by Becky Citra
“What does that prove?”
Mom sighs. “Nothing. I suppose the great-aunt could have a different last name. Her name would be listed in here, not Grace’s.”
Mom kicks off her shoes and lies on the bed. I plunk down at the desk and examine the contents of the drawer. There’s a black Bible, cream paper with Harrison Hot Springs Hotel written in fancy writing at the top, envelopes, a pen, and a book filled with pages about the hotel.
“There’s two pools, one inside and one outside,” I report to Mom as I flip through the book. “The indoor pool is sulfur and you can drink sulfur water every day if you want – UCK! – and you can have something called a massage salt rub. And there are movies on Friday nights, and they serve tea every afternoon in the lounge. It says it’s complimentary.”
“That means it’s free,” Mom says.
I keep reading. “You can borrow bicycles. And, oh, there’s a menu here and – HOLY TOLEDO – you can get food sent to your room!”
Mom winces. “Don’t shout. It’s called room service. All good hotels have room service.”
“Are you serious? Do you think it’s complimentary? Can we order something?”
“No.”
Mom doesn’t sound too good. Her voice has brittle edges. When she gets like this, I’m sometimes afraid she’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces, like a piece of glass, and disappear.
“It’s not complimentary,” Mom says, “and we’re not having it. I made all those sandwiches and I packed you an apple, too. You can take a dollar out of my purse. Now hush and close the curtains. I’m going to stay here for a while.”
A dollar! That’s four allowances!
There are two gold cords with tassels to pull that make the curtains glide shut. Neat-o. The curtains are made out of really heavy material and the room is dark now. I feel around in Mom’s purse for a dollar bill and then slip out the door.
I whisper, “See you later,” but if Mom hears me, she doesn’t answer.
• • • • •
I’m dying to explore the hotel. I wander up and down the long hallways and get lost twice before I figure out where everything is.
I find the indoor pool first, which is in a big steamy room that smells like boiled eggs. The water is pale green and when I dip my hand in it feels as hot as a bath. There’s no one in it except for a man with a big round belly, like a beach ball, who is floating on his back in the shallow end.
I venture down some more hallways and then a sign leads me to The Copper Room. I peer through a doorway into a dining room with tables set with white cloths and glistening silver.
There’s a gleaming piano that looks like it’s made out of copper. It’s as shiny as a mirror. And there’s a round polished wooden floor that I bet is for dancing. I get this crazy idea to take my running shoes off and slide around in my socks when a man with a tray of glasses comes through a doorway at the back of the room. I give him a small wave and disappear.
Back in the lounge, the afternoon tea is over. All the guests have left except for a woman reading in the corner and two little girls in bathing suits and bathrobes playing cards at a round table. I manage to grab a leftover piece of yellow cake with gooey icing just as a teenaged girl in a maid’s uniform whisks the tray away.
I gulp the cake down in three bites and lick the sticky bits off my fingers. I check out the small gift shop next. It’s beside the reception desk and is filled with neat stuff like glass ornaments, perfume, soap, boxes of chocolates and fudge, postcards, books, and even a rack of bathing suits.
“Can I help you find something?” asks a woman with red hair. She has pink glasses, which I admire immensely. If I had glasses, I would get a crazy color too, instead of the boring old glasses that most people have.
I touch the dollar bill in my pocket and then shake my head. I can taste that marshmallow fudge melting in my mouth, but who knows when I’ll have a whole dollar again? “No, thank you.”
I head outside. Puddles dot the pavement in front of the hotel, but the sun is shining through the clouds and there are patches of blue sky. “Enough blue sky to make a Dutchman a pair of pants,” I say, thinking of Granny.
I cross the road and stand in front of a low stone wall that runs along the lake. A couple that I bet anything are newlyweds are taking pictures of each other and giggling a lot. They take breaks to smooch! An older lady with a baby stroller walks past and smiles at me. Two kids race by on bicycles.
The lake is huge and gray, like the ocean. I can see an island and, way in the distance, the peaks of mountains. A motorboat cuts across the water, leaving two frothy lines of wake behind it. It slows down and glides up to the side of a long red dock that juts out into the lake. Three kids wearing bright orange life jackets climb out, shouting at each other and laughing. They look like they’re having so much fun.
It’s really beautiful. I wish Mom were out here too, looking at everything instead of lying in that dark room feeling sad.
I turn around and gaze back at the hotel. As far as I can tell, the hotel is at the end of the road. If you keep going past it, there’s a big hillside covered in forest. A path disappears around a bend. I’ll see what’s along there later. Right now I want to go in the other direction and see the village.
The road into the village runs right beside the lake. There’s the stone wall, a path, and the lake on one side of the road and buildings on the other. There are way more people than I expected out walking around. They look like tourists. You can tell because they’re taking their time and they’re chatting or licking ice-cream cones or taking pictures. I pass a store called Inkman’s, a store called The Red and White, and a couple of cafés. There’s an empty lot where some kids are playing baseball, a big white building with flowers at the front, a place with little brown bungalows all exactly the same, and a No Vacancy sign. The whole time, I’m looking for Grace, but I don’t see her.
