by Jen Calonita
“Hi, Susan. I’m not on the schedule, but I thought if I got here before dinner…”
For some strange reason, the woman hesitated. “She’s had a rough few days.” Izzie’s shoulders tensed. The center had called Aunt Maureen the other night about Grams’s condition. Apparently, she had been having all sorts of health problems unrelated to the dementia. It seemed like after one part of Grams’s body failed, they had all started to follow suit. Aunt Maureen had said it was nothing Izzie should worry about. The woman noticed Izzie’s reaction and gave her a small smile. “But I’m sure she’d love to see you and your friend. Maybe it would help.” Susan pressed a Hello sticker onto Brayden’s T-shirt. “They’re setting up for bingo in the rec room. Your grandmother and her friends are being wheeled down now.”
Izzie and Brayden walked down a bright blue hallway to the recreation room. Hannah, aka the “fun coordinator,” was flinging bingo cards on all the tables. She looked harried.
“Isabelle! How are you, honey?” Hannah asked, eyeing Brayden. “Who did you bring with you today?”
“My friend Brayden,” she said. Hannah dropped a stack of cards, and they scattered all over the floor. “Need help?”
“Yes.” Hannah passed them both bingo stampers. “Can you put these in front of every chair? This place could use some extra hands. When we have an art project for Thanksgiving, a macaroni necklace craft, or a game of bingo, I’m the only one holding down the fort.” She looked embarrassed. “But you didn’t come here to hear me complain. How’s your grandmother today? Better?”
“I haven’t seen her yet.” Hannah nodded. Remembering the note from Abigail Townsend, an idea occurred to Izzie. “When are events, usually?” Izzie asked. “Weeknights or weekends?”
“I can schedule them anytime,” Hannah said. “Why do you ask, sugar?”
“I’m here once a week to see Grams, and I feel bad it’s not more. Plus, I need to do some volunteer work for my cotillion training. Maybe I could help out here,” Izzie said.
“You’re doing cotillion?” Hannah studied Izzie like a level of Angry Birds she couldn’t beat. “I didn’t figure you for the type.”
“Yeah, me, neither,” Brayden agreed, and Izzie gave him a sharp look.
“So what do you say?” Izzie asked. “I’m yours if you want me.” There was no way Abigail Townsend could fault her for picking a nursing home.
“Of course I want you!” Hannah said. “You’re hired.”
“Great!” Izzie grinned. “I’ll start now.”
“Can I help today, too?” Brayden asked. He cleared his throat. “People say I have an excellent bingo caller voice.”
“You’re hired. You’re both just in time, too, because here they come.” The residents began arriving slowly. Izzie spotted Grams near the back of the pack, being wheeled in by her regular nurse, Eileen. Izzie motioned for Brayden to follow her.
She was rattled when she saw her grandmother up close. Her appearance had changed rapidly from even Izzie’s last visit. “I’ll take her from here, Eileen,” Izzie said quietly, and grabbed the handlebars. Grams looked a little paler and thinner than she had the week before, but her blue eyes still lit up her face. Someone had obviously combed her thinning white hair and fastened a tiny pink flower in it.
“Hey, Grams,” Izzie said softly, steering her to a table without chairs, reserved for the wheelchairs. “How are you?” Her grandmother never answered. She just stared ahead, concentrating hard on something Izzie could never see. Her lips barely moved; her eyes seemed to hardly blink. She rarely made eye contact anymore.
“This is my friend Brayden,” Izzie told her.
Brayden crouched down and squeezed her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Grams. I’ve heard so much about you.” Grams didn’t look at him, but Izzie did. Whenever they talked about Grams, he acted like having dementia was the most normal thing in the world. It was at that moment that she knew she’d been right to forgive him.
“Great to finally meet you, Grams.” He touched Izzie’s hand. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
Grams had always been a great sounding board. She didn’t give opinions anymore, but it still helped to talk to her. “That was Brayden,” Izzie whispered, leaning by Grams’s right ear. “He’s the one I’ve been telling you about. I really like him, but his mom is in charge of cotillion, and I know she doesn’t like me.” She glanced at Brayden across the room. He was testing out different caller voices. She fixed the crocheted sweater around her grandmother’s shoulders. “Can you believe I am doing cotillion? Mom would freak. I miss her so much, especially today. Hearing Bill talk about his life with my mom—with Chloe—made me sad.”
