The Summer of Moonlight Secrets Page 14

  Mrs. Duran hurries over to us. “Do you know him?”

  My resolve crumbles and tears fill my eyes.

  Her face hardens. She turns after him. “Excuse me? Excuse me?” But he barrels into the hall and disappears among the guests.

  “Are you all right?” She strokes my hair. “What did he say to you?”

  Sophie sneezes a big one into a new wad of tissues. “He showed her a picture.” She wipes her nose and stares at me. “Who is he?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure,” I say, and it’s true. Reaching for one of Sophie’s tissues, I try to ignore what my tears are telling me.

  You have a father and a mother. She lost hers. How mixed up would I be if Mom and Dad died? I rub my nose with the tissue. I can’t think of a world without Mom and Dad in it. But I do, and more tears threaten to flood my face. Then I picture them losing me. They’d go to the ends of the earth to find me, just like Mr. Smith is doing for Tara.

  Sniffling, I sit straight up and rub my eyes with my hands. I think I know what I should do now.

  51

  Chase

  Allie Jo tells me I just missed Sophie. “And that’s not all,” she says. She fills me in on Mr. Smith showing up again.

  I’m steaming hot. We’re folding towels out by the pool cabinet. With so many guests here for the festival, the pool is finally getting some use. Only a few people brave the springs.

  “He’s not her uncle.” The sun scorches the top of my head.

  “How do you know?”

  I shrug. “I just do.”

  Apparently, that’s not a good enough answer, because then she goes, “Well, then, how would he know her and how would he have a picture of her?”

  “If you think he’s her uncle,” I start, “why didn’t you tell him she’s here?”

  Three kids link arms and leap into the water, splashing us. I don’t flinch like Allie Jo does; the cold drops feel good.

  She refolds my last towel. “I almost did.” Sighing, she goes, “She said she’s a runaway, and here he is looking for her. I mean, how would he even know? It doesn’t make sense if he’s not her uncle.”

  Still, something’s not right here. “I got a bad feeling from him at the front desk.”

  The kids in the pool start playing Marco Polo. “Man, it’s hot,” I say. “Let’s go sit by the springs.”

  We wrap up the last few towels and cross the lawn to the springs.

  I crash on the concrete pad and dunk my feet in. “Aah!” The boy’s body longed to plunge into the frigid water, but he dared not, for the father would not like the new cast getting wet. Still, I move to the edge and stick my legs in as far as they can go.

  Allie Jo does the same. “But do you know what I mean? Why would he be looking for her if he wasn’t her uncle? And how does he know her name?”

  “Her name’s not Pamela; she doesn’t even notice that name.” As proven by my experiment when Sophie and she were doing the taste tests.

  “She doesn’t notice it because maybe she is a little … not right in the head. Maybe she believes she’s this whole other person. If she is … off, she needs her family.” Allie Jo stirs her feet in the water, sending ripples my way. She hunches over. “People just can’t turn into seals; that’s not even possible.”

  I close my eyes and my mind goes underwater, shooting through the green and blue depths of the springs. I remember Tara’s power and grace that night; I remember the moonbeams.

  I am Selkie.

  Allie Jo elbows me. “Chase, right? It’s not even possible.”

  Glancing at her wordlessly, I turn back to the springs, shut my eyes, and slip away.

  52

  Allie Jo

  I don’t understand why I couldn’t get Chase to agree with me about Tara yesterday. When I was little, I was a mermaid, a princess, a girl who could fly—I was lots of things and they were all make-believe, but I knew it.

  Tara doesn’t know it.

  She really believes she’s a Selkie. Even if there were such a thing, she would look more like one, like, like—I don’t know—how vampires have fangs and fairies have wings. I tried to point this out to Chase but he didn’t agree or disagree. It was so frustrating.

  One thing I don’t need anyone to instruct me on is family. If Tara’s uncle hadn’t shown up, she would have been part of my family. I was planning it, I could imagine it, and it wasn’t make-believe either. It was real. But a blood relative is even more real. I woke up this morning knowing that.

