The Summer of Moonlight Secrets Page 6

  “Yeah!” I’m pleased she knows about it.

  “I can’t wait to go! It sounds like fun!”

  She knits without looking. I watch as a whole row comes out of nowhere.

  “You know,” I say, considering her speed, “I’ve got to help assemble favors for The Meriwether.” I get a big boost in my allowance because there’s so much work to do. Usually, Dad lets me pay the boys to help, but having people around my age to help with the work is even better. So I say very casually, “I could use another employee.”

  She stops knitting. “You mean me? I would get paid?”

  Enthusiasm is a quality I like in my employees. “You could help me hand them out at Taste of Hope too.”

  All the restaurants and boutiques around here have booths where they give stuff away. It’s fun because The Meriwether puts up a booth and I get to pass out free samples of our food. We also have brochures, but I like passing out the food better because when you hand someone a flyer, they don’t really care, but when you hand them some food, they are always happy.

  Sophie’s whole face lights up. “That sounds like fun!”

  “It is!” I tell her how we’ll get to wear waitress uniforms and have our hair all fancy, and we’ll still get to go around and get stuff from the other booths. “People come from all over the country for this,” I say. “Everyone turns out.”

  “I wonder if Chase will go,” she says.

  I’m glad I don’t like a boy. It seems to control all your thoughts.

  The glider sways back and forth. Absentmindedly, I say, “I wonder where his mom is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, first he told me she was visiting other people; then he told me she was gone, like disappeared or something.”

  Sophie stops knitting. “Disappeared? Like, what do you mean?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. He sort of got mad at me when I tried to ask him.” It can’t be good, though. And it sinks in now that maybe this was a secret. Me and my big mouth.

  21

  Chase

  I’m encrusted with salt and I smell like a fish, but I am happy.

  Today Dad and I drove to St. Pete to explore the area and ride in something called a Duck. It’s this bus that takes you on a tour of the city. The driver talks about the history of the area, and then all of a sudden the bus splashes into the water and you’re sailing!

  By now, the sun was setting and Dad was gazing off into the distance, looking all writerly. I could practically read his thoughts: The breeze washed the man and his son in the scent of the bay. Coloring the sky in hues of orange and watermelon red, the sun melted into the horizon, leaving the father and his boy in awe at such glory. Dad had his head in his camera bag when I saw a black fin circle out of the water behind the boat.

  Shark!

  “Folks, if you look behind us, you’ll see we’ve got some dolphin friends.”

  Okay, dolphins! The crowd gasped, and lucky for me and Dad, we were sitting in the last row. Two dolphins launched out of the water and nose-dived back in. Everyone broke into applause. Then they loop-de-looped across the surface—real dolphins! Click, whir; click, whir—the sound of Dad’s camera, capturing it all.

  My skin is sticky and so is my hair.

  “You first in the shower,” Dad says once we’re back in our room. He slips his bag off his shoulder and starts going through it. I tease him about carrying a purse, but it’s really more of a soft briefcase he keeps all his notebooks and stuff in. “Hey, where—” He scans the tabletop. “I left a notebook in the car. Be right back.”

  Right after he leaves, the phone rings.

  It’s Gail, one of the ladies Dad works with. I picture her permed brown hair and painted nails.

  “Hey, hon. How ya doing?” she asks.

  “Broke my arm,” I say.

  “Oh, no! That kind of puts a damper on your vacation.”

  “Tell me about it.” Gail’s cool. Too bad she’s got a crush on Dad.

  “Your dad there? I’ve got to get some expenses from him.” Ah, using work as the excuse to call.

  “He’s out—”

  She gasps. “He’s out?”

  “He’s getting something from the car. He’ll be right in.”

  “Oh,” she says. I bet she doesn’t know how relieved her voice sounds.

  We do the small-talk thing until Dad walks in.

  “Hi, Gail. Let me get my papers,” he says when I hand him the phone. Nothing like whispering sweet nothings into someone’s ear.

  Poor Gail and her curly hair. Dad is still in love with Mom.

  22

  Allie Jo

  The gazebo is lit up with white Christmas lights, the little kind. They hang from the gingerbread trim like crystals, making the whole thing look like an old-fashioned jewelry box. A couple of old oaks hang low near the gazebo, the lace of Spanish moss touching the roof. Opening one of the French doors of the Emerald Dining Room, I step onto the veranda and head out to the gazebo.

  After we’d cleared the supper dishes, Mom started washing and Dad got a towel to dry. I swear, two lovebirds.

  “Can I go sit on the Emerald veranda?” I asked. Summer nights are especially nice, with the moon shining down on the springs. Sometimes I sit in the gazebo and listen to crickets.

  “Go ahead, honey,” Mom said. “Just come back in before too long.”

  The lemony smell of the citronella lamps drifts in the air. I like that smell. I like the way the fire flickers in the lamps, which look like streetlamps from the old days. Dad ordered them a few years ago to keep down the mosquitoes. Good thing, too, because I hate to spend my evening swatting at bugs.

  I turn off the gazebo lights, sit on the bench, and gaze out over the springs. Stars twinkle, and if you could hear them, I bet they’d sound like the crickets, who chirp in the dusk. Frogs join in with their rubber-band melody.

  Leaning back against the post, I stretch my legs out along the bench and let out a deep breath. This is just the kind of summer night I love. I sit back and let the chirping and the twanging fill my ears.

  This morning when I turned on the tape recorder, Isabelle said her favorite ride at Disney World was the Grand Prix Raceway because her mom let her lean over and steer the car. So I know how to drive now, she said. Why didn’t you go on it?

  Karen’s voice came from a little ways off. Television noises played in the background. ’Cause I went on Space Mountain with Dad. Besides, I have my license now, so I can drive real cars.

  Isabelle got very close to the microphone and said, Karen is sixteen. She’s a good driver.

  It must be nice having an older sister.

  I shift on the gazebo bench, rambling over my day, and then I notice it—the melodies have cranked up in volume. It’s like they have loudspeakers. Sitting up, I look around.

  The full moon casts a yellow light on the grounds, moonbeams skipping over ripples in the spring. I get to my feet. The springwater surges, almost lapping over the concrete pad. The springhead bubbles wildly, noisily, louder and louder.

  My heart whirls in my chest. The spring is going to explode! Run! Run! I tell myself, but I’m rooted to the spot.

  Huge fish jump out and splash down, one after the other; then, across the darkness on the concrete, I can just make out small, leaping shapes. The frogs! They’re jumping, making their way around the pad as if they’re following something.

  Then I see it, the thing they’re following, a big thing. It bobs up for a second, but in the moonlight, I only make out the dark shimmer of its head.

  I gasp loudly.

  Everything stops. The frogs scuttle into the grass, the fish glide underwater, and the springs settle down to a gentle murmur. Within seconds, the crickets begin their chirping, joined by the frogs and their deep voices.

  I can’t believe what I’ve seen. I pore over the water, which is now calm except for the gentle boil from the springhead. I stare, trying to figure out what just happened.

 
; Then a moonbeam hits a glistening shape emerging from the water. My eyes hollow out. My heart hammers against my ribs. I scream, but all that comes out is a horrible rasp. Long, black tendrils, water rolling right off them—it’s some kind of creature! My feet run, but all I’m doing is jogging in place.

  “Allie Jo,” the shape says, then parts its hair. “Don’t be scared—it’s only me.”

  My mouth drops open. My heart still hammers, but it slows as she approaches and I see it’s her. It’s really her—Tara.

  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.”