The Summer of Moonlight Secrets (13 page)

35

Allie Jo

Tara and I are in the tunnels, dank passageways that crawl under the hotel in every direction. Crumbling bricks line the entrance tunnel, hidden from public view by sloping gardens. Gliding underground into the semidarkness, I feel something like a runaway myself. Mist from the springs wraps around me, making my skin dewy. A slight mildew smell floats in the air. I hear the
drip, drip, drip
of a leak.

When we hit the service area, the tunnel splinters off into a bunch of different smaller shafts. Rough wooden staircases start up, then turn; you can't see from the ground where they lead to. Tall, skinny doors shut off some paths. Workers still use these tunnels, but mainly as a shortcut to get to the parking lot or the springs. That's why I'm walking on my toes. If anyone is down here, I want to hear them before they hear me.

When we reach the service tower, I motion for Tara to follow me. I expect her to look scared, like Melanie does when I bring her down here at night, but Tara slides her hand along the wall and her face is full of wonderment.

Well, of course she wouldn't be scared. She's been staying in a maid's closet upstairs where there are no lights—she's obviously not afraid of the dark.

We head up the tower stairs, which are wide on account of the porters having to carry those trunks through here and deliver them to the proper rooms, all without being seen. I stick my head up to the porthole on the first-floor landing. All clear.

I turn to Tara. “Stay here,” I whisper. My heart's beating faster than a hummingbird's wings. I turn the knob, wincing at its metallic click, then scamper across the hall to the front desk and pull a little key from under the countertop. The front desk closes at ten, so Clay and Dad are gone. Even so, I hurry. I unlock the wide cedar cabinet behind me; more than half the keys hang inside. Which room? I lift the key for 201. Being on the north corner, it's got two views of the parking lot. I'm pretty sure no one's got reservations for it.

“Freeze!” someone barks. The voice is commanding enough that I do. I am a frozen statue, my heart pounding like a kettledrum. Then he laughs.

I purse my eyebrows. “Chase, that's not funny.” I stalk past him.

He falls in behind me. “Where you going?” He's holding two cans of soda. “Why are you all wet?”

“Shh!” For all my sneaking around, he's talking right out loud, about to give me up without even knowing it.

His voice is surprised when we slip through the door of the service tower. “Tara!”

She at least has the good sense to say hello quietly.

The darkness in the tower covers our movements. We tiptoe close to the rails so no creaks can give us away.

“What are we doing?” Chase whispers.

How did this get to be
we
? “
I'm
putting Tara in a room,” I say. “Now be quiet!”

I check for all clear on the second-floor landing, motion to Tara and Chase, and cut to 201.

“Whoa!” Chase glances around once we're inside, then looks at Tara. “Your own room! Cool.”

I say, “Well, at least for tonight.” Even one night seems risky, but she deserves the comfort. “Is that root beer?” I ask him. “I sure am thirsty.”

He glances down at the root beer, then reluctantly hands it over.

I pop it open and drink a big swig.

“May I have some?” Tara asks. “I'm thirsty too.”

She wrinkles her nose as she lifts the can to her mouth, then takes a small, careful sip. “What spirits are these?”

“What?” Chase and I say together.

“This drink—it bubbles and boils.” She looks at us plainly. “What spell does it cast?”

My lips part in confusion.

“Watch and see!” Chase grabs the can from Tara, downs about half of it, then lets out a huge belch.

“Gross!” I say and throw a pillow at him. He laughs. I turn to Tara. “Don't you drink soda?”

She shakes her head. “We don't have soda where I'm from. I don't think I like it.”

Chase heads for the door. “I gotta get going. My dad's waiting on this pop.”

“Don't let anyone see you,” I say. “Look through the crack first.”

He waves me off. “I got it,” he says, then slips out.

I'd better get going too; Mom and Dad will be wondering where I am. Quickly, I show Tara how to use the TV and the shower. I set the TV to a program I like, something that might make Tara laugh.

When I get back to my own suite, Mom and Dad are sitting on the couch, watching the same show.

