I pray that Camila isn’t going to be disappointed.
“Do you think I’m too dressed up?” she asks. “I knew the skirt was a bit much.”
“You look perfect. Here, have a glass of punch.”
“You’ve already spiked it, haven’t you?”
“Only one of them. People expect it.” MacKenzie turns to Michael and quietly adds: “Besides, if no one turns up, I’ll need to get drunk.”
Dad glances at Alejandro. “I think this could be a good time to show you what we’ve been working on this afternoon.”
Alejandro looks almost embarrassed. “It’s nothing special,” he mumbles. “Just a little project. I thought it could be nice. But you don’t have to say anything about it if you don’t want to; we can always put the banner back up again.”
“Come on, don’t leave us hanging!” MacKenzie shouts. Alejandro lowers the banner.
The whole wall behind it is covered in photographs. There must be hundreds of them. Of the motel, the new sign, Dad in his bright-red coat. Michael and Paul building the veranda, Camila in front of her new reception desk, MacKenzie painting the walls, and then…me.
I move toward the wall and squint up at the pictures. I’m everywhere. Alejandro has somehow managed to reprint my old pictures on glossy photo paper. Michael, MacKenzie, Camila, and me at prom. The picture from the summer the cabins were built. MacKenzie and me in front of the world’s biggest beagle, grinning the way only MacKenzie could make me. Embarrassing pictures of me as a kid. Those must have come from Dad.
No one seems to know what to say. They just stand there, staring at the photographs on the wall. My entire life, gathered in one place.
“Are you okay?” Camila asks, reaching out for MacKenzie. MacKenzie nods slowly. She finds Camila’s hand and then moves closer to the pictures. An odd little smile spreads across her lips. “Jesus, look how young we were,” she says, pointing to a picture of all of us from our first year in school. My hair is tied in ponytails; hers is as wild as ever.
The sound of a car makes everyone turn toward the road, but it drives right on by. MacKenzie smiles tensely.
“It’s fantastic,” Michael blurts out. “It’s worth throwing a party just for these pictures.”
“And we’re all here together,” Alejandro points out. The three of them keep glancing at Camila.
Dad’s shoulders slump. “I was sure she would come,” he mutters quietly to himself.
Then we hear the sound of cars again. This time, no one dares turn to look. They don’t want to tempt fate.
But the cars are slowing down! I run over to the window just in time to see car after car pull up outside.
* * *
Derek and Stacey’s car is the first to arrive. Stacey hugs Dad, to his delight and horror, and Derek glances at Michael and flashes his most charming smile, ready to meet his public. Everyone gathers around him as they climb out of their cars.
“Welcome!” he shouts. “They’ve got good food and good drink, and you can check out the famous motel as you eat, have a chat with the current owners. Most of you know MacKenzie, but Camila here might be a new…face. Juan Esteban Alvarez’s niece. I know we’ve had our differences, but after careful consideration, I decided it was time to settle things peacefully. Our town has always prided itself on cooperation and friendship, and when it comes down to it, Jesus tells us all to turn the other cheek.”
Derek is actually pretty convincing. He has so much charming nerve that, for a moment, I forget that just a week earlier, he was preaching the very opposite. He even winks at Michael when he spots Michael’s skeptically raised eyebrow.
Derek’s going to be a great politician, I think.
But he is also honest enough to linger outside as everyone else heads indoors. Michael shoves his hands into his pockets. Neither of them seems to know what to say.
Derek eventually speaks up. “You were right. Bob, too, for what it’s worth. It was idiotic to take on the motel.”
“Friendship and cooperation?” Michael asks.
Derek shrugs. “Well, I guess it’s true.” He smiles. “Plus, I had to say something.”
Michael shakes his head. He seems reluctantly amused.
“I heard you built a veranda for Henny,” Derek says.
“How?”
“Stacey told me.” He walks around to the trunk of his car. “And since I know a guy who gave me a damn good price, I thought I’d contribute a little something to your project.”
I blink. Inside are four incredible oak armchairs.
Derek pats Michael on the shoulder. “Think of it as a peace offering.”
* * *
Before long, there are people everywhere. Someone props open the door to let some fresh air inside, but everyone is still sweating as they crowd into the restaurant, juggling plates and glasses and helping themselves to food.
The majority are peering around the room in surprise. Is this it? they seem to be thinking. The woman from the secondhand store actually looks disappointed. I think she must have been hoping for a bit of good old sin and immorality now that she has finally come to visit.
Then, suddenly, Cheryl is in the doorway, looking stiff and lost. I don’t know how long she has been there, but she doesn’t seem to be able to bring herself either to leave or come in. When Dad spots her, he immediately goes over to her.
“Robert!” she sounds relieved and allows him to lead her inside.
She spots MacKenzie and pauses. The two women face each other in silence. Neither of them wants to make the first move. They are both trapped by their past, but the same shared memories also bring them together.
“I’m not going to apologize,” Cheryl says, stubbornly raising her chin.
MacKenzie folds her arms. “Me neither.”
Cheryl spots the pictures on the wall, and when she moves over to take a closer look, MacKenzie follows her.
