solve for x?”

Penny giggled. “Arthur’s dumb.”

“Penny.” Mrs. Johnson’s voice had the mom warning tone. “Apologize.”

“Sorry you’re dumb, Arthur.”

Arthur took a bite of banana. “I’m not helping you with homework.”

“You will,” Penny said, confident. “Dad said you have to.”

“Your dad said a lot of things before 1980.”

Mrs. Johnson set a plate of pancakes on the table. “Both of you eat. Arthur, after breakfast, go help your dad in the garage. He’s been asking.”

Arthur groaned. “I have plans.”

“Your plans are a screen and a headset.” She pointed the spatula at him. “Garage. Thirty minutes. Then you can go be a vampire.”

---

The garage was cold. It smelled like oil and old coffee. Mr. Johnson was under his ’78 Camaro, only his legs sticking out. A country station played low on the radio.

“Tool,” his dad called. “Three-eighths.”

Arthur dug through the toolbox. His hands knew the layout. He’d been doing this since he was twelve. He found the socket and slid it under the car. A hand took it.

“Thanks.” Mr. Johnson rolled out on the creeper. He had grease on his cheek and a smile that made him look younger. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” Arthur sat on the overturned bucket they used as a stool. “You?”

“Old men don’t sleep. We just wait for the sun.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “School good?”

Arthur shrugged. “Got a 98 on my English project.”

Mr. Johnson’s eyebrows went up. “Ninety-eight? Since when do you talk in class?”

“Since I had to.”

His dad laughed. It was a big sound. It filled the garage. “Your mother owes me five bucks. She said you’d fail. I said you were just quiet.” He tossed Arthur a rag. “Wipe that distributor cap. Don’t scratch it.”

Arthur worked. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to. His dad would hum to the radio. Ask about a torque spec. Tell a story about a customer who tried to fix his own brakes with duct tape. Arthur would listen. Hand him tools. 

It was easy. 

After an hour, Mr. Johnson sat up. “You know, when I was your age, I thought I’d play pro football. Blew my knee out senior year.” He rubbed it like he could still feel it. “Life’s funny. You plan one thing. Get another.”

Arthur didn’t look up from the distributor cap. “You mad about it?”

“Nah.” His dad stood, stretched. “Got your mom. Got you and Penny. Got this car.” He patted the Camaro’s hood. “Wouldn’t trade it. Not for all the touchdowns in the world.” He looked at Arthur. “You’ll figure your thing out too. Just don’t do it alone in your room all day. Your mom worries.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know you are.” Mr. Johnson ruffled Arthur’s hair, grease and all. “But she’s your mom. It’s her job to worry. My job’s to annoy you into helping me.” He grinned. “We done here. Go be useless somewhere else.”

---

Penny ambushed him in the hallway. She had a stack of flashcards. “Math quiz Monday. Help.”

“No.”

“Please.” She did the eyes. The little sister eyes that were illegal in most states. “If I fail, Mom says no TV. If no TV, I have to watch you play games. And your games are boring.”

“They are not.”

“They’re just shooting and screaming.” She shoved the flashcards at him. “Is x more than 5? Yes or no.”

Arthur took the cards. “Fine. But you owe me. When I’m famous, you have to tell people you knew me.”

“When you’re famous for being a cave troll?”

“Penny.”

“Sorry you’re a cave troll, Arthur.”

They sat on the living room floor for twenty minutes. She wasn’t dumb. She was just nine. She got frustrated fast. Arthur was patient in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. He explained. She argued. He explained again. She got it. 

“See?” she said at the end. “X isn’t mean. You’re mean.”

“Go away.”

She hugged him. Fast. Like she was stealing something. Then she ran off, yelling “Mom, Arthur called me smart!”

Arthur stayed on the floor. The house was quiet again. 

---

Dinner was at six. Mrs. Johnson made roast chicken. Mashed potatoes. Green beans that Penny pushed to the edge of her plate. 

Mr. Johnson said grace. Short. “Thanks for food. Family. And for not letting Arthur electrocute himself in the garage. Amen.”

“Amen,” Penny echoed. “Can I be excused?”

“No,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Eat three beans.”

“Three?”

“Three.”

Penny ate three beans like they were poison. She made a face after each one. Mr. Johnson and Arthur both laughed. Mrs. Johnson pretended to be stern but her mouth twitched.

“How was school this week, Art?” his dad asked. 

“Fine.” Arthur cut his chicken. “Got that 98.”

“I heard.” Mr. Johnson winked at his wife. “Your mom’s still paying me.”

“I am not,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I said he’d pass. That’s different than getting a 98.”

Penny perked up. “Arthur got a 98? In talking class?”

“English,” Arthur corrected.

“Same thing.” Penny stole a roll off his plate. “Can I have your phone? I wanna show Dad the video of you falling in the mud in 4th grade.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please? I’ll eat four beans.”

“No.”

Mrs. Johnson watched them. She reached over and fixed Arthur’s collar. He hadn’t noticed it was flipped. “You need to get out more,” she said, quiet. Not nagging. Just… mom. “Fresh air. People. Real ones, not the ones with health bars.”

“I went to the football game,” Arthur said. 

Both his parents looked up. Penny stopped chewing. 

“You did?” Mr. Johnson said. “By yourself?”

“Maggie made me.”

“Maggie,” Mrs. Johnson repeated. She shared a look with her husband. The kind of look parents had when they were filing information away. “She’s a good kid. Has her head on straight.”

Arthur focused on his potatoes. “It was loud.”

“But you went,” his dad said. “That’s what matters.” He raised his water glass. “To Arthur, leaving the cave.”

“To Arthur,” Penny copied, raising her milk. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. But he clinked his glass against theirs. 

After dinner, they watched a movie. Some old action thing Mr. Johnson loved. Penny fell asleep on the couch, head on Mrs. Johnson’s lap. Arthur sat on the floor, back against the couch. His mom’s hand was in his hair, absent, just playing with it like she did when he was little. 

He didn’t move away. 

The house was warm. Safe. Loud in the right ways. 

It was just Saturday. 

Just family.