by Becky Citra
“Anything for me?” Grace says, sounding hopeful.
“Just a sec.” The man looks at the last few parcels. “Nope. Not today.”
“Double darn,” Grace sighs.
“When are your partners in crime getting back from camp?” the man asks.
“One more week.”
“Here.” The man slips Grace two quarters. “It’s a scorcher today. Buy yourself and your friend an ice cream.”
Grace says that the Top Notch has the best ice cream. I hold my breath when we go inside, praying that Mom won’t be there. She’s not. We order double cones, but Daphne gives us each an extra scoop. I know right away that I want chocolate, but Grace takes ages to choose. This is a perfect time to test our mental telepathy. While Grace is flitting back and forth, peering in the tubs, I concentrate as hard as I can.
Strawberry. Make her choose strawberry.
Choose strawberry.
Choose strawberry.
Choose strawberry.
“Butterscotch,” Grace says.
Cripes.
While Daphne is scooping out Grace’s cone, I keep my eyes peeled on the doorway into the kitchen. I still haven’t seen Fred with the one ear.
We take our cones outside and sit on a bench beside the lake and look at all the boats while we eat. Three boys walk by and one of them, a boy with black hair and a dark tan, makes a rude oinking noise like a pig.
“You just wish you had one,” Grace retorts. “Mmmm, this is soooo delicious.”
“Oink! Oink!”
“That’s David,” Grace says when they’re gone. “Me and Janey and Louise hate him.”
David is one of the boys I saw working on the raft at the beach. I tell Grace and she looks very interested. “A raft! I didn’t think David was smart enough to think of something cool like that.”
Grace attacks her cone in big gulps and I lick slowly. I’m still polishing off the last bits of mine when we walk back to her house.
By the time we get there, Grace is limping a little. She’s also complaining about how hot she is. “I’ll make us some Kool-Aid,” she says. “Then I’d better clean up my room.”
She slams to a stop at the end of the walk in front of her house. “Uh-oh.”
A figure is standing on the porch. My first impression is gray. Gray stockings, gray dress, gray hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Aunty Eve, you’re back early,” Grace says. “This is my new friend Hope. She’s staying at the hotel. We’ve just been to the post office so you wouldn’t have to go in this heat.”
I wish I wasn’t holding the end of this ice-cream cone. I wish there wasn’t a blob of butterscotch ice cream on Grace’s chin.
Aunty Eve gives me a cool look. Up close, she’s very tall. And thin. She reminds me of a heron I saw once on the beach in Vancouver. Even her eyes are gray, like the ocean on a cloudy day. They are not smiley eyes. “Run along, Hope,” she says in an icy voice.
She turns to Grace. “And you, young lady. Inside. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I make it all the way to dessert before I blow up. It’s Daphne’s famous chocolate pie and it’s wrecked for me because I’m so mad. Ever since we sat down, Mom’s been firing questions at me. I’ve only known Grace one day and I’m supposed to be an expert on her. How should I know what her favorite color is? Or if she likes dogs? Or what kind of grades she gets at school?
We all ordered fish and chips. I noticed Mr. Pinn ate every scrap, mopping up his ketchup with his last few fries, but Mom hardly had a bite. She was too busy interrogating me like the FBI.
Now we’re at dessert and my mouthful of creamy chocolate pie sticks in my throat. I swallow and then explode. “I’M NOT A SPY!”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom says.
“That’s what it feels like.” I lower my voice because a girl at another table is staring at me.
I hate this. I’m not exactly lying to Grace, but I’m hiding stuff and that makes me feel horrible. And the longer it goes, the worse it’s going to get.
“You’re making me into a spy,” I repeat. “I thought you were going to talk to her aunt.”
“I haven’t decided,” Mom says.
“Because you don’t have the guts,” I practically hiss. “Just like you don’t have the guts to admit what you did to Grace. That you gave her away like she was worth nothing.”
Mom turns white. She clamps her lips together.
I hate fighting with Mom. But I hate what she is making me do even more.
I ignore an annoying voice in my head that reminds me: This whole thing was your idea.
I just didn’t think it was going to be like this. The truth is, I didn’t really think about what was going to happen. I push my pie away.
I’m ready to pounce on Mr. Pinn if he says anything, anything at all, to defend Mom. But he’s gobbling up his chocolate pie and he keeps his eyes on his plate.
• • • • •
After supper, Mom and Mr. Pinn and I walk along the path that goes past the hotel, away from the village. I wasn’t going to go, but at the last minute I change my mind. There’s nothing else to do. The lake is on one side and a steep forested hillside is on the other. Mom and Mr. Pinn are holding hands. Cripes. What does that mean? Mom is talking to Mr. Pinn, but she hasn’t said one word to me. She’s still hurt or angry or something.
After about ten minutes, we come to a small fenced enclosure. There’s a square pool inside, like a well, deep and dark and smelly.
“What’s that?” I say.
“The hot springs,” Mr. Pinn says. “They pipe the water from here to the pool. It’s very therapeutic.”
“What does therapeutic mean?” I say.