  If I see Mr. Smith again, I’ll reunite him with Tara—Pamela. Family needs each other.

  Even though it’s six fifteen in the morning, the hotel staff buzzes with excitement. Everyone who’s helping at Taste of Hope sits in the break room as Dad gives out last-minute instructions. The dark smell of coffee fills the room, and the adults guzzle it to start their engines.

  Sophie’s parents left a note for me at the front desk that Sophie had a fever last night and is too sick to come out. I feel bad for her, but I’ll get her some goodies from the other booths.

  Chase and Tara sit with me at a table in the back. We’ve got fancy waitstaff uniforms on, and everyone looks sharp. Glancing at Tara, I see her hair’s wet, probably from an early morning swim. My heart falls upon realizing this. I try to raise a smile in her direction, but now I feel sad thinking that something is not right in her brain.

  I wonder if it’s a person’s fault if they’re sick in the head. Maybe they need to pay attention or read more books. But I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s their fault. On TV, they show mental patients acting all weird, like having a million different personalities or killing people. I don’t think those TV people have ever met someone with brain problems. Tara’s good. She would never do that stuff.

  “Okay!” Dad claps his hands and we file out to the shuttle buses.

  Clay leaves the front desk for a moment to walk with Tara, and Chase takes this opportunity to argue with me about her and her uncle. He wonders why her uncle doesn’t call the police or offer a reward or something. He calls the man a creep, a schemer who wants to kidnap her.

  I’m done talking about this. I shut him up by saying, “Or maybe he’s just her uncle come to take care of her.”

  When we get to the park, Mrs. Brimble and her daughter in college, Toni, are washing down bistro tables on the lower end of the hill, where their booth is set up.

  “Hey, Toni!” I yell. “Hi, Mrs. Brimble!” They straighten up, smile, and wave back.

  I pass the booth for Books ’n’ Such. “Hi, Miss Pauline!” I scan her booth real quick. Yep, she’s got the jar where you drop your name in, and later you might be the winner of a free book of your choice. I’ll be back here for sure. Gracie’s Attic, Flowers & Vines by Sieg, Coffee Haus, Anne-tiques—they’re all here. Miss Joanie is talking with Miss MaryAnn, who has already set up her easel and is painting on her first canvas of the day.

  Looking up and down at the rows and rows of tents and calling out to people, my heart swells with excitement.

  All over the hill, people raise their tent flaps and set up their wares. Music pipes from loudspeakers and we’re still cutting through the people when we hear the Toot! Toot! coming from the Children’s Train. There’s a ripple of applause and laughter and it’s like we’re all one big family getting ready for something fantastic to happen.

  I can’t wait.

  53

  Chase

  When Allie Jo showed me the phone message from Sophie’s parents, I felt like stripping off my bow tie, which Dad had carefully done for me, sliding out of the vest, and heading back upstairs. I almost said so, too, but one look at Allie Jo and I knew she was counting on me. Besides, we still have to decide what to do about Tara.

  As we jostle down the hall to the shuttle bus, Clay hooks up with us and starts talking to Tara. Good luck, dude.

  I lean over to Allie Jo. “There’s something’s wrong with the way her uncle acts. Why doesn’t he talk to your dad instead of bo
thering you?”

  She glances at me real quick and talks out of the side of her mouth. “Because he knows I’ve seen her.”

  “So?” I say. “If he thinks you know something, why doesn’t he call the police? He said they were involved—right?—but I haven’t seen any.”

  “He doesn’t want to scare her,” Allie Jo says. She has an answer for everything.

  “When people lose their dogs, they put up signs, they tack up pictures, put notices in the newspaper.” I try to think of what else they do. “They offer rewards.”

  Allie Jo stops walking. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” One hand goes on her hip. People flow around us. “What do you think she’d do if she saw a sign on a telephone pole with her picture on it?”

  “She’d run—”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wait. I mean she’d run because she’d know it wasn’t safe to stay.” And right then an idea pops in my head. “Maybe she’s inherited millions of dollars and this creep of an uncle is after her so he can control the money.” I rub my chin. “It makes perfect sense.”

