“Your dad’s pretty cool,” I tell Allie Jo after lunch. “So’s your mom.” We sit on their sundeck. The view isn’t the best—it overlooks the top of the restaurant. Vents that look like chefs’ hats hum with blades spinning inside them. Different food smells float up here, but I’m already satisfied by the grilled cheese.
“Yeah, they are pretty cool.” She slouches in the lawn chair and puts her feet up on the railing. “What’s your mom like?”
I shrug.
“Oh, yeah,” she says, “visiting other people. When’s she coming here?”
I don’t feel like making up a story. I take a deep breath. “She’s not coming here,” I say without looking at Allie Jo. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
I cock my head and look at her sideways.
Her face shifts from confusion to shock. Then she covers her mouth. “Oh! That’s terrible!”
“Not dead,” I say. “Just … gone.”
“Like, what do you mean? Are they divorced? Don’t you see her anymore? Don’t you know where she is?”
“She’s just gone, okay?” I slam my back against the chair. A seagull lands on the deck by me but leaves when he sees I have nothing for him. “No big deal,” I say in a quieter voice. “Okay?”
Allie Jo looks at me like she’s reading for comprehension. What does she know anyway? Her mom probably calls her “honey” and her dad’s in the kitchen getting ready to make us ice-cream sundaes.
She starts to say something, but I cut her off. “I think I better get going.”
“Oh.” She looks down.
I get up. “Thanks for lunch,” I call out to her dad as we pass the kitchen. I head for the door and turn around. “Hey, Allie Jo, guess what?”
Her eyes become alert. “What?”
“I have to return my butt to Kmart,” I say. “Mine’s cracked.”
She snickers.
I’d fit right in here.
17
Allie Jo
I’ve finished my blueberry pancakes and got a double portion of tuna for Jinx. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately—she’s eating more than she ever used to.
I snitch a peppermint on my way past the hostess stand, and when no one’s looking, I cross the hall, walk a few paces, and press on the chair rail, which is just a piece of wood trim. Strolling down the hall, you’d never notice the secret panel that opens up to the nanny staircase. It looks like every other part of the wall, with the wainscoting and chair rail, but press down, and—voila!—secret staircase.
I slip in real quick, shutting the door with my foot.
The grand staircase is wide and elegant, with curved handrails and turned balusters. The reason it’s so wide is—well, you have to think about those turn-of-the-century ladies wearing those big hoop dresses while trying to get through the place. In fact, it’s on account of those ladies that the stairs were built with huge landings between flights. Those poor ladies squeezed into corsets so tight, they could barely breathe, yet they had to walk up and down these stairs gasping for breath and no air-conditioning on top of it. That’s why fainting couches were available on each landing. And they were used mightily too.
The staircase I’m in is the secret nanny staircase. You might think this staircase would be wide too, since the nannies were ladies, or girls, and they wore hoop skirts and corsets too, and on top of that, they had a trail of children with them at all times.
But no, this staircase is narrow and dark. The landings are only big enough for you to turn up to the next flight of stairs. There’re a few lights in here now—though most of the bulbs burned out a long time ago—but the nannies had to find their way by oil lamps at night or window light by day. Of course, those windows are no help these days; they were painted black during the Second World War, when this place was used as a barracks and a hospital. I guess no one ever saw fit to strip the paint off the windows.
I turn the peppermint over in my mouth as I scrape the tuna fish into Jinx’s bowl. I’ll listen to Isabelle for a few minutes, then go do my chores.
“Hello.”
I scream and drop the container.
“You!” I say, trying to regain myself, which is hard to do after shrieking in front of someone.
“I’m Tara,” she says. She tips her head and waits.
Tara. It’s the sound of wind and branches blowing, dark and mysterious.
“Sorry,” she says, except it comes out as sore-y. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you all right then?”
“I’m all right.” Usually this room is invitation-only, but immediately I make an exception for her. I want to know why she was hiding, why she swam in her clothes, why she’s wearing that same outfit, and where the heck she’s been all this time. “I’m Allie Jo.”
She smiles. “I know.”
I sure do like her accent. “Where you from?”
Something changes in her eyes when I ask that, like a transparent shade coming down. I can still see her, but it’s like I can’t see in.
“Around, all over. I’m from a lot of places.”
“Military.” I nod my head. Military kids move all the time. No wonder she has an accent. In school, there’s a kid from an Air Force family who was born in England and has an English accent. When he turns eighteen, he gets to choose which country he’ll be a citizen of.
I study Tara carefully. “Are you eighteen yet?” I wonder which country she’ll choose.
“I’m sixteen.” She pulls her hair forward and strokes it.
Luminous. That’s the word I think of. I heard it on a shampoo commercial. Her hair is luminous; it shimmers in the light. She looks like a mermaid.
“You’re so pretty.” I slap my hand to my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.
She laughs, but not in an I’m-making-fun-of-you way. It’s a gentle laugh, a nice laugh, not snippy, which is how Jennifer Jorgensen would laugh. And this girl is way prettier than Jennifer—she’s beautiful.
“You’re pretty too,” she says, and smiles.
