Lost in Love by Charlotte Roth

Author:Charlotte Roth [Roth, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Sandwiches and sentences

In contrast to alcoholic pink drinks, funny chocolate cake doesn’t give you the same kind of hangover. Yes, I was tired and totally jetlagged (which kinda resembles a hangover), but my head wasn’t pounding as badly as the day I had said goodbye to Maddie at the airport. I couldn’t wait to tell Maddie what Mrs. Rockefeller and I had been up to but, then again, if she had seen the Facebook post of me and a giggling Mrs. Rockefeller—and a few missing yellow curlers—sitting next to a totally Rastafari Bob Marley look-alike in front on the web cafe, she had probably already put two and two together. Or maybe that particular math equation would be too hard to solve; Eleanor Jensen and pot cake didn’t even belong in the same sentence.

I don’t know if it was the pot and a night of giggling, or “letting loose,” as Mrs. Rockefeller had called it—or the mentioning of her granddaughter’s middle name, but Mrs. Rockefeller was as smooth as silk when she had stepped out of the elevator the next morning.

“Good morning, people,” she chirped loud and clear, making everyone within thirty feet turn their heads. “You ready?” She looked at our backpacks, stacked up against Alfred’s and Ava’s stroller, and smiled. “Hey, Ava,” she whispered, her eyes darting to Alfred, who had already succumbed to his mid-morning nap. “And yes, I see you are ready. I’m just waiting for Pete.”

“Pete?” Mom looked at me for help but before I had time to even take a guess, Mrs. Rockefeller clarified: “The tall bell boy.” She motioned toward one of the elevators and, as if on cue, the left elevator dinged and Dad and a clearly upset bell boy almost stumbled out, dragging Mrs. Rockefeller’s humongous suitcases behind him.

“It broke. The hinge broke on one of the Stonehenge suitcases, and Pete here, poor dude, fell on top of it. I think he’ll be pretty bruised.” Dad wrapped his arm around Pete and patted him on the shoulder, which made poor Pete wince.

“Voor de hel,” he cried out, which probably was some Dutch kind of profanity. “I meant to say, that was the shoulder.”

“Oh.” Quickly Dad removed his hand from the poor man’s shoulder and looked down at his feet. “Sorry, dude. You okay?”

Pete nodded, then kicked lightly at the big suitcase. “I’m afraid this is not.” He looked over at Mrs. Rockefeller. “You might need to, um, herpakken.”

“Hair parkin?” Mrs. Rockefeller looked at Dad for help.

“Re-pack. Lose one of the suitcases.” Dad offered her a small smile.

“One of my suitcases?” She placed both hands on top of her bosom, then looked over at Mom. “But but how, I mean, I can’t. I’m not like you, travelling all light, like a romantic teenager. I need my stuff.” She looked over at the pile of suitcases and a small yelp escaped her mouth.

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be just fine.” Mom placed a hand on Mrs. Rockefeller’s shoulder and nodded. “Think of it not as getting rid of something but like gaining something.

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