“Have a nice time?” Mom asks, then leans back. Her mouth drops in horror, the kind of horror only moms can have. “You're all wet!”

Dad whips his head around. He stares at me, waiting, like Mom.

“I … went swimming.” What else can I say?

Mom's horror intensifies. “At night? Were the pool lights on? Was anyone else there?”

They think I went in the pool. “I'm sorry.” I feel like I'm lying, but I'm not. I never said I jumped into the pool.

She comes around the couch and stares at me with mom eyes. “You didn't ask us if you could go swimming. What if something had happened?”

Coarse and bristly shapes dart through my mind.

Mom puckers her eyebrows. “Allie Jo?”

“Nothing happened,” I say, almost pleading, because I don't want to talk about this anymore. “I was safe.”

“You know better than to swim at night without someone around.”

Someone
was
around, but I can't say that. I look straight at her. “I'm sorry.” I try to emphasize it. I
am
sorry, but at the same time, something happened tonight, something bigger than me swimming at night without permission. I want to be left alone so I can think about it.

Dad steps up. “Well, go take a shower and put your pj's on,” he says, sighing. “And dry up that puddle you're making.”

I look down and, sure enough, water trickles from my clothes, down my legs, and onto the floor. I pull the towel from around my shoulders, sop up the water, and dash past Mom and Dad to the bathroom. My bones feel loosey-goosey, like noodles. No wonder, after all the excitement tonight.

I face the shower, let the hot water pour over me. For all that batting around, there're no scratches on my arms. Sea cows, I think, and try to laugh like Tara did. But I can't. I'd been terrified. If she hadn't dived in when she did—I don't even want to think about it. I turn my back to the water and close my eyes.

36

She'd seen the magic box before. The man had had one—TV, that's what they called it—but he kept his dark. Instead, he filled the air with endless schemes as to how he would use her to get into the magic box and make “buttloads” of money. She did not know how much a buttload was, but she gleaned a sense from the man that it was far greater than he had now.

Tara glanced around at her present surroundings. Allie Jo said she would be safe here, showing her the bathroom and how to work something called a remote. Walking behind Allie Jo, she'd picked up a new sense in the air the girl had passed through. Love, or something like it. She trailed her fingertips where Allie Jo had touched the walls; she felt … security … salvation. Yes, she thought now, alone in the room, she'd been right about Allie Jo.

She'd been right about Chase too. He was a kindred spirit. What a magnificent thrum he'd produced after drinking the soda!

She flopped onto the bed, so bouncy! She grasped a pillow and hugged it to herself. Everything was soft. Perhaps humans made things that way because the earth itself was so very hard.

The people on the magic box sat on a couch. Could they see her? Still squeezing the pillow, she sat up and leaned forward. They spoke only to each other. A new person came in through a door. How did they do this? She looked behind the magic box and spied a long, black cord. The wee folk must walk to and fro in the cord, gathering in the magic box. Unlike the man, she had no desire to go into the magic box; what if she got stuck?

Moving to the front of the TV—for she decided she must use the human word for it—she watched the TV people talk. They looked everywhere except straight at her. She rapped on the glass. A crowd of people laughed, hundreds of them! She dropped to the floor in fright, her heart pounding. Crawling, she reached the other side of the bed and peered over the edge. No crowd appeared on the TV, but she had distinctly heard them. The TV people carried on as though nothing had happened.

This box disturbed her. Looking at the remote, she saw all kind of buttons and markings; she was about to turn the power off—and here again she marveled that humans could wield such power over the wee folk—when, suddenly, a woman appeared in a bathroom.

Squeezing a liquid into her hands, the woman made bubbles in her hair. Doing so caused the woman to smile with great joy. Tara watched until the other people came back into the box. Then she turned the power off. She didn't want the wee folk wandering about when she had her back turned.

In the bathroom, she came upon bottles not unlike the one the woman had. Her heart thrilled! She would partake of this joy. She uncapped the bottle. A sweet scent wafted up, tickling her nose, and she understood this was a potion. She couldn't wait to get into the water.

