Chapter 5
M om, Pumpkin doesn’t need doggie day care.
” I am sitting behind the front desk with Mom, Charlotte, and Pumpkin.
It’s about nine a.m. Only one couple has stopped by the desk to ask about the pick-your-own apples-and-pumpkins situation.
Which is weird. It’s usually busier than this.
Mom already told me about bingo last night.
Donny won like he always does, and the plumbers stayed to play.
“How do you know Pumpkin doesn’t need day care?
” Mom says, blinking down at Pumpkin. The pug is ensconced in a floofy round cuddle bed that is, of course, bright orange.
Because, according to Mom, orange is Pumpkin’s favorite color, for obvious reasons.
She insists it’s not true that dogs are color-blind. She watched a documentary about it.
“Are you bored here behind the front desk all day, Pumpkin?” Mom asks the dog in a completely un-cutesy voice. It’s as if she’s talking to a human son. “Do you need friends? Do you need structure to your day?”
Pumpkin just blinks up at her with his big bulgy eyes and snorts a little.
It’s cute that Mom is thinking of sending Pumpkin to day care for his well-being, but it’s also because a new doggie day care just opened down the road and Mom loves to support Harvest Hollow’s other local businesses.
She’s friends with most of the other business owners through the Chamber of Commerce that meets at Layla’s Diner once a month.
Mom scans the doggie day care flyer that was at the door this morning. “It says here that Pumpkin will be exposed to all sorts of other breeds. Diversity. I like that.”
“Yeah,” I quip. “Maybe he’ll meet a schnauzer and learn German.”
Charlotte laughs. I like Charlotte. Good sense of humor on that girl. She is cutting orange ribbon into pieces to make something for the bakery. I am assisting her by tying the ribbons into small bows. It’s keeping me busy and keeping my mind off both Geoff and my former job.
I’m wearing a loose pair of jeans and a chunky orange sweater. It’s nice to be comfortably dressed. I was getting more and more formal at GMJ. Out here I can plan an event in a normal outfit.
My dad comes out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.
“How much does doggie day care cost?” he asks.
“Maybe Pumpkin can get a job there and save us a few bucks.” Dad has a dry wit and sunny disposition.
He’s handy, generous, and loving. He treats my mother like a queen and treats me as if he’s the luckiest dad in the world to have me.
I love both my parents. I really should have made time to see them more often.
“Hi, sweetie. Glad you made it okay,” Dad says, dropping a kiss on top of my head.
“Hi, Dad,” I say as he breezes past us out the wooden half door and into the lobby. He has a hundred little tasks to see to each day, and he’s off and running. Today I need to follow him real quick, though.
“Dad,” I call, catching up to him as he’s headed down the hallway to the enormous dining room. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Dad is wearing dark-gray pants and an emerald button-up shirt. He dresses like an innkeeper even though he’s more like a handyman. He has dark-brown hair and hazel eyes just like me.
“Sure, honey, what is it?”
I spent too much time before I drifted off to sleep last night thinking of how to bring this up tactfully, and I finally decided that I would just have to be blunt. “Is Mom okay? Has she been showing any signs of dementia?”
Dad’s eyes widen. “Dementia?”
“Yeah. I mean, apparently, she forgot that Aiden Parker is staying up in the attic apartment right now.”
Dad gets a funny look on his face. I know that look.
It’s the same look he got when he forgot to pick up the clay mold I needed for the science fair in the fifth grade.
My project was something I can’t even remember about rock formations.
I chose it because it seemed easy. And science was not my thing.
Besides, I may as well have not entered, anyway.
Aiden always won the science fair at our elementary school.
One year he did something involving the germination of seeds that garnered interest from actual scientists.
“Uh-oh,” Dad says. The funny look is still firmly planted on his face.
“What?” I give him full side-eye.
He scratches his head. “Now that I think of it, I gave the key to Aiden last weekend. I forgot to tell your mom.”
“So, Mom doesn’t have dementia?”
Dad chuckles. “Not that I know of. But I guess I might.” He winks at me. “But pleeease don’t send me an online test to check.”
I roll my eyes. He’s kidding, of course, but I also fully intend to send him an online test to check.
I give him a hug, and he’s off to putter around the inn all day while I go back to where Mom and Charlotte are sitting. “So, apparently, Dad gave Aiden the key to the attic apartment last weekend.”
Mom frowns. “Aiden? Why would Aiden need the key?”
“A pipe burst at his house,” I reply. I have not mentioned Aiden yet because I was waiting to talk to Dad about our strategy to get Mom tested for dementia.
