The Summer of Moonlight Secrets (9 page)

23

Chase

I stare at the full moon from our hotel room.

“Close those blinds, will you, Chase?” Fresh out of his shower, Dad rummages through the hotel dresser for clean clothes.

When I was little and we drove places, I thought the moon followed us; it was always there, no matter which way Dad turned the car. I didn't know how that was possible.

Then, when he started traveling, he'd call us at night, Aunt Sheila and me. When it was my turn to talk, he told me to look out the window.
Are you looking at the moon?
he'd ask. I'd nod, cupping the phone.
I am too
, he'd say. That seemed like magic, like it was connecting us.

I wonder if Mom is looking at it.

But that's just a silly kid thing. I snap the blinds shut and plop onto my bed. “What do you want to do?”

“Nothing.” He pulls exercise shorts over his boxers. “I'm pretty wiped out.” He stretches out on his bed, aims the remote. “Let's see what's on TV.”

My shoulders sink. I pace from the windows across to the door, stopping to read the evacuation plan. Got it. Don't use the elevators. Use the stairs. I march back to the windows, back to the door, back to the windows, back to the—

“Chase!”

I freeze with my arms in midswing.

He motions with his hand for me to move. “I can't see the TV with you walking back and forth like that.”

“I thought when we came back we were going to do something.”

He sighs, hits the Mute button. “Sorry, bud. I can hardly lift this remote.”

Dropping my arms, I let my whole body sag. “Come on, Dad. At least go with me to the game room.”

Dad points to the dresser with his remote. “My wallet's right there.”

Three fives and a one. He's buying me off, and I accept the offer. Anything's better than staying in here and just watching TV.

Once downstairs, I'm not thinking Pac-Man; I'm thinking ice cream, but the girl is already mopping the floor of the ice-cream parlor. “Try the dining room,” she says. “I think they're still open.”

The hallway is dark during the day, but at night it's downright creepy, the perfect setting for a mystery:
Shadows pressed against the walls, holding their secrets close. Who had walked these halls before? The boy strained to see, but the cobwebbed lamps allowed little illumination. The boy hastened his errand.

I swipe a peppermint from the front of the dining room. I don't see a hostess, so I walk in. I kind of like having the place to myself. Unwrapping my peppermint, I sit down at a table in the middle. Too hard. I leave the plastic wrapper on the table and move on. Hmm, this one is too soft. I weave my way around and take a seat by the windows. Ah, just right. I put my feet up on the chair across from me and stare out the window.

“Um, the kitchen's closed.” The guy appears out of nowhere.

My feet jerk to the floor. “Do I have to leave?”

The guy shrugs. “Sorry, dude. We've got to vacuum and change out table tents …”

He's waiting for me to get up.

I sigh and push my chair back, then spot the French doors. I bet I could see the moon really well from the dock. “Can I go out there?”

He glances over his shoulder, then back to me. “I'm about to lock those doors,” he says. “But just come back in by the pool.”

Cool. I swing a French door open and a gust of wind pushes me. I hear a dead bolt fall into place behind me, followed by a top lock and a slider. Geez, who do they think's coming in?

A huge porch wraps around the dining room, but it's got an overhang, and I won't be able to see the moon or the stars. I move off the porch, down the steps, and into the darkness; it's the best way to see the light.

Yep, Big Dipper, Little Dipper, bunch of other stars I don't know the names of.

I stare at the full moon. Man in the moon. Green cheese moon. Turn-me-into-a-werewolf moon. That would be cool.

Full moon.

It hits me—I don't know—like a pain in my chest. I told Dad about this once before; he said it was growing pains. But I kept complaining about it, so the doctor had me X-rayed, said I had a good heart, and sent me to a counselor, who said I had a sad heart and needed to talk about it.

I didn't want to talk to the counselor, but he was eager to fix me. Finally, just to satisfy him and get the sessions over with, I told him I missed my mother, that I felt her in my bones, that I had some sense of her even though I was only, like, two when she left.

After a while, he proclaimed me
cured
.

I stare at the moon. Man, something hurts. I head back in to Dad.

24

Allie Jo

I am squished so low in the gazebo I think my knees are going to bust. What is so interesting about that moon? It feels like Chase has been staring at it for hours. I can just make him out through the lattice.

Oh, my gosh, I need to pull my legs out, but I don't dare because he might hear me. Streaks of pain race along my neck from tilting my head at a weird angle, but I hold this position. I am aware of everything—my heartbeat, my breathing, the crickets, the frogs. I feel like I did when I drank Mom's coffee once; every single nerve throbs with energy. It's kind of exciting.

Go, go, go!
I can't be crimped down like this for much longer. A caterpillar climbs onto my flip-flop and crawls over my toes. It tickles, but I don't dare move.

Tara taps my shoulder and I almost yelp. Craning my head around, I glance at her and she gestures toward the pool, where Chase is slipping through the hotel door, back inside.

I bolt upright and shake my foot. The caterpillar goes flying. That's practice for when he becomes a butterfly later.

“Whew!” I laugh and turn to Tara. “He didn't see us! That was great.” It was her idea to hide from him.

She peers over the lawn, then gets up and sits on the bench, sopping wet. She's wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. I guess her mom didn't pack a lot of outfits.