“That it’s good for you. People have been coming to Harrison for the water since the 1800s, when the hot springs were discovered. The story is that some miners were coming back from the gold rush. They were half frozen to death and decided to land on the shore of the lake and build a fire. One of the miners stood up in the canoe and fell in. To his surprise, the water was hot. He called his buddies to come and join him. They warmed up in the water, then built their fire, ate some baked beans, and continued on their way. The rest is, as they say, history.”
“Is that true?” I look around. It might have happened right here.
“Maybe,” Mr. Pinn says. “It’s a good story, anyway. And it’s true that people have been coming to Harrison for almost a hundred years to partake of the healing waters.”This is probably the longest, most interesting conversation Mr. Pinn and I have had. He’s really not so bad. Even if he uses words like partake.
Healing. I think about that as we walk back to the hotel.
It’s what Mom needs. To heal. Maybe it was a good idea to come here after all. But she seems to be getting worse, not better. I wish I could take back what I said at supper. But it’s too late.
• • • • •
I don’t want to go inside yet. I tell Mom that I’m going to walk around the village for a while. She gives me this look that’s kind of sad and mad at the same time and says, “Don’t stay out once it gets dark.”
I don’t really think about where to go. I just wander, mixing in with the tourists. My stomach is in a knot. How am I going to tell Mom that Aunty Eve is mean?
Aunty Eve is so different from Mom. Mom wouldn’t make me go to Bible Camp if I didn’t want to. And she doesn’t care a wit if my bedroom is messy (I don’t even have a bedroom right now, but that’s beside the point.) And Mom trusts me. She would never make me write a book report just to prove that I’d read a book. She’d believe me. And I bet she’d let me shave my legs if I really wanted to.
When you add it all up, Aunty Eve really is Aunty Evil. What if I tell Mom? For a second, I imagine her rushing in lik
e a knight on a white horse to save Grace from the witch. Kidnapping her and taking her home with us. And everyone living happily ever after.
Wait a sec. This is Mom I’m talking about. She doesn’t do white knight stuff. If she finds out what Aunty Eve is like, she’ll feel so bad about Grace that she’ll probably crawl into bed and never get up again. And then my whole plan to find Grace will have totally backfired.
Without realizing it, I’ve come to the end of Grace’s street. I walk past her house. My stomach tightens. What if Grace has been grounded for sneaking out without cleaning up her messy room? What if I never see her again? I’ve just found my sister. I can’t lose her now.
I stare up at the house. Grace’s bedroom window is at the front, wide open, with the lace curtains pulled back. Grace is leaning on the sill, looking out. She waves when she sees me and yells, “I’ll be right down!”
I wait on the porch and she appears in a moment, banging the screen door behind her. We flop down on the couch.
“Is your aunt here?” I ask nervously. I’m praying she’s out somewhere. Aunty Eve is scary.
“She’s at the chapel,” Grace says. “There’s some missionary woman showing slides of Africa.”
“Did you get in big trouble?”
“Grounded.” Grace doesn’t sound too upset. She sticks her good leg out and spins her bare foot in circles. She’s painted her toe nails bright red since this afternoon.
“For how long?”
Grace shrugs. “I don’t know. I bet I’ll still have to go to Bible Camp tomorrow, which is very unfair. Don’t you think if you’re grounded, you should be grounded for everything? Not just the good things?”
“I guess so. I’ve never been grounded.”
“Really? I’ve been grounded millions of times.”
Just then, the orange and black cat that looks like Jingle pops through a rose bush at the end of the walk. He saunters towards us. Something is dangling from his mouth.
“It’s a mouse!” Grace squeals. “Don’t bring it here, Tiki!”
The cat veers onto the grass and hunches under a bush.
“That’s Tiki,” Grace says. “He’s Mrs. Jordan’s cat. He lives next door.”
We watch Tiki devour the mouse. “It’s disgusting when he does that,” Grace says. “But he’s actually quite a nice cat. He’s a Persian.”
“He’s gorgeous.” I still can’t believe how much he looks like Jingle.
“I used to have a cat that looked just like Tiki,” Grace says suddenly. “At least I think I did. It’s so weird. Whenever I see Tiki, I remember this other cat. I have this picture inside my head of myself petting it when I was just a little kid.”
I stare at Grace. “What was its name?”
“I don’t know. I asked Aunty Eve if I had a cat when I lived in Vancouver with my mom and dad, but she says I didn’t. She says my mom was allergic to cats. So maybe it’s just something that I made up.”
I’m shaking. Grace didn’t make it up. She’s remembering Jingle. I want to tell her, but I can’t. I feel miserable again about this whole big secret.
Tiki abandons the remains of his mouse, strolls over to the walk, and disappears back into the rose bushes.
Grace jumps up. “I’ve been thinking about David’s raft. I’m going to go take a look at it. See if it’s any good.”
“Now? You’re grounded.”
Grace grins. “I’m safe for awhile. The Africa slides will take ages, and there’ll be tea and cake afterwards. I can get down to the beach and back and Aunty Eve will never find out. You want to come?”
I can’t believe Grace would take that chance. But I don’t want to miss out on anything. “Sure.”
I wait while Grace goes inside for her sandals.