My face heats up a little. Well, where are my manners? “Whyn’t you sit down?” I sit on the carpet remnant, leaving the beanbag for her. But she sits on the carpet across from me, folding her legs like a dancer. Her posture is straight; without even thinking, I pull myself up out of my slouch.
Rain patters lightly outside, filtering through the jacaranda leaves; orchid petals float down with the raindrops.
Tara gasps. “The creature!”
“What?” I snap my head around. “That’s Jinx!” Jinx leaps down from the window and sidles up against me. I rub her back. She’s a little damp from the rain.
She slips out from under my hand and pushes her side into Tara’s leg. Tara laughs and pets Jinx. “Her fur is soft.”
It makes me feel good that she likes my cat and my cat likes her. Sophie did nothing but sneeze when I brought her up here, but it’s not her fault she’s allergic.
“I thought I saw you at breakfast the other day,” I say, “but it wasn’t you. Where’ve you been?”
She laughs, and it floats around me like dandelions—soft and breezy. “I wanted to see you,” she says. Though her eyes are black, they glitter with light.
I look up at her. “You did?”
“Yes. Just as you wanted to see me.”
I stop for a minute. She’s right. I did want to see her. “Wow …”
The sky outside darkens. A gust blows in and rustles the kudzu, causing a monarch to close its wings and hold on tight.
She tilts her head and watches me closely as she asks, “Did you keep our secret?” It’s a question, but she says it like a sentence. “Did you tell anyone about me?”
I nod. “I mean”—I shake my head—“I didn’t tell anyone about you.”
Thunder rumbles gently from far away.
She watches as Jinx pads up to the tuna and starts chowing down. I watch her watch Jinx; she licks her lips and swallows.
Turning to me, she says, “
I’m hungry. The black shells have no meat in them, but the fish is delicious.” She steals a glance at Jinx and licks her lips again.
“Tuna salad,” I say. No wonder I never see her. She must hit the lunch buffet; I always eat lunch at home. “I don’t think Chef has turned over the menu yet, but we could go down and get breakfast.”
She shakes her head. “Too many people.”
“There aren’t too many people!” That won’t happen till Taste of Hope, when the hotel bulges with people staying over for the festival.
“Allie Jo,” she says, laying her hand on me. Her hair grazes my arm and a shiver goes right down to my feet. She holds me still with her gaze. “You’re my friend; I picked you. I feel strength and goodness in you.”
“You do?” I like strength and goodness. “Do you feel anything else in me?” If she does, I want to know—maybe it’s something really cool, like I discover a new planet or win the lottery. “Are you a gypsy?”
She throws her head back and laughs. “You ask a lot of questions.” Then her smile fades and she straightens up. Her eyes pierce mine deeply. “I’m just a girl, like you.”
Jinx leaves her bowl and climbs onto the beanbag. Spreading out her paws, she kneads it like dough, then curls up and settles into it. I become aware that the rain has stopped; plus, Dad’ll be expecting me for the brass. Polishing brass is one job I never miss because I actually get paid for it.
“I have to go,” I say, standing. She stands up too. “You don’t have to leave,” I quickly offer. I’d kind of like to think of her here, enjoying the place. A warm breeze swirls into the room, gently touching the leaves. The bark on the jacaranda branches has darkened from the rain, causing the light green of the leaves to stand out. “Why don’t you stay?”
“I would like that,” she says. “Allie Jo?” she calls as I head out the doorway. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here—do you promise?”
“You won’t get in trouble. I won’t tell your parents.” Isabelle didn’t tell her parents that Karen flunked a math test because Karen and her best friend were too busy passing notes in class to pay attention.
“But do you promise?”
I nod. I don’t do anything silly like pinky promise or cross my heart and hope to die. Her face is so serious I get the feeling the promise is about more than just her being on prohibited grounds. In fact, I’m sure of it.
18
When Tara neared Allie Jo, sensations flooded her—kindness, strength, loyalty, and another one, a kind of loneliness. Why did humans suffer so? She’d felt similar vibrations from the one she later learned was called Chase, except his vibes leaped through her system like electrical charges. Wave upon wave crashed within her—his fierce loyalty, boldness, and wisdom, and under it, intense currents of sadness, loneliness.
She’d begun to feel these things too. She tried to close her ears, shut these sensations out, but it didn’t work. How did they live with this noise in their souls? At times, she thought she might not bear it, that she might crumble under the weight of it.
She sat in this room, lush with green plants and other living things. The jinx slept. She reached over to the bowl and finished off the tuna.
The old ones warned them of others who had never returned. She and her friends listened with big, brown eyes, but after the elders slipped away, she and her friends giggled at the stories, throwing their heads back until every word of warning floated away on bubbles of laughter.
Would now that she’d heeded the words of the old ones.
19
Chase
No one ever tells you how much it rains in Florida. It should be called the Rain State, not the Sunshine State.
Stuck inside again. As I pass the front desk, Clay stops me.
“Message from your dad,” he says, handing me a pink paper that says, I’m at a truck stop near Gainesville. I-75 is jammed up from some accident. Not sure how late I’ll be.
I sigh.