In hardly any time at all, I end up at a gravelly beach, which is pretty much the end of the village. At least it is as far as I can go.
Three boys partway down the beach are standing around a pile of boards and arguing in loud voices. I stay away from them and walk across the gravel to the edge of the water. I pick up a smooth round stone and hurl it as far as I can. My stomach feels like it’s full of fluttering birds. How am I ever going to find Grace?
I take my running shoes and socks off and wade in the water. I can’t get very far past my ankles because it’s so icy cold.
The sun has disappeared and the sky has filled up with black clouds. A cold wind is blowing right through my T-shirt. Weather sure changes fast around here. A few raindrops sting my cheeks.
I should be thinking about Grace, but instead I think about the fire in the hotel lounge, the squishy armchairs, and my book. Looking for Grace isn’t going to be as simple as I thought. I’m starting to shiver and the thought of going back to the hotel is getting better and better.
I put my socks and shoes back on. I head across the beach and jog down the road.
It’s pouring now. The slanted raindrops prick like needles, and all the tourists have disappeared. I slow down beside the Top Notch Café and glimpse through the window at tables crowded with people. My stomach rumbles. It looks so warm and inviting. I’d love an orange float, but I don’t want to go in there by myself.
I keep jogging, my head ducked against the rain. I stop outside the store with the sign that says Inkman’s. I peer through the window. It looks like the kind of store that would sell candy. I have a sudden craving for a stick of black licorice. Or a giant jawbreaker. After all, I have a whole dollar!
I push the door open and a bell jingles.
I take three steps in and then slam to a stop.
There’s a counter right across from the door. A girl is standing there with her back to me. She has brown curly ha
ir, her legs are skinny sticks like mine, and we are the same height. Exactly.
The storekeeper is wrapping something in brown paper for her. “Tell your aunt I hope she feels better soon,” he says.
I clamp my lips together to stop myself from yelping out loud. My legs turn to jelly.
I’ve found Grace.
Chapter Eighteen
I can’t keep standing in the doorway like a ninny. I have to go in or go out.
I take a deep breath and step inside. I scuttle over to a shelf stacked with boxes of cereal and pretend to be looking at them. I feel like a spy in a secret agent movie. My heart is pounding so loudly that it’s a miracle the girl and the storekeeper can’t hear it.
“I’ll have three jawbreakers,” the girl says.
Ohmigosh. She’s thinking about jawbreakers too. This is exactly what I mean about the bond between twins.
My legs wobble. The storekeeper glances at me and I give him a confident smile and pick up a box of Shredded Wheat.
Cripes. What do I do now?
A plan. I need a plan. I’ve spent a lot of time imagining finding Grace, but I’ve never imagined what to do next.
Then the girl says, “See you later.” She turns around.
Her face is covered with freckles.
And when she walks past me, I can see that we aren’t the same height at all. She’s shorter than me. She looks about eight years old.
The bell jingles and she’s gone.
The storekeeper is staring hard at me now. He has bushy gray eyebrows that meet in the middle. “Fifteen cents,” he says.
I blink and try to focus. “What?”
“Cereal. Fifteen cents.”
He probably thinks I don’t have any money. He probably thinks I’m one of those kids that hang around in stores and swipe stuff.
To prove him wrong, I pay for the cereal. Then I march out of the store.
I despise Shredded Wheat.
• • • • •
By the time I get back to the hotel, the box of cereal is so soggy it’s starting to fall apart. I dump it in a garbage bin outside the hotel. What a waste of fifteen cents!
The man in the gray uniform is still there, standing under the awning. He looks at me, but he doesn’t make any move to open the door. So much for feeling like a queen. I guess a half-drowned kid doesn’t rate.
I drip my way across the lobby. I’m not in the mood to read any more. It must be the shock of almost finding Grace. I feel as limp as a wrung-out dishrag. When I get to our room, I don’t turn on the light because I’m afraid of waking Mom. I sit on the edge of the bed and eat a smushed cheese sandwich in the dark.
Then I put on my pajamas and crawl under the blankets. I stick my cold feet over to Mom’s side of the bed. In two seconds, I am fast asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where are you going?” I whisper.
Mom has opened the curtains a crack and the room is filled with pale gray light. She’s dressed and she’s fumbling in her purse.
“Out,” Mom says. “For a walk.”
I blink the sleep out of my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Four-thirty.”
“I’m coming too.”
I slip out of my pajamas and pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I lace up my running shoes.
We slip out of the hotel like thieves in the night. The lights are dim and there’s no one around, not even the doorman. Outside, the sun isn’t up yet, but the sky is pearly and a pale robin’s egg blue. The lake is as smooth and calm as a sheet of glass.
Mom gazes all around. She takes a deep breath. “It’s nice here.”
“Really nice,” I agree. I shiver a little. I should have brought a jacket.
“The mountains, the forest, the lake…this would be a nice place to grow up.”
Mom’s voice trembles. She’s thinking about Grace. I squeeze her hand. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you the village.”