Even though it's muggy outside, the springs are seventy-two degrees all year round. I touch her arm. “You must be freezing!” I say.

She seems to think about this as she rubs water droplets off her arms. “I'm not used to swimming without my coat.”

“Your coat?”

Her eyes widen for second. “I mean …” She laughs. “Perhaps I
am
cold!” Leaning her head, she drapes her hair to her side and twists it, wringing out the water. “And wet!”

“I'll get you a towel!” I dash over to the cabinet and come back with a nice, fluffy towel.

She wraps it around herself like a cape. Even sopping wet, she could be a model—she's that pretty. She dabs her face with the towel, then lowers her arm.

“I like it here,” she says.

“Me too,” I reply. “The gazebo and the garden room are tied for my favorite spots.”

“I mean, I like everything here.” Turning to me, she asks, “Have you enjoyed growing up in this place?”

“Oh, yeah!” The Meriwether is like my own little town, and I know all the villagers—Clay, Chef, the cooks, the housekeepers. My dad is like the mayor and my mom is the first lady. And don't forget the privileges. “From my bedroom to the counter at The Meriwether's ice cream parlor are two hundred and fifty-three steps.” I know this because I've had more than one occasion to count them. “I get blueberry pancakes every morning and everyone here knows me.” I give her some tidbits from the tour, not the whole spiel, of course, but just the stuff about the old days. “I love living here,” I say.

She takes it all in, everything I've just described. “It's quite beautiful,” she says.

A warmth pours over me and settles into my heart. The Meriwether is part of me; it's built into my bones. Hearing how she feels about it makes me like her even more.

As she pulls the towel off her shoulders, I can't get over how graceful she is. And soaked. “Do you want to go in? You should probably change into something dry.”

I stand up, thinking she's going to do the same, but she only watches me. I quickly sit back down again. “Um …”

The look she gives me is direct and open. I don't know why, but it scares me a little.

“I don't have anything dry,” she says.

I know she's waiting for me to say something, but her words don't make sense. My head tilts.

“I have no other clothes.”

I pull my head back and laugh a little, like I do when I'm nervous. “What?” Is she playing a joke on me? But when I look at her hard, I see she's dead serious. “But you're on vacation!”

Slowly, she shakes her head while staring directly at me. “I'm not on vacation, Allie Jo.” Her eyes gleam in the darkness.

“I ran away.”

25

Chase

It was blazing hot when we first got out here. My skin fried under the heat and sweat trickled from my cast. The only relief was the thin clouds that blocked the sun for a few minutes; now clouds fill the whole sky. Still, it's one of the best days so far—Sophie sits next to me, splashing her feet in the ice-cold water.

Looking at her makes me nervous. I stare into the water instead. Clouds in the sky are reflected in the water below.

“Man, this is cold,” I say. “I can't feel my feet anymore.” But I'm still hot.

Sophie laughs. “I'm freezing.”

I steal a quick glance at her and see goose bumps on her arms. It's funny how you can be cold and hot at the same time.

A tall, grayish bird flies over the spring and settles in the cattails. He walks like a flamingo.

“Are you and your dad having a good vacation?” Sophie asks. She draws her feet up from the water and shivers. I picture myself wrapping my arms around her just to keep her warm.

Every night, Dad hunches over his typewriter, his notes strewn all over the desk. But then again, he
has
to work. He brought me here with him, and right now, at this very moment, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. “Definitely,” I say, staring straight at her because I can't help it. “Definitely a good vacation.”

She smiles, bites her lip, and bends her head for a second. When she looks up, she goes, “I'm having a good vacation too.”

I feel that current again, like when two magnets pull to each other. My eyes sweep down her face, over her shoulders and arms, which are still covered with goose bumps. Without even thinking, I reach back and pull my shirt off, fumbling to get it over the cast.

Sophie's mouth is an
O
.

I hand the shirt to her. “Put it on,” I say. “You'll warm up.” I act nonchalant, but I feel good, like a guy who just threw his coat over a puddle so a lady could walk across.

She pulls the shirt on and it drops loosely over her head. Scooping her knees into it, she says, “Thanks.” A little smile crosses her lips and she looks down.

I look away. The sight of her with my shirt on makes me feel like a lion. My chest fills with pride. My heart turns to mush. I've never had this feeling before.

I steal a glance at her and she looks my way at the same time and we laugh.

Wisps of hair cover her eyes. I want so badly to reach over and smooth them away.

“Who's your mom visiting?” she asks.

Something near my heart strikes up. “What?”

Sophie puts her hand near mine. “I heard she was visiting some other people.” Her voice is tender. “Is she coming back?”

I peer over the edge at my reflection wavering in the water. I see my face, which has Mom's eyes and cheekbones, and I see the springs right through myself, depending on how I focus. Moss-covered pebbles line the bottom; it's only a few feet deep right here.

Why not?
I think. I jump in feetfirst, making sure to hold my broken parts up.

Sophie screams and shrinks back from the spray. “Aren't you freezing?” she asks, laughing.

Freezing? I'm totally numb. I laugh and pretend to splash her. “It's just right,” I say. “I can't feel a thing.”