The pile of five-dollar bills in my dresser is growing. I haven’t spent any of them since I never go anywhere. And I can get all the Ring Pops I want for free with the vending machine key.
My stomach growls again.
Mrs. Whitley laughs. “Help me get these grapes into the kitchen and then we’ll get you some lunch.”
“Thanks,” I tell her.
Inside I can hear Mr. Whitley singing in the kitchen. Father Donovan is sitting in one of the booths, reading the paper with a cup of coffee and a slice of pie.
“Hi, Miriam!” he says.
“The usual?” Mrs. Whitley asks me.
I nod.
“Back in a jiffy,” she says, heading into the kitchen.
Father Donovan moves his newspaper over so I can sit down across from him.
“This pie is heaven-sent,” he says. His napkin is stained deep purple.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
I think carefully first. “Do people really believe that the face at the drive-in is the Virgin Mary?”
“Well, given how many people have come to Greenvale in the past few of weeks, I’d say a lot of them do. Or they want to believe.”
I bite my lip. “But couldn’t it just be a face? Why is it so important to people that it’s the Virgin Mary?” I study his expression.
“Good question,” he says, just like the rabbi at Bubbie’s synagogue does. “Some people believe the Virgin Mary comes back to give us messages. Or to help us through hard times.”
“Susan — she’s in Room 114 — says that people’s minds are playing tricks on them. That it’s something called pareidolia.”
Father Donovan nods. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes. She called me last week and asked to interview me for her thesis.”
I think about that for a minute.
“So, what do you think?” I ask, not sure if I want the answer.
He takes a swallow of his coffee. “I’ll admit I have my doubts, but I don’t know for sure. God works in mysterious ways. But what I am certain of is that what matters isn’t whether the apparition is real or not, but what it means to the people who see it.”
Mrs. Whitley appears with a glass of lemonade and a grilled cheese sandwich. She’s wearing the new apron that Mr. Whitley gave her, which says Have A Grape Day! over an outline of a bunch of grapes.
The sandwich is made with challah, of course. The cheese has oozed out of a couple of holes in the bread and gotten darker in those spots, almost like two eyes.
Mr. Whitley liked using challah for his grilled cheese so much that he put it on the menu. He calls it the Miriam Special and now he orders challah every week from the kosher bakery in Spartanburg. Now I can hear him whistling in the kitchen.
Whenever I feel bad about the drive-in, I think about how happy Mr. and Mrs. Whitley are.
Father Donovan’s phone dings and he pulls it out of his pocket.
“Sorry to cut our conversation short, but I’ve got an appointment with the local bishop and Officer Mike. I look forward to more of your questions another time.”
He stands up and hands Mrs. Whitley a few bills.
“Delicious pie, as always.”
My stomach unclenches a little. If it doesn’t matter to Father Donovan if the apparition is real or not, then maybe it doesn’t matter to all the people coming here.
Maybe it’s not so terrible what we did.
Three o’clock finally comes and Kate finds me on the Reception couch reading a book a guest left behind called A Guide to the Trees and Wildflowers of Upstate New York, trying not to die of boredom. She’s sweaty and dirty from playing softball at camp and the bike ride over.
“I think I’m melting,” she says.
It’s check-in time so Reception is starting to get crowded.
“Do you care that we never go swimming?” I ask her as we walk over to Room 109, the only place we can get some privacy, at least when Sammy’s not napping.
Kate knows I’m scared of water and about the swimming lessons with Uncle Mordy. Even though she can’t imagine being afraid of water, she never laughs or makes fun of me like some of the kids at Lekha’s birthday party did.
“Nah, it’s fine. I go every day at camp anyway. And outdoor pools are more fun in the summer anyway.” She goes to splash her face in the bathroom.
Sometimes I wish I could go to camp with her. The motel is busier now so it’s a little more fun. Maria and I have a contest to see who will find the weirdest thing that people leave behind. I found a ukulele under a bed but then Maria found this guy’s teeth in a cup on the nightstand and Mom had to mail them back to him in a padded envelope.
And there’s Anton, at least for now.
But still, it would be nice to be around some more kids. I started to ask Dad about camp a few days ago, but he was too busy to talk, and that night I heard him and Mom talking about expenses and all the things at the Jewel that needed to be fixed or replaced and I felt bad about asking them to spend money on camp.
“Father Donovan was at the diner today,” I tell her after she plops on Sammy’s bed and pulls a pack of chewing gum out of her pocket.
“I think he’s there every day,” she laughs, tossing me a stick. “Grandma’s best customer.” She admires the new posters I put on the walls along with the now-framed photos of me and Dahlia and Lekha and inspects the holders I made for my markers and pencils out of soda cans that guests threw out.
I tell her about Susan and pareidolia. And a little about Anton.
“Wow. How old is he? What’s wrong with his legs? Does his mother really think there will be a miracle?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say to all three questions. I don’t really want to talk about him with her. “I only spoke to him once.”