We stroll along the path. Somewhere, some birds are singing like crazy. There’s no one around. I love being out here with just my mom. It feels like we are the only people in the whole wide world who are awake. I tell that to Mom and she smiles and says that in China right now people are probably having dinner.
I’m thinking about that when voices drift across to us. I spot two men at the end of the red dock, loading boxes into a boat. Mom and I sit on a bench and watch them. One of the men waves and I wave back. Then the men climb into the boat and putt away, sending silver ripples across the water.
We sit on the bench for a long time, staring out at the lake and not talking. Then we start walking again. We go all the way to the gravel beach. A crow is hopping near the edge of the lake, holding a piece of bread in his beak. He flaps away when we get near. Mom sits on a log and I walk over to the pile of boards where those boys were playing yesterday. Some of the boards are nailed across two logs. It looks like they’re building a raft. Nifty.
I look for flat rocks and try to skip them on the smooth water. My best is three skips. Then Mom and I cross over to the other side of the street and start walking back to the hotel.
All the businesses are closed up except for the Top Notch Café. The door is open and the smell of baking bread wafts out. “Smell that,” Mom says, and she pokes her head in the door.
“We’re not open yet,” a voice calls out.
“Not even for a cup of coffee?” Mom says wistfully.
“Oh heck, you look cold. Come on in.”
The woman speaking to us is behind a counter, sorting cutlery into piles. Mom and I sit at a table.
The woman brings over a steaming cup of coffee for Mom and a hot chocolate for me. She’s a big heavy woman with the name Daphne stitched above her chest. “Fred could do you a fry up,” she says. “Bacon, eggs, hash browns, and tomatoes.”
“Heaven.” Mom smiles.
When the food is ready, Daphne sets the heaped up plates in front of us and plops down in a chair at the next table. “Time to take a load off my feet. You’re up with the birds, aren’t you? You must be staying in one of them motor courts; or are you just passing through? Not that there’s anywhere to pass through to, us being at the end of the road and all.”
She pauses to take a breath.
“We’re staying at the hotel,” I say proudly.
Daphne raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t take you for hotel guests. No offence, like. My niece Martha works at the hotel, a chambermaid you know, and she says they pay good and that it’s ever so nice a place to work. You wouldn’t believe what guests leave behind, not that she gets to keep anything, it all goes straight to the lost and found, an’ she says the job is better than dishing up here at the Top Notch, which she did last summer. She’s a hard worker an’ all, was here from six in the morning ’til the supper gang left because she’s saving her money to go to university.”
She takes another breath and looks expectant, as if we’re supposed to say something. Mom winks at me and murmurs, “University. That’s impressive.”
“First in the family. Gonna be a veter’narian.” Daphne sticks out her hand. “I’m Daphne.”
“Flora,” Mom says. “And this is my daughter, Hope.”
Daphne eyes my plate. “You’re cleaning that up fast. Want some more hash browns?”
I control the urge to burp. “No, thank you.”
“This is very kind of you to open early for us,” Mom says.
Daphne shrugs. “Makes no never-you-mind to me. I’m here anyway. And it’s nice to have someone to talk to. The hubby,” Daphne jerks her head towards the kitchen, “he’s baking that bread you smell and he don’t say nothing ’til after lunch and then he don’t say more than ten words. He don’t start really talking ’til ten o’clock at night, and then I’m worn out and
you can’t shut him up.”
Daphne heaves to her feet. “Time to make the coleslaw. I’ll get you some more coffee and hot chocolate. You set here as long as you want. Two mites like you don’t take up any space.”
Mom sips her coffee slowly like she’s not in a hurry to go anywhere. At seven, Daphne turns the sign around in the door so it says Open. The café fills up quickly, mostly with men in work clothes and muddy boots.
“Loggers,” Daphne says as she scurries past with plates of food. “They know they can get a decent meal here.”
And I mean scurries. For such a large woman, Daphne can move fast.
Mom watches her for a few minutes and then the next thing I know, she’s up on her feet, getting the coffee pot from the counter and pouring coffee for the loggers.
My mouth drops open.
The loggers like Mom and she kind of flirts back with them, but I know it doesn’t mean anything.
When the last one is gone and there’s a lull, Mom pays our bill and Daphne says, “You can come anytime, Flora. You’re good for business.”
When we get out to the sidewalk, the sun is shining and the lake sparkles like it is made out of tiny diamonds.
Mom says, “That was fun. I haven’t waitressed for years.”
She sounds so happy. If only it would last.
Chapter Twenty
We end up having all our meals at the Top Notch Café. Mom says The Copper Room in the hotel is too expensive, but I think she likes hanging out with Daphne.
Granny would have said that Daphne could talk the hind end off a donkey. When the café is quiet, Daphne sits with us and chats. Over breakfast waffles, lunchtime bowls of homemade vegetable soup, and suppers of shepherd’s pie, we hear all about the comings and goings of the village.
We hear about the post office lady who likes sherry, and shy Mrs. Wilkins who left her husband for an encyclopedia salesman, and Grandma Bell, who isn’t really anyone’s grandmother and who is losing her marbles, and Daphne’s hubby Fred, who was born with one ear.