“My goodness, you were so young,” Cheryl murmurs. She doesn’t turn to look at MacKenzie as she says, “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m not going to apologize for my views. I hope you know that. I did what I thought was right, but I never wanted to upset you.”
“I’m sorry I crashed your car into the fence. And for the rainbow flag on the school.”
Cheryl laughs and shakes her head. “You aren’t the least bit sorry, MacKenzie Jones. You’d do it all over again if you had the chance.”
MacKenzie smiles. “I was just trying to be polite.”
“So who’s the new owner?”
Dad and Camila glance at one another. “I guess now is as good a time as any?” Camila says. Together, they go over to the little improvised stage. Camila hops up onto it, and Dad hesitantly climbs up beside her.
“I’d like to thank you all so much for coming here tonight,” Camila says once the murmur has died down. “I know you’ve probably already heard quite a lot about the motel. And I’m sure most of you know that we recently lost a dear friend here.”
The last of the talking has definitely stopped now.
“I didn’t get a chance to spend any time with her as an adult, but I knew her when we were younger, and I know Henny always loved this motel. I came back just in time to try to save it for her. Whether I managed that is up for debate, but I’ve done my best, and I’ve always tried to keep in mind what Henny would have wanted. That’s all she ever asked of anyone. So, I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to the new owners.”
“Owners?” Cheryl pipes up.
“I’m going to transfer thirty percent of the motel to Robert here, who already has many ideas for…improvements.”
“Robert,” Cheryl gasps. I have no idea what she’s thinking. She actually looks about as shocked as MacKenzie.
“Twenty percent to MacKenzie”—MacKenzie’s face is now completely expressionless—“ten percent to S
tacey Callahan, and ten percent each to Dolores and Alejandro.”
A surprised shout can be heard from the kitchen.
“Twenty percent also goes to Michael, in the form of the Redwood Cabin. That’s all. Thanks. Enjoy yourselves.”
In the brief silence that follows as Camila passes the microphone to Dad and steps down from the stage, people begin chatting eagerly. MacKenzie grabs her arm as she passes.
“You forgot yourself,” she says.
“I promised Cheryl completely new owners. Besides, I always planned to marry a rich motel owner. But first, I thought we should go on that road trip together. Visit all your motels, or the ones that are still open, anyway.”
MacKenzie relaxes. “Great idea,” she says. “We can let Robert hold the fort while we’re gone.”
“Well, he is the only one paying anything for it. He’s going to sell his house and move over here for good. I thought we could give him one of the cabins.”
“Is this on?” Dad asks, tapping the microphone—which is definitely working properly. He clears his throat. Loudly. Into the microphone. “During my time here at the motel, I’ve learned many things about myself, but also about Henny. I’ve realized that maybe I never really knew her as an adult. I suppose I always thought there would be more time. But, well, that didn’t turn out to be the case. So, this memorial party is my way of getting to know her. I’d like to thank all of you for coming, and I’d encourage you to share your memories of her.”
Dad steps down from the stage. The music starts up again, but Buddy is poised and ready to hit Pause the minute anyone decides they want to say a spontaneous few words in my memory.
And they do!
Several people get up and tell their favorite anecdotes about me. I smile and shake my head and laugh, but mostly I just look at Michael. He is standing at the very back, by the wall, alone. It might look like he’s only half listening, but I can see something moving inside him. His body is pulsing with repressed energy, and his gaze is focused inward on something no one else can see.
“Henny loved Bruce Springsteen,” Buddy announces through the microphone. “So I’d like to play a little song for her.” He nods to Clarence, who has taken temporary control over the sound system.
“Brilliant Disguise” starts playing across the room.
“Wrong track!” Buddy shouts, pushing Clarence out of the way. He puts on “My Lucky Day” instead. Everyone makes a valiant effort to bob their head in time with the music, to listen respectfully, as though they’re in church, but I dance away next to Michael. I’ve never been able to keep still while this song was on.
“I’m not really one for making speeches,” Derek begins as he takes over the microphone. He winks exaggeratedly. “See, I’ve already learned how to start a speech. As some of you might know, I’ve had the misfortune of becoming a politician lately. But don’t you worry, I’m not going to talk your ears off. I’m still pretty green around the gills. I haven’t learned how to talk and talk yet.”
Appreciative laughter.
“Speaking of misfortune, a few of you might also remember that I played football as a youngster.”
More appreciative laughter.
“Then, unfortunately, I got injured. No, no, that’s just life. But it was a bit of an adjustment to come back. I don’t want to be too serious now. I just wanted to say that Henny was the only person who looked at me the same way when I came back injured.” He raises his coffee cup full of spiked punch and nods to Michael, who is standing next to Camila and MacKenzie at the back of the room. “Maybe because, in her eyes, I was always overshadowed by my little brother.”
“Smart woman, that Henny!” Stacey shouts, winking even more exaggeratedly at Michael.
But Michael shakes his head and leans back against the wall. Something within him has relaxed. No, that’s the wrong word. It’s more like something inside him has fallen into place, like he has found a new purpose or meaning.