Tomorrow, she would see Allie Jo again. Allie Jo had promised to bring her breakfast, something called blueberry pancakes.

She hoped it tasted like fish.

37

Chase

Dad's schedule is loose this morning, so I take him out to the springs.

“Hot already,” Dad says. When we sit on the concrete, he takes off his sandals; the shape of them is branded in a crispy sunburn on Dad's red feet.

“Stick your feet in,” I say. “They'll feel better.”

He plunks his feet into the water. “Oh!”

I laugh.

“Look.” Dad gestures to the only other people out here, an old couple.

The lady is inching her way down the concrete steps; the lower she goes, the higher she hunches her shoulders. A white bathing cap makes her look bald. Then she straightens her arms in front of her and goes under with a little jump. She pops up and whoops.

“Guess it's not the fountain of youth,” Dad says. He leans over and points. “An egret!”

He scans the horizon, and I feel him drift away from me. He's doing it again—narrating the scene. I bet it sounds like this:
It was a cool—
wait!
—a
balmy
morning when I sat with my son at the mouth of the fountain of youth. An egret fished nearby, while hopeful tourists bathed in the springs, praying Ponce de León was right.

“Earth to Dad.”

He answers without looking at me. “Yeah?”

“Dad!” I kick up some water. “I'm trying to talk to you.”

He looks at me, but he's not quite focused.
The ever-present bubbling of the springs, while not restoring youth, rejuvenated her soul, which before had ached with the pain of life.

“Dad? Dad!”

His pupils shrink. Finally, he's come to the surface. “What?” He grins. He knows I've caught him. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “What do you want to do today? Go to a movie? A museum?”

Yes, museums—top of my list, right under malls and church.

I tap my feet on the water's surface, causing little fish to dart away. “I don't know.” A lizard is not two feet from my hand, blowing out a red sack under his neck. “Dad, look!”

He leans to see around me. When he does, I catch sight of Sophie and her parents walking out to the pool.

“Sophie!” I bellow. So much for playing it cool. I raise my left hand and wave. “Sophie!”

I can see her smile from here.

“Hi, Chase!” She does that little finger toodle girls do.

“That's how the males attract the females,” Dad says.

“What?” I whip around, caught in the act.

“The lizard,” Dad says, a cockeyed grin taking over his face. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Nothing,” I say. But I can't help grinning back.

Dad and I were still thinking about what to do when, out of nowhere, it started storming. As we ran in through the dining room, I turned and saw Sophie and her family running in by the pool.

That's why I didn't mind at all when Dad said a nap sounded good.

“Go ahead, Dad,” I assured him. “You need it.”

He headed up the stairs and I pretended not to see Sophie and her parents as I made my way toward them. I put my finger to my chin, hoping to look interested in the old black-and-white photographs on the walls: “Clark Gable Enjoying The Meriwether's Famous Blueberry Pancakes,” “Construction Site, 1887,” “Hope Springs Eternal.”

“Chase!”

I turn from the photos and act surprised. “Hey! The rain get you?”

“It's pouring!” Sophie unlinks arms with her mom and smiles up at her. “Okay if I hang out?”

My heart does a little zing.

After her parents leave, I shove my hand into my pocket. “Knit anything lately?” Way to be a dweeb, Chase! Geez!

“Actually, I knit every day,” she says. Her eyes twinkle.

“That sounds good,” I say. I think about our kiss last night. “Allie Jo told me you're helping with Taste of Hope.”

“She told me you are too.” She looks at me shyly from under her eyelashes.

“Well,” I say. “Maybe we should go report to the boss.”

It's only a short way from where we are to the front desk, but I feel every second of it. I'm aware of how I walk and how I smile, and when we look at each other, a hum goes through me. I reach for her hand.

An old couple passes us in the hallway, and they smile at us. Oh, man, is it that obvious? My face is probably all lit up with a goofy grin, big doofus, but when we pass more photographs and I look at our reflection, I see a girl and a normal boy.

I stick my chest out and smile at my reflection.