  We lag behind the others. She shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t. He’d be glad she was gone. He could pretend she was dead and have the money all to himself.”

  “Maybe that’s his plan! That’s why he doesn’t want the police involved! He doesn’t want anyone to know she’s alive—that’s why he kidnapped her before.”

  Allie Jo walks faster. I have to quicken my pace to keep up with her.

  Just as we join the others, Tara turns around from up ahead as Clay heads back to the front desk.

  Allie Jo says, “Or maybe he’s just her uncle come to take care of her.”

  The bus lumbers over brick roads, rocking me gently. I zonk out. After what seems like only a minute, Allie Jo jabs her elbow into my side.

  “You were snoring!” She and Tara laugh. “Get up!” Allie Jo exclaims. “We’re here.”

  We spill out of the bus and join hordes of people streaming up the hill. I’ve noticed that even when you don’t live in a place, you find yourself scanning faces as if you’d see your friends. I don’t know anyone, of course, but Allie Jo’s like a celebrity making her way through the crowd. Hello, So-and-So. Hey, there! How’re you doing? Now, if she could only get that queen wave down, she’d be set.

  Dad will be here later, interviewing people and taking pictures.

  I sidle up to Tara. She’s very quiet and a little stiff. “You okay? You seem a little tense.” Then I think how we’re walking by all these tents—oh, man, way too much time with Allie Jo.

  Tara lowers her voice. “There are many people here. I can’t track all of them, and the heat messes up their wakes.” She rakes her fingers through her hair.

  “Their wakes?”

  “The trails they leave behind.” Her eyes flit over the crowd, then back to me. “In the sea—”

  Something inside me clicks into place.

  “What’s all this whispering?” Allie Jo crashes into the middle of us, looping one small arm around each of our backs.

  I shake myself out of it. “We’re feeling kinda tents,” I say.

  Allie Jo nods. “Don’t be tense. You’ve just gotta—” Then she lifts her chin and smiles. “Oh! Good one, Chase.”

  Yeah, I still got it.

  Chef sets us each up with a platter on which he’s put fancy, miniature paper plates with one-pancake servings. Because of my cast, I hold my platter on the palm of my left hand, and I feel like a butler. Pancake, Madam? Sir? They go like hotcakes. Oh, too much. I crack myself up.

  Allie Jo sticks to Tara, and I keep an eye on her too. I had become still when she talked about the sea. It seemed so real, so true; I felt it in my bones.

  I’ve been over this a hundred times since last night and I still haven’t figured it out. One thing is sure, though: her name isn’t Pamela. I’ve thrown it out there a few times and she never once reacted; I don’t think she’d be able to control her reflexes that well. My head snaps when people say cheese, and I’ve probably heard a million cheeses today with all the picture snapping.

  Her uncle’s definitely lying about her name.

  Mr. Jackson gives us a break before lunch. I’ve passed out so many blueberry pancakes that I need to get away from that sweet smell before I barf.

  “Let’s go to Books ’n’ Such,” Allie Jo says. “I want to put my name in for a free book.”

  Tara watches as Chef opens the refrigerated trailer. He’s getting ready to turn over for lunch, the big item being shrimp cocktail. “I’ll stay here,” Tara says.

  Chef grins. “She’s my best shrimp taster.”

  Tara smiles. I can tell she feels comfortable in the bubble of our tent. Allie Jo and I push our way through the surge of people. It’s as crowded as a skating rink, where you have to wait for an open space to come by and jump into the flow.

  We swim upstream toward the book booth, but before we get there, I pull her over to the side of a tent.

  “We gotta talk about Tara,” I say.

  Allie Jo frowns. “I know—we have to find her uncle.”

  “What?” I say. “No!” Then I remind her how he’s lying about her name. “He’s lying about something else too.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I just get a bad feeling from him.”

  Allie Jo shakes her head. “He’s her uncle, and if she’s sick, she needs him. She needs to be with family.” She casts her head down. “I know she said she was Selkie, but maybe that’s something she needs to believe since her parents died.”