At the mention of Chloe’s name, Grams stared up at Izzie, the warmth in her eyes returning for a moment. “Zoe, there you are! I was wondering where you went.”
Zoe? This was a new one. Grams must have said her mom’s name wrong. It used to be hard when Grams thought Izzie was somebody else, but over time, she had gotten used to it. Her grandmother got agitated whenever Izzie tried explaining who she was so Izzie got good at pretending she was her mom. “Hi, there.”
Grams touched Izzie’s hand. “You were gone too long this time, and you didn’t tell us where you were. I told you, silence never solves anything. You have to work through your disagreements. When I’m gone, all you two will have is each other.”
This conversation was new. Who was Grams talking about? Izzie felt like she was getting a peek inside her grandmother’s diary. What else didn’t she know about her mom? Was her mom seeing someone when she died? Was Grams talking about her dad? Had her mom actually mentioned him to her? “You’re right,” Izzie said. “We need each other.” Her heart was beating out of her chest. “Who do I need again?”
Grams’s eyes were squinty and her thin lips went straight, like they did when she didn’t like something Izzie said. “Don’t get snappy. You know who I’m talking about.”
Izzie was dying to say “who,” but before she could, she saw Grams’s expression change. Her grandmother stared at her for half a second in confusion, then looked away, frightened, and stared straight ahead. The old Grams was gone again.
Thirteen
“And that is how you introduce yourself in Japan to a new acquaintance.” Ms. Norberry finished her presentation and gave a final bow to the cotillion class as a reminder of what they had just learned. The class bowed in return.
Mira did a complete ninety-degree bow from the waist, as Ms. Norberry said was the custom when greeting an elder, which Ms. Norberry was. Their longtime cotillion instructor dyed her hair blond, was in great shape, and had amazing suits with coordinating broaches, but there was no hiding the fact that she was in her late sixties and had been running cotillion classes for Emerald Cove for the last twenty-two years.
“Lovely, Mira.” Ms. Norberry noticed her perfect bow. She was wearing a traditional Japanese robe over her suit. Their teacher loved props. “Why don’t we take a fifteen-minute break to get a refreshment, and then we’ll talk about why you should always carry tissues in a Japanese public restroom.”
Mira could tell Izzie’s mood just by her expression. “How to use a Japanese restroom? I had to be up at eight on a Saturday to learn that?” As they walked out of the classroom, she pulled at the dress she had on as if it was constricting her airway.
“International etiquette is very important,” Mira said, walking slightly ahead of her into the Emerald Cove Country Club’s great hall to avoid making eye contact.
“Yeah, it’s right up there with host responsibilities for a dinner party and the proper way to navigate a five-course meal.” Izzie was gesturing with her arms. All Mira noticed was that Izzie’s polish was chipped.
“Before that class you didn’t even know what a shrimp fork was,” Mira reminded her. She couldn’t help but glance at some of the former debs huddled in a corner.
The former debs were on hand to “offer guidance,” as Ms. Norberry called it. What they were re
ally there for that Saturday morning, Mira guessed, was to assign them their next initiation dare. Knowing that, Mira’s former friends had gathered around Savannah on one of the antique couches close by. Savannah held their attention as she chatted away about any number of amazing things she had accomplished that week, and the girls seemed to hang on to her every word.
“I’ve survived almost sixteen years without knowing how to use a shrimp fork,” Izzie said, her eyes resting on the emerald choker on display in a glass case in the center of the room. The lock had been upgraded since Izzie and her friends “borrowed” the necklace a few months back. “I think I can continue to muddle through life without knowing how to use one or how to greet someone in Japan.”
“If we ever go to Japan on vacation, you’ll be thankful you learned.” Mira removed her long white gloves so that she could take a linzer tart from the sterling-silver tray a waiter was passing around.