“And now I want to play a Bruce song in Henny’s memory,” Derek says. Buddy hits Play on “Glory Days.” Everyone laughs and applauds. Derek walks over to Stacey and bows. “May I?” he asks, and they start dancing in the small area of free space in front of the stage.
This time, everyone else starts dancing, too. There’s barely room to move, but they improvise around the tables, the buffet, and the punch.
Everyone but Paul. He is standing by the wall of pictures, staring at…well, me. Me when the cabins were being built, in the schoolyard, in reception. Me, living. Me, not in his nightmares.
Dad isn’t dancing either, of course. He moves over to Paul and mutters “I forgive you,” walking away before Paul even has time to speak. Both he and I are left behind, watching as Dad disappears into the crowd.
MacKenzie looks amused. “Henny would’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” she says.
Maybe that’s when it finally sinks in. Paul is still staring at the pictures, but his eyes seem calmer. They are no longer trying desperately not to see what his brain remembers.
MacKenzie pats him on the shoulder. “My Henny would have been the friendliest ghost ever,” she says.
I smile and shake my head, and then turn to Michael to share the moment with him. Michael smiles at the memory of me the way he used to smile every time he saw me. It’s a smile that begins in his eyes—a subtle softening, invisible to everyone but me. Then, much later, it reaches his lips, slow and lingering, like an afterthought.
Jesus, I’ve missed that smile.
* * *
The noise from the restaurant carries through the darkness, down the slope, and all the way to the Redwood cabin: a heady mix of voices, Bruce Springsteen’s bass, and the occasional snippet of conversation from people who have stepped outside for a cigarette or some air.
The door at the back is open, but I’m sure that Michael still hasn’t noticed the noise.
He quickly clears the table. Moves dirty dishes to whatever free surface he can find. A couple of old plates end up on the chest of drawers in the hallway. He dumps the papers that were on the table on the floor. He impatiently pushes the notepad he started earlier to one side and rummages through his backpack for a new one, which he ritually places in front of him on the empty table.
Michael has had an idea.
He moves over to the window and waits for it to take shape.
“It wasn’t just you who left me,” I say. “I let you go.”
One last memory for me: the way I gathered my clothes together in the darkness. I crept out of the cabin as quietly as I could to avoid waking him. It was all I could do. I swore to myself I would never give in to the temptation to ask him to stay.
“I wasn’t some passive bystander who stood still as you moved on with your life,” I say. “I carried on down my own path.”
I guess we both did. And in the end, that’s what brought us back together again. Two roads we traveled down for fifteen years, heading to this exact point, this exact moment, even though we had no idea we were doing it. We became who we are now either thanks to or because of the different routes we took, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.
Without thinking, Michael takes a sip from his mug. He makes a face. He hadn’t realized his coffee had gone cold.
Then he gets to work.
On the front cover of the new notepad, he slowly and methodically writes his preliminary working title. Then he releases all his repressed energy, flicks forward to a new page, writing quickly and without pausing to think. It’s a draft table of contents. He writes the titles of the first chapters carefully, but his handwriting gradually becomes more ornate and cursive as he struggles to jot down all of the ideas rushing out of him. New page, more writing. Side after side fills up with outlines, first sentences, notes for himself, quotations, ideas for possible sources.
Eventually, he leans back in his chair. He paus
es for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to see whether any last few ideas might come to him, but then he nods to himself and closes the pad.
I place a hand on his shoulder. “You know when you asked what I wanted from you?” I say. “I want you to be happy. I want you to have everything you’ve always wanted in life. I know no one can have everything, but I don’t care. I never said that what I wanted from you was realistic.”
We’ll make it, I think. Camila and MacKenzie’s roads led them to the gym, and who knows what’s going to happen between them going forward? Dad will have his hands full with the motel. He and Stacey can spend their days baking apple pies. And Michael? He’ll be happy again one day. He just needs to find his way back to his rocks.
“Do what you need to do to live the life you want,” I say. “Leave. Find more fantastic rocks. Be happy somewhere else. But then come back. You belong here, whether you like it or not.”
I’m not worried. I know he realizes that now. On the front of the notepad, the name of his new book is written in huge letters: Conversations with Henny, or Once upon a time hundreds of millions of years ago, Boise was a coastal city.
Chapter 52
Loved by Henny
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Clarence asks.
“Just stay there and keep a look out,” Buddy tells him. “Paul? You ready? Lift me up.”
“And they’re not going to be angry?” Paul sounds worried.
“MacKenzie will like it.”
“So long as it doesn’t upset them.”
“The only person who’ll be upset is you, if you don’t lift me up right now. We need to do this now, while they’re still celebrating their new veranda. Keep an eye out around the corner in case they come.”
But Buddy isn’t worried. I know that, because he has Bruce on in the background. In the darkness of the near-empty parking lot, Bruce is singing “None but the Brave.”
Two hours later, the motel has a new addition to its sign.
“This one’s going to end up as chaotic as the old one!” I say with delight.
Check in at the Pine Away Motel (ARC) Page 43
