“No, I don’t have a reservation. But Bert, you know me, it’s Clara. Clara Morgan, I was here for weeks and weeks this spring.”
“I do know you, Ms. Morgan, which is why I know you know the rules. No one goes up who doesn’t have a reservation.” Bert the security guard frowned at me over his clipboard. “Unless you have a day pass. Do you have a day pass?”
Bert was killing my buzz. “No, but if I need to buy one, I’ll buy one.”
“Does anyone know you’re coming?” He looked at me pointedly. I knew what he was asking. Did Archie know?
“No,” I said, swallowing. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, frowning. “I thought that might be the case.”
“I’m here for a good reason, though, I promise,” I said, trying my best to look contrite and deserving.
“You’re not planning on making some kind of scene, are you?” he asked, looking dubious.
I swallowed hard once more. “No.” I certainly wasn’t planning on it.
“You want to buy a day pass, huh? The day’s almost over.” He looked at his watch.
“Bert, I’m literally begging you. Just give me the day pass, and I promise you, you won’t be sorry.”
“I can’t give you a day pass.” Dammit. I mentally began wondering whether I could hike through the woods up the side of the mountain without getting lost. “I can sell you a day pass, though.”
“Bert. I love you.”
“You better keep those words handy, Ms. Morgan,” he replied, blushing a little as I handed over my credit card.
“You don’t have to, you know”—I looked up at him with a pleading look—“call up there and tell certain people I’m on my way, do you?”
He looked at me with an amused look, then handed me the tag and my credit card. “I don’t suppose I do.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Bert.” I started to roll up the window when he waved at me.
“I went ahead and gave you a guest parking pass on there, even though you’re not technically a guest. That way you can park at the main house in case you’re trying to get up there quickly and all.” He winked.
“Thank you, thank you so much!”
“Good luck,” he called out as I drove away.
“Hopefully I won’t need it, otherwise I’m coming back for you, Bert!” I yelled back.
I looked quickly at the clock on the dashboard. Four thirty. I wracked my brain trying to remember what the hell they did up here on Fourth of July. I’d gone over this with recreation, I knew this. I knew there was a lobster bake for dinner, I knew there were campfires and s’mores, I knew there were eventual fireworks over the lake . . . but there was something else special they did during the day. Watermelon races? Egg toss? Probably, likely, but no, there was something else. A big tradition, something they’d always done, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember!
I made the last turn, and there it was. Stretching out over the entire horizon, the hotel was grand, so very grand. And in the warm summer glow, it was a night and day difference from the still grand but somehow almost bleak first impression I’d gotten when I saw it for the first time that freezing cold afternoon so many months ago.
Now the hotel was shining in all its summer finery. Balconies filled with flower boxes bursting with a riot of summer reds and oranges, rocking chairs filled with people of all ages, and American flags flying from atop the parapets along the roofline.
The front lawn where I’d watched kids hunt for Easter eggs was bright green and trimmed neatly, kids playing croquet with the same mallets as their parents did when they’d learned. More rocking chairs lined the Sunset Porch, which faced the mountains, these filled with guests having an afternoon cocktail before heading up to the big barbecue.
And something else . . . dammit, why couldn’t I remember?
No matter, the hotel looked incredible and inviting. I drove around to the parking lot quickly, skipping the valet and swinging into the first open slot I saw. I ran my hands through my hair, tweaked my cheeks like a good Scarlett, and started off for the main house.
Two steps into the lobby and I ran into Mrs. Banning and Mrs. Toomey.
“Hello, ladies! How are you, I’ve missed you!” I cried out, stepping quickly over to embrace them. I was just all full of the love today.
“Well, I never,” huffed Mrs. Banning.
“I also never,” Mrs. Toomey chimed in, equally huffy.
“What’s the matter,” I asked, looking down to see if I’d spilled something on my sundress, wondering why in the world they didn’t want to hug me. Unless . . .
“You have some nerve, showing up here,” Mrs. Banning scolded, looking at me like she’d sooner see me strung up on the flagpole than Old Glory.
Mrs. Toomey nodded fiercely in agreement. “I should say, coming up here, on a holiday no less. I certainly hope you’re not here to cause trouble for him, young lady.”
“Ahhh,” I sighed, understanding. “And the him you’re talking about would be Archie?”
“Oh, so you remember his name, do you?” Mrs. Banning said, raising her eyebrows so high I was surprised her forehead didn’t split open.
“I see, so I take it everyone knew that we were—”
“Yes, exactly,” Mrs. Toomey hissed. “Everyone knew that you were. And if you’ve come back to break his heart again, just know that we’re not going to let you do it, right, Hilda?”
“That’s right, Prudence.”
“In fact, one of those new industrial linen manglers just arrived. Would you like a demonstration?”
“Well, now, Prudence, that’s a little bit much, don’t you think?”
“Hilda, don’t you try and rein me back in, I’m good and mad at this little hussy and I—”
“I’m a hussy now?” I asked, grinning in spite of my death literally being planned right in front of me.
“You motherfucker!” I heard ring out across the lobby, and saw several actual mothers clap their hands over their kids’ ears and scurry them away.
“Oh man,” I groaned, turning to see not only Natalie, but Roxie, Leo, Oscar, Polly, Chad, Logan, Trudy, and her new boyfriend, Wayne Tuesday. “Of course the peanut gallery would be here for this.”
“I’m allergic to peanuts,” Polly said.
“You’re not allergic to peanuts,” Leo replied.
“But everyone in my class is, why can’t I be?”
“You’re not allergic to peanuts, Pork Chop, get over it,” Leo said.
“I’m lactose intolerant,” Logan said.
“Only when you eat an entire pint of ice cream,” Chad added. “Which you should stop doing.”
“I’m starting a line of ice cream at the creamery,” Oscar said.
“Oh, that’s great,” Trudy said, “if it’s any good I’ll use it at the diner.”
“Of course it’ll be good,” Oscar huffed.