The Summer of Moonlight Secrets (8 page)

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 left 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?”

“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
.