“I won’t hold my breath.” Izzie took two cookies with her white-gloved fingers.
“Isabelle!” Ms. Norberry swooped in, her wispy yet sharp voice making even the waiter freeze. “Gloves should be removed before dining. Remember your training,” she tsked, sounding like a cranky babysitter. “It’s not proper for a lady to take two cookies before the rest of the guests have had a chance to take one.”
Izzie dropped a cookie back on the tray with a thud, and Ms. Norberry looked like she might pass out. She quickly produced a napkin from her pocketless shift dress and scooped up the offending cookie. “Once we’ve taken food, we don’t put it back,” she said before walking away. “Remember to read your cotillion handbook.” Thankfully, Mrs. Townsend wasn’t around to chime in. She had a meeting at Emerald Cove Castle on the Cliffs about the Winter White Ball. That woman was like the godfather of cotillion, and having her around put even Mira on edge. She could only imagine how Izzie felt.
“Remember to read your cotillion handbook,” Izzie said, mimicking Ms. Norberry. Mira gave her a look.
“Toss the handbook out the window, ladies,” Dylan said as she came up behind them. “I barely opened that thing, and they still let me put on a puffy white dress.”
They had been caught gossiping red-handed. Mira turned around to face Dylan and couldn’t help but gape. What was that girl wearing this time? She had on a strapless black dress that barely reached her mid-thigh, and four-inch-high stiletto heels. Dylan smiled at them as she held out a tray of white teacups. “Tea?”
“No, thank you,” Mira said even as Izzie took one. “I don’t want to get anything on my dress. Ms. Norberry would probably make me go home and change.”
Dylan continued to hold out the tray. “You don’t look like the klutzy type. Take one,” she insisted. Mira was afraid to argue. “Wait till you taste this tea. It’s so outrageous, you’ll want to drink every last drop.” She winked. “See you later.”
Mira and Izzie looked at each other and then at their teacups. This obviously had something to do with initiation, but what, Mira didn’t know. Izzie practically chugged her tea, and a small drip landed on her chest. Mira quickly blotted Izzie’s dress.
“Geez, how thirsty are you?” Mira admonished.
“I think something’s on the bottom of the cup,” Izzie said, coming up for air. Mira watched as Izzie stripped off a note folded to the size of a thumbnail that had been taped to the underside of the cup. She carefully opened it as Mira drank her tea faster to see if she had a note, too.
Number One:
We want to see how well you know your Emerald Cove history. On the bottom of each of your cups is a number. Work together as a class and find all fourteen items based on your clues. After you find each object, take a picture with your phone and text it to DEBS4EVR. Rule number one: Everyone must be in the picture. Rule two: Finish all fourteen items together or do the whole thing over another day. Remember, as always, we’re watching!
XO,
Your Cotillion Captain
“Mine has a note on it,” Mira told Izzie. “I think I got the directions. What does your note say?”
“Number two,” Izzie read. “The clue is ‘what is green and only gets greener?’ What does that mean, and when are we supposed to slip away from Ms. Norberry long enough to find out?”
Just then, Ms. Norberry rushed into the great hall. “Girls, I’ve just received an urgent phone call from my aunt Bertha. I don’t even know how she had the number here! I need to run over and check on her, but I’ll be back by noon at the latest.” She made a face. “I apologize for keeping you late today.”
A statement that normally would have been followed by groans was met with concern about Aunt Bertha and talk of studying up on their Japanese toilet training. Ms. Norberry was pleasantly surprised. After watching her car pull away, the fifteen cotillion pledges conferred in the center of the room while the former debs stood watch.
“My note just has a frowny face on it!” Savannah said when the coast was clear. “Everyone has a clue but me.”
“I guess someone besides me doesn’t like you.” Izzie smiled serenely.
“So? No one likes you, and you’re still here,” Lea snapped. Full-fledged bickering broke out, just as a loud clap of thunder rattled the club.
“Great!” Lauren looked at the stained-glass windows. “A thunderstorm. If we have to go outside, we’re going to get soaked.”