Charlotte’s eyes nearly pop from her skull. She slaps a hand on the counter. “Wait. Was Aiden up there last night?”
“Yep.” I pop the P and nod.
“You both stayed up there?” Mom’s voice rises, and I shush her. Not that anyone is around to hear or care, but for some reason, the louder she says it the more wrong it sounds.
Charlotte looks as if she may laugh herself off her stool. “Oh boy.”
I’m not about to tell either of these two that Aiden was nearly naked when I tried to get in the door last night. That would ignite a firestorm of questions I’m not prepared to answer. “Yeah, it was... a surprise. But we’ve decided to share the apartment until his place is fixed.”
Charlotte’s response to this is raised eyebrows, a smirk, and renewed interest in the orange ribbons she is cutting on the countertop in front of her.
“There are two rooms!” I remind her defensively.
Mom shakes her head. “Don’t be silly, dear, you can just use one of the inn’s rooms.”
I furrow my brow. “Won’t I have to move every night for special reservations? This is the busiest time of year, isn’t it?” Besides, the rooms are nice, but they are just bedrooms. They don’t have kitchens and couches. They’re smaller than the apartment.
Mom purses her lips. “Oh yes.” She averts her eyes and nods. “Yes, yes.”
Is it my imagination, or did Mom and Charlotte just exchange a look ?
“You can stay in the sewing room if you like,” Mom offers next.
“You mean the Doll Room? Pass. I’d rather have a boy for a roommate.”
“Don’t you live with a boy now?” Charlotte asks, cocking her head to the side. Wow. How much has my mom told the Parkers about me? Oh, wait. Everything. She’s told them everything. Mom doesn’t have a mute button.
“Yes, yes I do,” I reply, and I’m 100 percent sure we’ve all just lied to each other. But we’re even Steven, so we might as well move on.
“How is Greg, dear?” Mom asks, not pausing in her perusal of the mail.
“Geoff,” I correct her.
“Oh, right, Geoff.” Mom knows his name perfectly well. This is her passive-aggressive way of indicating that she doesn’t like him. She’s right not to. But I’m not ready to admit it. I don’t want her asking a hundred questions and worrying about me. Or so I tell myself.
And speaking of worrying. I’m starting to get the idea that the inn maybe isn’t doing so great.
I’ve been trying to get ahold of the reservations system all morning, but Mom keeps acting as if she can’t remember her password.
Earlier, I was still worried that it was another sign of her dementia.
Now I know better. The online system is one of the only nods to technology the inn has.
It took my parents forever to get used to it.
Now, when I’m wishing there was just a big book with names written in it, I’m thwarted.
But there’s more than one way to be nosy.
“So, how’s business?” I ask, keeping my eyes trained on the orange bows I’m tying.
“Business?” Mom says the word as if it’s new, something not in her vocabulary. Or foreign, perhaps.
Charlotte keeps her head steadfastly bent over the ribbons and her scissors. She does not look up.
“Yes, how is the occupancy lately?” I press.
Mom steps back and tosses the mail she’s sorted into the recycling bin beneath the counter. “Oh, you don’t care about any of that, do you, sweetie?”
I frown. “Of course I do.” Not that my absence over the last four years would have indicated it. But I’m here now, and if the inn is in trouble, I should know. Shouldn’t I? I’m still a part of this family.
Mom flips a hand back and forth in the air. “Pish posh.”
Pish posh is my mother’s way of saying she wants the subject changed. I’ve tried many a time to circumvent a pish posh with nary a success to show for it. “We’re so glad to have you planning the festival for us,” Mom says next.
Well, at least she’s changed the subject to another one that’s near the top of my list. “Yeah, about the festival. Aiden sounds like he has it under control.”
“What?” Mom moves over to the computer and logs in to the reservation system. So, she remembers her password after all? I need to sidle over.
“Yeah, he says I can help but he’s already got plans,” I add. I nonchalantly stand.
“Lyn and I both agreed that we need your help,” Mom says quite forcefully, tossing the words over her shoulder as she pecks at the keyboard. “We’ve been doing it our way for a long time. It’s time to try some new ideas.”
“Okay, but you might want to tell Aiden that,” I say as I ease my way behind my mother for Operation: Look at the Reservation System over Her Shoulder.
“Aiden’s just bossy,” Charlotte offers from behind her pile of ribbon.
Bossy and hot. But I’m not about to say that to his sister.
“And he doesn’t like change,” Charlotte adds.
I mean, who does?