Is this what you meant? I thought to myself, a question for someone who would never be able to answer me. Is this what you wanted me to do?
Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t, but at any rate, it felt okay.
It was late, and everyone in the house had gone to bed when Alvin crept across the hall to his sister’s room and knocked as loudly as he dared. He heard her voice like a sharp whisper inside: “Come in!”
He turned the handle and pushed into the room. He found Margo quite awake, dressed, and busily packing her clothes into her small suitcase.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“The question is what are THEY doing?” Margo said, turning to face him. “The Everlife Society. What are they doing to find our parents? Not enough, I don’t think.”
“So you’re leaving?”
“Don’t play dumb, Alvin. I know you, and I’d bet another swig of eternal life that your bags are packed too.”
They were, in fact.
He’d thought he was going to have to convince his sister.
He’d thought he was going to have to drag her out of there.
“I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more,” he said.
“Gross. Go get your bags. No time to waste.”
—from Alvin Hatter and the Wild-Goose Chase
7
My father came into my room at midnight. I was reading Alvin Hatter and the Wild-Goose Chase. I hadn’t even showered yet; my hair was a thick mess of sea salt and wind.
Dad stood in my bedroom doorway and watched me, half amused and half, I think, concerned.
“Are you doing all right, kid?” he asked.
“I’m okay, Dad. This is much worse than it looks.” I pointed to my hair. He raised his eyes, like: yeah, it’s pretty bad though. “Are you okay?” I asked, if only to get him to stop looking at me.
“I’m doing okay. It comes and goes. You remember and then you forget for a few minutes and then you remember again.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”
“I have a favor to ask you, though.”
“What is it?”
“You get out early on Tuesdays, right? Would you mind driving down to the Nautilus for me? Your mom and I both have to work.”
“The hotel? How come?”
“Because I’ve been informed I left my suit jacket down there on the night of the party, and I just don’t know when I’ll have a chance to go and get it. But I really like that suit jacket, so I thought I might give you some gas money and you’d be so kind . . .”
Which is how I ended up driving back to Mystic (the town that wasn’t, really) on Tuesday afternoon after school. I asked Em to come with me, but she had plans with Jackie, and Abe had classes all day (I had back-to-back study halls at the end of the day—being a senior was great!). So I went by myself, accepting my dad’s offer of gas money and wondering after I’d left if my mom would have let me take the Corvette. I doubted it.
I drove to the Nautilus with the radio low and the windows open. It was both predictable for my father to leave a piece of clothing somewhere and predictable for him to ask me to go retrieve it for him. He had a very small wardrobe and a very big sense of sentimentality.
I pulled into the valet turnaround and told the man working I’d just be there a minute. He took my keys and let me run inside.
It never failed to amaze me how completely different a place can seem in various circumstances. On the night of my aunt’s party, the Nautilus was a fantasyland, a dream, something from another world. Now, just a few days later, the candles were put away and the sunlight was streaming in and it was still beautiful, of course, but it was firmly rooted in reality. I stepped through the double white doors and into the lobby, and everything felt real. Believable. Normal. I asked the concierge where my father’s coat was being kept, and he left and returned a few minutes later with it draped over his arm.
“Here you are,” he said. “I’m just glad we knew who to call.”
“Oh, yeah—how did you know?” It wasn’t like my dad sewed his name into the lining of his clothes.
“A young man brought it to us at the end of the night. He said it belonged to the brother of Helen Reaves. We had his number in our contact sheet. The man asked for this to be left with it.” The concierge reached into the pocket of the suit jacket and removed a little white envelope stamped with the Nautilus’s symbol. A name was written on it.
My name.
My heart gave a little lurch as I took the envelope and the jacket from him. I looped the jacket over my arm and saw my hands starting to shake as I read my name on the envelope again.
Lottie.
In tiny, neat handwriting.
In tiny, neat handwriting that couldn’t have been . . .
Hers? Right?
It couldn’t have been hers.
I mumbled a thank-you and went outside quickly, almost running back to my car, catching the keys the valet threw in my direction (“Nice one!”). I tossed the jacket and the envelope on the passenger seat and drove away quickly; my entire body was suddenly cold and shivery. I drove for five minutes until I reached a parking lot for a small strip mall. I pulled in and parked and turned the car off and rested my head against the steering wheel.
I had Aunt Helen’s next letter with me. I was planning to read it before the drive home.
Could this letter also be from her? But that didn’t make any sense. Right? Right.
Because dead people could not slip letters into the pockets of your father’s suit jacket, right?
That was not something that could happen.
Or could it? I didn’t know. If any person could figure out how to become a ghost and hide letters in suit jackets at fancy hotels, it was definitely my aunt.
And there was only one way to find out.
I picked the envelope up and withdrew the Nautilus letterhead from inside.
I enjoyed talking to you. —Sam
A sudden rush of embarrassment.
Get a grip, Lottie. You’re losing it.
Sam had written his phone number underneath his message, and I didn’t even think about it, just typed it into my phone and texted him before I could change my mind:
How did you know this was my father’s coat?
The reply came a few minutes later. I’d rolled the windows all the way down and reclined my seat. I felt my phone buzz in my lap.
I saw you leaving. I noticed the jacket a few minutes later; he’d left it on a chair. I tried to catch up with you, but there were too many people.
Okay. That was actually a reasonable answer.
What was I expecting? Something unreasonable?
Thanks. It was nice of you to turn it in.
I considered keeping it.
A few seconds later:
Kidding! How are you?
I’m OK.
Are you still in Mystic?
I’m by the bridge.
Can I meet you?
I checked the time. It was still early, just after two, and I didn’t have anywhere to be.
Sure.
See you soon.
I didn’t know how far away he lived, but Mystic was relatively small. I adjusted my seat and took my aunt’s letter out of my purse.