“Why do I think that’s the idea?” Charlotte said. She had on an incredible dress Mira recalled seeing in this month’s Vogue.
“I’m not ruining my new Tory Burch shoes,” Savannah told the others.
Mira looked down at her own cute shoes. They’d never survive all this rain. Fighting and complaining heated up.
“Enough!” Izzie barked, startling all of them and making Mira jump. “Do you guys want to whine about your shoes or get this assignment done? We only have about an hour, so let’s let Mira read the directions so we can get started.”
“Who put you in charge?” Savannah asked.
Izzie glared at her. “I did. Want to fight me for it?” Savannah backed away.
“Wow, someone should tell Izzie Scott to run for class president,” Mira heard Charlotte whisper to a girl next to her. “She knows how to even put Savannah in her place.”
Charlotte was right, Mira realized, watching Izzie command the room. Izzie was a natural leader. She was always harping on her to get the Butterflies’ next event going, but Mira never had the time. If Mrs. Fitz said their next event didn’t have to be till January, then who was she to push? But Izzie would push all of them. It made her wonder.
“Mira?” Izzie looked at her strangely. “The directions?”
“Sorry!” She read the directions as another roar of thunder rocked the club.
“How are we supposed to collect fourteen things if only thirteen of us have clues?” Savannah asked them. “Mira has the directions, and my card doesn’t say anything. We’re going to be short one item.”
Izzie shrugged. “Let’s hope something about your clue comes up as we go along.” Savannah sat down in a huff. “I’ll read my clue so we can start.”
“She probably forged her clue,” Lea whispered loud enough to be heard.
“Lea, that’s not nice,” Savannah scolded even though she was clearly enjoying herself now that she wasn’t on the chopping block anymore. “He denies forging the signature, remember? Too bad he didn’t keep a copy to prove it.” The girls snickered.
Just that morning, Grayson Reynolds had run a story about Bill Monroe supposedly forging another district representative’s signature on an important water preservation bill. Izzie’s dad was a mess. “Donald told me to add his name to the bill!” she heard him tell Callista as Izzie sat quietly and ate her Lucky Charms. “He signed a copy as soon as I got to the office. That’s not forgery!”
“Is there something you want to share with the rest of us, Lea?” Izzie stared the girl down.
“No,” Lea squeaked. She sounded less sure of herself than she did a minute ago.
“Maybe they mean the golf course,” said Charlotte. “Isn’t that called a green? It’s made of grass, so wouldn’t it get greener throughout the spring and into summer?”
“Works for me,” said Lea, and she took off running, probably just to get away from Izzie, who was still glaring at her.
The sounds of heels across the cobblestone floor echoed through the room. The group ran past the ballroom and down the stairs to the golf shop, rushing past the men whose sessions had been cut short, and out the door as raindrops pelted their faces.
“Now what?” Lauren asked, staring at the puddles on the golf course. “Are we supposed to take a picture on the green? I thought this was a history lesson.”
“Look over there!” Mira spotted a flag on the putting green. The flag bore the Emerald Cove Junior League’s insignia. Something was tacked to the bottom of it. She ran over and pulled down a Ziploc that held a piece of paper.
“It’s another note!” She ran back to the others under the small golf pro shop awning. “ ‘Golf is not for paupers,’ ” she read. “ ‘Maybe that’s why it’s always been played in Emerald Cove, ever since Victor Strausburg settled here. Using his emerald seed money, he built one of the country’s first courses. Today, it’s part of the Emerald Cove Country Club and is a prize-winning course.’ ”
Lauren practically tackled a golfer carrying his heavy golf bag in from the rain. “Sir, would you mind taking our picture?”
“Are you serious?” he asked, the raindrops dripping down his forehead. Lauren motioned to the others, who ran out and stood in the rain as it flattened their hair.
“Read the next clue before I melt,” Lauren barked when they were done pretending to smile for their picture. “Who has the second clue?”
“Me!” Charlotte opened her note. “ ‘You know me as the queen of royalty, the starter of it all, but as I sit pale and silent, I wonder what some are saying about me. After all, there were rumors I was a witch.’ ”