Then we set out for the lake. We have to walk right past the chapel where the missionary is showing her slides. The door is propped open and applause spills out from inside.
“It sounds like it’s over. Maybe we should go back.” I’m scared stiff about Aunty Eve catching Grace.
“Everyone will want to ask tons of questions,” Grace says. “And then they have to eat and have their tea. That’ll take forever. Trust me. I’ve got lots of time.”
There are quite a few people strolling along the path beside the lake, but the little beach is deserted. The raft is pulled up on the gravel, away from the water. It’s made out of two skinny logs with old boards nailed across. Some of the boards are crooked and there are gaps between them.
Grace stares at it for a minute without saying anything.
“It looks pretty good,” I say.
“Not bad,” Grace grunts. But she looks impressed. “It probably floats okay. How many boys did you say were working on it?”
“David, and two others.”
“Harry and Sam, David’s best friends, I bet,” Grace says.
She picks up the end of a long pole resting across the raft. “This must be for pushing it along. I’d give anything to try it.”
Just then, something clatters against the end of one of the logs.
A rock.
Then another one, zinging right past my ear.
Holy Toledo!
“Look out!” Grace cries.
I duck, terrified.
“HEY!” a voice hollers. “GET AWAY FROM THERE!”
Grace and I spin around. David is charging across the beach towards us, his arm raised, ready to hurl another rock.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? DON’T TOUCH THAT! GET AWAY!” he yells.
He’s close enough now for me to see that his face under his tan is red and his eyes are flashing with fury.
My heart leaps into my throat.
“PUT THAT ROCK DOWN, YOU MANIAC!” Grace screams back. “ARE YOU CRAZY?”
David hesitates. Then he drops the rock. He sticks his chin out. “Stay away from my raft!” he growls.
“You could have killed us!” Grace says in a shrill voice.
“With a rock? Right. Ooooo, I’m so scared of a teeny little rock. What are you going to do? Tell your aunty?”
“Shut up!” Grace screeches.
David narrows his eyes until they are slits. “Now get out of here.”
“Ha! You don’t own this beach. Is there a sign somewhere that says we can’t stand here if we want? I don’t see any sign. Do you, Hope?”
“No,” I gulp.
“I own the raft,” David spits back. “And there’s no girls allowed.”
“Oh. So that’s what this is supposed to be? A raft? Really? You sure can’t tell.”
“Very funny. It’s a lot better than you could make.”
“If I wanted to make a raft, which I don’t, at least I’d make something that wasn’t going to fall apart.”
David and Grace glare at each other.
Then Grace says in a loud voice, “Come on, Hope. We’ve got better things to do than stand around here looking at this pile of junk.”
Grace marches back towards the road, her head held high. I follow her, my heart thudding.
Partway, she turns and shouts over her shoulder, “AND I WOULDN’T USE ROTTEN BOARDS!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When we get to the chapel, people are standing outside on the sidewalk, chatting in little groups. I spot the tall straight back of Aunty Eve, who towers over everyone else. She’s facing away from us.
Grace must see her too. “Walk faster,” she hisses.
Grace is limping a lot by the time we get to her house. We go into the kitchen, pour ourselves glasses of cherry Kool-Aid, and bring them out to the porch.
We’ve only been back eight minutes, max, when Aunty Eve arrives.
Too late, I realize that I don’t really know how being grounded work
s. I panic that Grace is going to get in trouble because I’m here. I’m ready to flee.
Aunty Eve frowns, and she seems to look at me extra hard, but she just says, “Hello, Hope.”
“Hello,” I say.
“How was the slide show?” Grace asks.
“Inspiring,” Aunty Eve says.
“Great!” Grace says.
“Mrs. Gillingham was there.”
“Oh.”
I have no idea who Mrs. Gillingham is, but I have a horrible feeling this means trouble.
“I asked her if you were behaving at Bible Camp. If you were helping out with the younger children and setting a good example.”
“Oh,” Grace says again.
“I was extremely disappointed to hear the exact opposite. That you’re not participating at all.” Aunty Eve looks grim. “I’d be interested to know what you have to say.”
Grace studies her red toenails. I don’t think she has anything to say.
“Mrs. Gillingham is going to a lot of work to make Bible Camp exciting,” Aunty Eve says.
“Planting beans?” Grace mutters.
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing.”
“Since you’re apparently wasting everyone’s time,” Aunty Eve continues, “I’ve decided to pull you out.”
Grace looks up. Her eyes shine. “Really? Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise I – ”
“You can help me with the pies tomorrow instead,” Aunty Eve says. “I have a huge order. Forty-three.”
I’m positive I see a tiny smile flicker across her face. “We’ll start extra early because it’s going to be hot. Five more minutes and then I want you to get ready for bed.”
“Now?” Grace says. “It’s only eight o’clock. And it’s roller-skating tonight!”
“Roller-skating will have to wait until next week.” Without another word, Aunty Eve sails inside the house.
“Every Tuesday night they have roller-skating at the community hall,” Grace says with a huge sigh. “It’s so much fun.”
“I’m a good roller-skater,” I say, and then I worry that I sound like I’m bragging. “Well, not that good.”