“But he’s the most exciting thing that’s happened here since the motel reopened.”
“Exciting? Because he uses a wheelchair?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. What do you mean?”
She chews her gum and doesn’t say anything.
“The wheelchair isn’t a big deal,” I tell her. “He’s just a regular kid. He even plays basketball.”
“Okay, okay,” Kate says. “Sorry. Why are you so grumpy anyway?”
“I’m not grumpy. I’m just worried.” I tell her what Father Donovan said about not knowing if the apparition is real or not and maybe it not mattering anyway. “Do you think it would matter to him if he knew what we did?”
“Father Donovan’s pretty cool, for a priest,” she says. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” She blows a big bubble that breaks all over her face and I burst out laughing.
She clearly isn’t worrying about it, so I decide not to either.
I watch Sammy for a while after breakfast the next day. I feel bad that I haven’t spent much time with him lately so I tell him we’re going to do something special and he jumps up and down.
I take him over to the diner. He picks a booth and I order two lemonades. Mrs. Whitley puts Sammy’s in a plastic cup but of course he wants to drink from mine. He makes a pile with the sugar packets and I pretend the salt shaker is a monster and knock them over. He squeals with laughter and piles them up again and again.
He flips onto his stomach to slide off his seat and comes around to my side. I lift him up next to me and hug and kiss him until he says, “I tired.” He leans his head against my side.
I take him back to our room and we snuggle until the babysitter arrives and then, for once, I have nothing to do. Kate’s at camp as usual and Anton’s car isn’t in the parking lot. Mrs. Whitley’s made enough pies for a couple of days.
I find Maria in one of the upstairs rooms and offer to help her. With so many people coming and g
oing, it’s hard to get all the rooms ready by check-in time every day.
She vacuums the floor and cleans the bathroom while I replace the little shampoo bottles and put out new soaps. Maria takes the partly used ones and when she has a full box she takes them to the food bank in Spartanburg for people who need them. I empty the garbage cans and put clean towels on the racks.
While we work, she teaches me new words: el champú, el jabón, la toalla. I’ve lost count of how many words I’ve learned since I got here. I still can’t put them into real sentences though, except for “Tarta de uvas para postre, por favor,” which means “Grape pie for dessert, please.”
If a guest is staying another night, we just straighten up and clean the bathroom. Some guests leave their rooms a total mess, stuff hanging out of their suitcases and wet towels all over the floor. In one room we found a half-eaten pizza in the bathtub. These guests probably don’t even notice that there are new, dry towels folded in the bathroom when they get back.
Other guests are super neat, hanging their clothes in the little closet by color and lining up their toothbrushes and toothpaste in size order next to the sink. I try to put things back exactly where they left them after I wipe down the sink and counter, since they will definitely notice.
A few people leave money on the dresser when they leave, as a tip. Maria tries to share it with me when I help her, but I’ve got my five-dollar bills from working at the diner, and I know Maria needs the money for school.
We’re cleaning Room 102 when I hear voices in the next room, the one where Anton and his mother are staying. I didn’t even hear their car pull up.
I’m not allowed to knock on the guests’ doors because Mom’s big on privacy, so I open the door of the room we’re in and prop it open with the garbage can. This way I can see if Anton comes out. The air outside the motel is so hot that I’m glad I’m inside cleaning, where at least there’s air conditioning.
I can hear the shower running in Anton’s room, and then I hear the door to the room open. I put my armful of dirty towels in the laundry bag hanging from Maria’s cart and go outside.
I jump back just in time to save myself as Anton flies by in his wheelchair. He’s barreling down the strip of pavement that separates the rooms on the ground floor from the parking lot, his arms pushing hard and fast on the rims of his wheels. When he reaches the end, he spins around and does this pop-wheelie thing and heads back toward me. He stops short just a few inches from my toes, a big grin on his face.
“Don’t tell my mom. She doesn’t like it when I spin this thing. But I don’t want my arms to get all weak while I’m out here.”
I don’t think there’s much chance of that. Anton’s arms look super strong, all muscly, not like my puny ones.
“Where were you?” I ask.
“The drive-in,” he says.
I try to read his expression but it’s pretty flat.
I want to ask what he thinks about the Virgin Mary, almost forgetting that there is no Virgin Mary. I stare at the ground, and then worry that he thinks I’m staring at his legs so I look up, out at the playground. The babysitter is pushing Sammy on the swing and he waves at me. There’s a couple watching another little kid in the new sandbox that Uncle Mordy built.
“Just looked like a peeling movie screen to me,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “But my mom thought it was amazing. She got down on her knees and prayed like her life depended on it. She wants to go back every day until we leave. Guess she thinks I need a quadruple dose of miracle or something.”
He doesn’t look sad when he says this, just tired or something. He wheels up to his door and pokes his head in.
“She’s still in the shower. Wanna race?”
“Race?”
“Yeah. You with your legs, me with the chair.”
It doesn’t really seem fair, but Anton is already heading to the Reception door, so I follow him.
