Epilogue

New York, 2031

Follow me,” Ben said in a whisper. “I cracked the code to the padlock on the office. Let’s check it out.”

“What was it?” Charlie asked, picking at a scab on his knee that he’d gotten from a scrape when he and Benny had been climbing the fire escape at the motel two weeks earlier.

“The street address of the Golden Hotel. Phoebe and Zach do not have much imagination.”

It was after 11 p.m. at the Golden Motel, and Ben Hoff and Charlie Weingold, sixth and seventh graders respectively, were supposed to be sleeping in the room they were sharing for the weekend. But why would these best friends, who were more like cousins—siblings even—sleep, when they could be causing mischief at the hotel owned by their uncle and cousin respectively?

It was Labor Day weekend, and the Weingolds, Goldmans, Glassers, and Weingold-Glassers were planning to spend the weekend at the Golden Motel, as was turning into tradition. The motel had seen its highs and lows over its twelve-year existence—it turned out having a website and a phone number was a good idea—and Phoebe and Zach had also realized that reading the comment cards (not technically cards because they were submitted electronically) could be very useful, even if the complaints stung.

Favorites at the motel, if the TripAdvisor reviews were any indication, were the thoughtful offerings of nostalgia. The most popular activities were the cha-cha lessons, bingo, and karaoke. But for Ben and Charlie, the best things to do at the hotel were to hide in its many seductive crevices, steal desserts from the freezer, and prank call the hotel guests after midnight.

“Well, if it isn’t the tiresome twosome,” Brian called when the boys slipped into the locked office. The lights had been out, but Brian’s face was illuminated by a single bulb in a desk lamp. “Tell me, you boys looking for something?”

They both reddened. It was one thing to bend the rules and get caught by Phoebe or Zach, who were definitely grown-ups but still cool and with more recent memories of what it was like to be young. But Brian, whose hair was gray and who chastised them in a deep voice, was a whole different story.

“Um, we were just . . . I thought I left my—” Ben started to say, attempting to save Charlie from a punishment.

“Save it, kid. You are just like your great-grandfather. He always had that mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s what made all the guests love him so dearly.”

“What was Grandpa Amos like?” Charlie asked. Even if his son was trying to steer the conversation away from the boys breaking the rules, Brian was willing to oblige. He missed his father every day and insisted that Phoebe and Zach put bags of Famous Amos cookies in all the guest rooms to pay homage. Amos had died shortly after the Golden Motel opened, and, to everyone’s grave disappointment, had never gotten to see the second iteration of his legacy. Among the family, they called the motel “Golden 2.0.”

“Your grandfather was a wonderful man. Hardworking, smart, a devoted husband. And most of all, he was a loyal friend. Like the way you boys are to each other.”

“Can we hear more?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Brian said. “Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. But not now. Now you both go to bed, and try not to get into any trouble on the way upstairs. Ben—don’t make me rat you out to your grandma.” He gestured to the framed picture of Aimee on his desk.

“We got it, Dad,” Charlie said. “Before we go, Ben and I have some ideas for the hotel. We were thinking a skate park in the garden, and also, could you tell Phoebe and Zach to put in a gaming room, and—”

Brian put up his hand to stop them. This was how it started, wasn’t it? Traditions uprooted by the energetic voices of the young. He would hear them out. He’d make sure the co-CEOs did, too, his niece and his wife’s son. But not tonight. Tonight, he was tired.

The boys saw that he meant business.

“Good night! Night!” they called out, and scrambled out of the office.

When they were gone, Brian swiveled his chair around to look at the portrait of Amos and Benny, which had been moved into the office to keep it from getting damaged by the many inebriated guests of the Golden Motel.

“Good night, gentlemen,” he said softly, and he could swear they answered him back.