Finding Grace (6 page)

Chapter Sixteen

We don't leave for a week. There are so many things to do. Mom talks to Mr. Pinn about the life insurance money. He promises to make some phone calls and two days later Mom comes home with three crisp one hundred dollar bills.

“The rest is in the bank,” she says.

I've never seen a one hundred dollar bill before. And we have three of them!

I go down to the pool and tell Joe I'll be away for a while.

Mom checks the bus schedule. A Pacific Coach Lines bus leaves for Harrison Hot Springs every day at eleven o'clock. Mr. Pinn is a gold mine of information about Harrison Hot Springs. He told Mom it's a little village in the Fraser Valley, tucked at the end of Harrison Lake, which is huge. He says people go to the famous Harrison Hot Springs Hotel to swim in the pools, which are heated by the hot springs. The bus trip is a milk run. That means it stops in all the little towns on the way. It will take us more than three hours to get there.

I pack my suitcase. I stuff in shorts, T-shirts, underwear, my bathing suit,
The Secret of the Wooden Lady
and
The Clue of the Black Keys
(which I plan to read over again), my hippo, Harry, and my Dear Grace letters. I figure the letters might give me luck. I don't know if it's going to be hard or easy to find Grace.

Mom almost changes her mind. “I don't think I can do this.”

“You can.”

“We probably won't find her.”

“We will. Mr. Pinn said there are only about three hundred people living in Harrison Hot Springs. How hard can it be to find one person in three hundred?”

That makes Mom smile.

I wish I felt as sure as I sound. The plan seemed perfect when I thought of it. Find Grace and Mom will stop being so sad. But what if it doesn't work that way? What if it makes Mom worse?

And there is another question chewing away at me. If we find Grace, what are we going to do then?

• • • • •

The Pacific Coach Lines bus is better than the city bus. It's bigger and the seats are comfortable with high backs. The driver stows our suitcases underneath the bus, and I scramble up the steps to grab a seat near the middle of the bus by the window. Mom sits across the aisle from me. There are only a few other people who get on, and they go to the back.

It takes a long time to get out of Vancouver. The bus makes a couple of stops and more people get on. Just when I think the city is going to go on forever, green fields with black-and-white cows in them, barns, and farmhouses appear. For a while, I keep track of the towns where the bus stops – Maple Grove, Haney, and Mission.

Eventually, I slide across the aisle and sit beside Mom. I dig in the bag by her feet for a bologna-and-mustard sandwich. Mom is asleep, her head pressed up against the window. She looks beat. I've gotten her this far anyway, which is a small miracle.

Three bites into my sandwich and I suddenly feel sick and can't eat any more. If Granny were here, she would say it was nerves. If I have to be honest, a teeny tiny bit of me is scared, but mostly I'm excited.

I have a twin sister!

The thing is, I know something about twins. I read all the Bobbsey Twin books when I was little and I've read other books with twins in them. So I'm pretty sure that when I meet Grace, we will have an instant bond. We'll probably be telepathic and know each other's thoughts.

I told that to Mom last night and she got a funny look on her face and said, “First we have to find her.”

• • • • •

The bus is hot and stuffy and I'm starting to doze a little too, when the driver announces the town of Agassiz. I jerk bolt upright in my seat and then lean over to poke Mom awake. Agassiz is the last town before Harrison Hot Springs. A lot of people get off, and then we are on our way again. We pass a few farms, but mostly the view out the window is forest.

The trees are blowing in the wind and raindrops spatter against the window. The road is twisty and the bus sways on the corners.

Suddenly houses spring up on both sides of the road. I spot a sign that says
Camping
, a gas station, a café, and a bright blue shack with a giant wooden ice-cream cone on the sidewalk in front of it. The bus is heading straight toward a huge stretch of choppy gray water, which must be the lake Mr. Pinn talked about. I think we're going to drive right into the lake when the bus swings to the left. A minute later, it rumbles to a stop.

“Last stop!” the driver calls out cheerfully. “Harrison Hot Springs!”

We spill off the bus and all of the passengers mill around for a few minutes, waiting while the driver opens the compartment underneath and unloads suitcases and bags onto the pavement. The bus is parked in front of a huge bubble-gum pink building with a white roof and windows with white frames. A man in a spiffy gray uniform is standing under a pink-and-white striped awning. A fancy sign says
Harrison Hot Springs Hotel
. I feel like I'm in a fairy tale.

A cold wind is blowing; I hop up and down while I wait impatiently for Mom, who is the last one off the bus. By then the other passengers have disappeared. The bus rumbles away and we're left standing there beside our suitcases.

The wind wraps Mom's turquoise skirt tight around her long legs, her hair is wild and flying everywhere. It's obvious that the man in the uniform can't take his eyes off her. “Are you coming into the hotel?” he calls out. “Can I help you with your luggage?”

Mom hesitates. “I think so. Maybe.” She sighs. “I mean, yes, thank you.”

He's very helpful, jumping to grab our suitcases, opening the glass door, and ushering us inside. No one has ever held a door open for me before. I feel like Queen Elizabeth. I look around in awe. We're in a pale blue room with bright red furniture. There's a totem pole in the corner and four super-tall trees with skinny white trunks. (Real trees
inside
the hotel! I'm not kidding!)

“Outlandish,” Mom murmurs beside me. “What on earth is this going to cost?”

“We've got three hundred dollars,” I remind her in a whisper.

“But it's got to last.” A frown crinkles Mom's forehead. “There are bound to be lots of motor courts in this town. They'll be cheaper. Maybe we should look around.”

“I want to stay here. Please, please,
please
.”

Mom sighs. “No promises. Watch our suitcases while I ask.”

She goes up to a counter with a sign that says
Reception
and I peer into another room. There's more white trees in there and an enormous fireplace made out of stones. A table is set with teacups and teapots and plates with cookies and pieces of cake. People are perched on sofas and armchairs, holding teacups and napkins and chatting. I wish I had enough nerve to steal a cookie.

Mom is taking a long time. I cross my fingers. I am eleven years old and I have never stayed in a hotel in my whole entire life.

Then Mom is back. She's holding a shiny gold key. And she's smiling.

Chapter Seventeen

I adore our room. Mom says they told her at the desk that it's called French Provincial, which sounds so
elegant
. It has blue-and-white curtains that go from the ceiling all the way to the floor, a ginormous bed with puffy pillows, and two chairs covered in purple velvet.

We even have our own bathroom with a gigantic bathtub on curved feet, stacks of thick towels, and soaps wrapped in pale pink paper. I try some lotion from a glass container and test the taps, which gush with steaming hot water.

When I come back into the room, Mom is flipping through a skinny yellow phone book. “There's no Donnely in here. There are only a couple of pages for Harrison Hot Springs. And there's no Donnely.”

For a second, I don't know what Mom's talking about. Then I remember that Donnely was the last name of Sharon, the nurse who adopted Grace. I guess I just thought that Grace's last name would be King, like mine.

“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 hair, 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.