“When are you going to find another job?”
I’ve managed to make it home minutes before Mom is ready to head out the door.
That is not so coincidental.
“My last one burned to the ground.”
Mom is all made up and is running around like she always does before she goes to work at Brennan’s Grill and Tavern.
“What’d they ever find out about that?”
“It probably went in the same file as everything else does.”
Some big fat file in a dark abandoned room.
“Poor Iris. I hope she had insurance.” Mom stops and thinks about things for a minute. “Have you ever heard from her?”
I shake my head.
Iris.
I don’t tell my mom that every day since summer school has started, I’ve gone hunting for the scorched remains of the Crag’s Inn. And every day, I’ve come home without even finding the road that leads to it.
A road can’t just disappear.
But the road leading to the inn, along with the inn itself and its keeper, have just suddenly and mysteriously vanished.
Hey, if a mysterious island can do that, maybe so can an inn …
“Well, when you see her, tell her if there’s anything I can do …” Mom says.
I’m wondering what she has in mind. Replenishing the bar?
“Did you ask the teacher about getting your license?” she continues.
I laugh. “Mom—you don’t ask Mr. Taggart anything to do with … well, anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you saw him, you’d understand. He just walked off the set of a zombie movie.”
“You have to get your license, Chris.”
“I know.”
She gives me a look. With the sun spilling into our small cabin, I can see her up close. Her eyes are red and watery. No amount of makeup can hide that.
“I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge. Half a chicken sandwich and some spinach dip.”
“Together?” I make a face.
She shakes her head and starts for the door, then realizes she doesn’t have her car keys. I find them on the counter and hand them to her.
“Get that smirk off your face,” Mom says in a feisty tone.
“What?”
“You know what.”
I shrug.
“Just because you’re able to ride around on that motorcycle doesn’t mean you’re grown up. I’m not going to keep paying for gas, you know.”
Uh-huh. She’s one to talk about being a grown-up. And part of me really thinks she likes paying for the gas. It keeps my smirk and her guilt far away.
Mom looks at her watch. “I’m gonna be late.”
Exactly.
I see the door shut. And suddenly, there it comes again.
That lightweight feeling.
The quiet. The
dare I say it for fear of rats morphing into bats crawling out of the closets
peace.
It’s close to one o’clock on a Friday afternoon on a summer day. I make sure Midnight has a bowl of food, then give her a good-bye pat on her head. The little black Shih Tzu seems content to sleep the day away on the couch.
I find the other set of keys and pick them up.
It’s time to find the woman who gave them to me. Or at least find the place where she’s buried.