He points to the other end of the strip, where Mom planted some new daisies in a big pot to replace the dead ones that were here when we arrived. “First one to the flowerpot wins.”
He’s dreaming. How could he possibly beat me?
He backs up a couple of feet. “Let me get some momentum going. You start running when I reach you, okay?”
That seems fair. He starts moving toward me, yelling, “Go!” just as he reaches me. I pull ahead right away, but by Room 105 I can feel him right at my heels.
How can he possibly go that fast?
He’s ahead by Room 108 but I give it all I’ve got and start to pass him. Just as we reach the flowerpot he swerves toward me and does this zigzag thing and cuts me off. I lose my balance and fall down hard on my hands and knees.
What a jerk!
I inspect my bleeding knee and pick the gravel out of it, trying to hold back tears. Anton wheels over.
“Shoot,” he says. “You okay?” He flips his brake handles and puts his hand out.
“Cheater,” I say, ignoring his hand. He is a regular kid.
“Sorry,” he says. “Let’s call it a tie.”
“A tie?” I say. “You cut me off on purpose.” I look up at him. I wonder if this is how I look to him when I’m standing.
He leans forward so his hand is closer. “I am sorry. I can be a jerk sometimes. Just, people don’t usually call me on it. You definitely won.”
I glare at him a few more seconds and then reach out and grab his hand. He leans back and pulls me up. I feel the sting in my knee.
His mother comes to the door and tells him to get ready to go to lunch. I head off to find a Band-Aid. By the time I find one, I’m more amazed than mad.
Yeah, Anton cheated at the end, but honestly? It was a really close race.
13
——
The next morning there’s a note under my door. I’m hoping it’s from Anton, but when I open it I see a drawing of a pool with a stick figure standing on the steps with the water up to her waist.
Swim lesson 10:00. Be there or be square! it says, with a smiley face under it.
For real? Be there or be square? My uncle must be older than I thought.
There’s no sign of Anton or his mother at breakfast. I check with Dad at Reception, and they are still booked to be here until the weekend.
The clock behind the reception counter says 9:00. One hour until I have to get back in the pool.
An hour later, which feels like two minutes, I’m watching Susan in the pool doing laps, while Uncle Mordy waits in the water for me. At the deep end of each lap she does a cool somersault-flip move so that she’s facing the right way to start the next lap. At the shallow end she just turns around.
She waves at me, barely lifting her face out of the water. With her yellow and turquoise bathing suit she reminds me of the fish swimming back and forth in the aquarium at my dentist. My old dentist. I don’t have a dentist here yet, probably because Mom and Dad are too busy to notice all the Ring Pops and sugar cereal I’ve been eating.
I step into the water, two steps right away, the water at my knees.
Easy peasy.
Susan lifts herself out of the side of the pool in one smooth motion, grabs her towel and leaves, winking at me as she goes out. I’m glad she won’t be here to watch me.
Uncle Mordy takes my hand and leads me down one more step. I wait for my heart to start racing, but it doesn’t.
Hmm. Maybe I can do this. Uncle Mordy tugs on my hand but I need another minute.
Maria pokes her head in, sees us in the pool, and waves. “Never mind, I’ll find you later. Chao!”
Uncle Mordy waves back. “Hasta luego.”
“It would be nice to have an aunt,” I say, swirling the water around with my hands. “Especially one that spoke Spanish.”
Uncle Mordy sits down on the step above me. I turn to face him and fight the urge t
o walk back up the steps and out of the water.
“You know that Maria isn’t Jewish, right?” he says.
I nod. Of course I know that.
“And even though she’s smart, and nice, and works hard —”
“And is pretty.”
“And is pretty,” Uncle Mordy continues, “and I enjoy being around her, I wouldn’t marry anyone who wasn’t Jewish.”
“Why does that matter? Maria’s a really good person.”
He thinks for a minute.
“Well, I live a committed Jewish life, and it’s important to me that the person I marry can share that with me. And when I have kids, I want to raise them with a commitment to a Jewish way of life. Maria is committed to Catholicism, to a Catholic way of life.”
“So? Couldn’t you still get along being different religions?” I stay on my nice, comfortable step.
“It’s not that we can’t get along. We just believe in different things. And while I can be friends with someone who believes in different things than I do, it’s a lot harder to be married to, and raise a family with, someone who is different in these big ways. Not everyone feels that way, and that’s okay. But I do.”
I pull away from him. That doesn’t seem fair. Why does it have to matter to him what religion Maria is?
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” says Uncle Mordy. He has a big smile on his face.
I scowl at him. “Then why are you smiling?”
“Because you’re in the water up to your waist.”
I look down. He’s right! The water is right at my belly button, which is weird because I don’t even remember going down the last step. My fingertips are under the water, making it look like I have frog fingers. I scoot out of the water before my brain can realize where my body is.
I think while I dry myself off. Maria and Uncle Mordy are not going to get married. Anton is not going to get the miracle his mother wants.
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