  “Well, my mom’s gone and I haven’t turned into Bigfoot.”

  She looks up at me. “But your mom didn’t die; she just left. That’s a big difference.”

  Fire ignites in my heart. “Yeah, that’s right. Who cares when your mom just leaves.” I sneer. “It makes every holiday easier, one less present to buy. No sappy Mother’s Day stuff to do.” I twist my head and get in her face. “Maybe your mom should leave and find my mom and they could make a club.” I laugh scornfully. “What should they call it? You got any good jokes for that?”

  Her big, green eyes become pools of water. “Why are you being so mean?”

  “Because you act like it’s no big deal my mom left.” I feel my teeth showing as I talk.

  “It is a big deal,” she says, one tear slipping down her cheek. “That’s why we have to find Tara’s uncle.”

  I press my lips together. I see her tears, but I’ve got a bigger point to push. “Don’t you see? Her uncle’s lying about something.”

  She shakes her head. “She needs him.”

  “He looked kind of seedy to me, like a guy with no money.”

  Allie Jo looks at me with slit eyes. “What difference does it make if a person’s poor? That doesn’t mean they’re hotel rats.” Her tears evaporate. “That doesn’t mean they’re seedy.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing.” She wipes her eyes and says, “I’m going to the book booth.” Folding herself into the crush of people, she disappears without a backward glance.

  I jut my chin out. If she’d let me finish my sentence, I would’ve reminded her of what Tara said about the guy trying to make money off her, and how she cried when she talked about him. Even if she is living in a fantasy world, something’s not right—something besides her head, I mean.

  If I see that guy, I’m gonna ask him a bunch of questions. My brain cells explode with them on the spot, thanks to having a reporter for a dad: What’s her real name? Why are you looking for her? Where are you from?

  It occurs to me that Smith is a very common name. He might as well have called himself John Doe. A new question forms in my mind: Who are you, Mr. Smith? Who are you really?

  54

  Allie Jo

  I can’t believe Chase would make fun of someone just because they don’t have money. And here’s another thing—his mom’s not around and that’s why he doesn’t understand about family, but I
’ve got mine, and I know how important it is. That’s why I’m going to see to it that Tara gets hers back.

  All day long, he keeps trying to talk to me about it, and I keep shaking him off. But we’re having fun too; even Tara’s having fun. What with the fudge we got and the cotton candy and the magnets, spinners, and postcards, I think it’s been a pretty good day.

  The darkness changes everything. The sun is an orange orb melting into swirls of purple and blue. The tents glow, lit from the inside. Kids run around wearing glow-in-the-dark necklaces.

  Chef’s turned over for dinner, and we’re now serving prime rib, small cups of Caesar salad, and Italian ice, lemon, cherry, and blueberry. I’m sampling the blueberry when I hear some girl shriek Chase’s name.

  A blond head bobs up and down and bursts out of the crowd. Oh, brother. It’s Jennifer Jorgensen. And—oh my gosh—she’s cut her hair short like Tara’s. Oh. My. Gosh.

  I slip the spoon out of my mouth and stare at her. She holds a big cone of cotton candy and waves it around like a scepter. The music and the sounds from the carnival games blast through the air, so I can’t hear what she’s saying to Chase, but from the way she keeps smiling and gesturing, I think it’s safe to say she’s spazzing out over him.

  Tara nudges me. “Go talk to her.”

  No way. “I don’t want to talk to her.”

  “Don’t avoid what scares you,” she says, cutting me right through to the truth.

  I turn to her and look up. “She always ignores me or acts like I’m stupid. I don’t want to be friends with her.”

  “You don’t have to be friends with her,” Tara says. “Just don’t be scared of her.” She glances their way. “I need to refill my platter,” she says, then looks at mine. “So do you.”

  Just like that, she strides over and Jennifer and her friends make room for her. Jennifer says something, probably hello, and Tara returns the greeting. Tara comes back with a full platter and stares at me meaningfully.