“Tough luck, right?” Clay leans forward on the desk. “Why’s your dad always gone?”
“He’s a writer. He’s got this big travel assignment down here and I was supposed to do everything with him, but—” I lift my cast up.
“Bummer,” he says.
“Tell me about it.”
He pushes up from the desk. “Well, have a good one.”
“Thanks.” I watch as he walks back into the office. I feel like dinging him back over here just for someone to talk to.
I wander out into the empty hallway. Lightning flashes, so at first I think I’m seeing an optical illusion, but no, it’s true—a wall panel creaks open. Cool! Very cool. I don’t remember that being mentioned on the tour.
I sprint down the hall. “Whoa! Allie Jo!”
She startles big-time.
I check out the wall behind her. No door handle, no hinges that I can see. “How did you get in there?” I ask, running my hands along the wall. “Is that a secret room? Open it up!”
She acts like she didn’t hear me, starts walking toward the front desk.
“Allie Jo!” I say. When I see she’s not stopping for me, I run ahead of her and jog backward. “Where you going? You have to show me that hidden panel—that’s so cool!”
“What’re you talking about?” she asks without stopping.
Clay’s back at the front desk and Allie Jo walks around and comes up with a bottle and some rags.
“That panel,” I say. I turn to Clay. “She just came out of a secret panel.”
He cocks an eyebrow at her.
Opening the bottle, she pours some cleaner on the rag and swipes the brass rail. “Move, please.”
I lift my hand before she polishes it. “Is there a secret panel down there?” I glance from her to Clay.
He raises his palms and chuckles. “I’m not saying anything.”
“Okay,” I say, straightening up. “I’ll go find out for myself.” I march away from the desk.
“Get back here!” Allie Jo orders.
A grin crosses my face, but I wipe it off before I turn around.
“Ye-es?” I ask.
She glances around, furrows her eyebrows, and motions for me to come closer. Taking my time, I swing my arm and whistle. But I can’t wait to hear the secret. I lean on the rail.
She looks at me and drops her shoulders. “First of all,” she says, “you just messed up my work.”
“Oh!” I pop my hand off. Sure enough, my fingerprints stand out on the brass.
“Second of all, only employees are allowed to know this stuff, so …” She runs her eyes over my cast. “How good are you at polishing brass?”
“Do I get paid?”
She huffs at me.
I try to cross my arms, but it doesn’t work so well with the cast. “Employees always get paid.”
She gives me a hard look. “There’s almost a quarter-mile of brass on this floor. You think you’re up to it?”
I scoff at her. “Gimme those rags.”
She pushes a clean rag into my hand. “Employees are usually on a three-week probation,” she says, pursing her lips. “But I’ll let you get by on three days.”
“Three days!”
She shrugs.
“Just show me what to do,” I say. I don’t mind making some money. Besides, I intend to figure out those panels before three days are up.
20
Allie Jo
Even though it’s daytime, the porch behind Dad’s office is shady enough to invite mosquitoes, and they’re needling the heck out of me. I swat one on my shin and my own blood smears on my leg. Blech. I flick the mosquito off and wipe my hand on my shorts.
Sophie’s fingers fly over her knitting needles; if she goes any faster, smoke will come off them.
“Have you seen Chase today?” she asks, eyes on her knitting.
I push the glider back and we sway under the fan. “He went somewhere with his dad.” Then I tell her about him working for me yesterday and how he is now an employee but still has two days l
eft of probation.
She steals a glance at me. “What do you think of him?”
“Well, he’s a pretty good worker, and he’d be even better with two arms, but—” I look at her face. “Oh!” I say. “You mean, what do I think of him, right?”
She bites her lip and grins.
A smile plays on my mouth. “Okay …” I wonder if I should tell her that I think he likes her too, which I’m almost positive he does, but since I haven’t discussed it with him, it’s sort of a secret. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”
“And cute!” she bursts out. We both laugh for a moment before getting lost in thought.
One thing I love about this porch is that the jacaranda tree has decorated the ground with orchid petals. Dark green azalea bushes encircle the trunk, but they already bloomed in spring; now they’re setting their buds for next year.
“Eew!” Sophie snatches her feet up onto the swing.
I inspect the floorboards. “Just a lizard. They don’t bite.” He starts his lizard push-ups.
“What’s he doing?”
She seems so grossed out. It makes me think of Melanie and her trick and I laugh out loud. “He’s showing off, like this is his territory.”
I slam one foot onto the floor and he scurries away. They’re especially gross if you accidentally snap off their tail and the tail just wiggles on its own while the lizard escapes. I’m careful not to catch the tail under my heel.
“Yuck,” Sophie says, then leans over and inspects my scarf. “Good job.”
“Thanks.” I glance over at hers, which is a good foot longer than mine. “I’ve just been kind of busy.” With Tara. Suddenly, I’m aching to tell her about Tara, how pretty she is and how wise she seems. But I know how to keep a secret. Instead, I say, “We’re getting ready for Taste of Hope.”
She takes on a look of recognition. “Oh! You mean that big festival on July Fourth?”
The Summer of Moonlight Secrets Page 5