The Hidden Summer by Gin Phillips

Author:Gin Phillips
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-05-13T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

A VISIT DOWN UNDER

Late one afternoon, we’re playing a game of slapjack in Lydia’s rocket ship, sitting in the chairs of the blinking control panel. Just when my hand has turned a deep shade of pink and Lydia’s a few cards from taking the entire deck, there’s a knock at the door.

A knock at the door. Of the rocket ship.

Saban growls under his breath, edges toward the door, and then starts barking his head off. We don’t try to shush him.

“Hello?”

It’s a woman’s voice. Saban barks even louder. He’s practically vibrating.

“There’s no lock on the door,” whispers Lydia.

I swallow. My mouth is suddenly painfully dry. My tongue feels twice its normal size.

“Is it the same voice we heard before?” I ask. “With Jakobe?”

“Maybe.”

Saban has shifted into a low, constant growl. I think this voice could also belong to the police or to whoever actually owns the golf course. This voice could be about to tell us that we’re spending the rest of the summer at a home for juvenile delinquents.

“May I come in, girls?” the woman calls again. She knocks more softly.

Lydia’s off the bed before I can stop her. She scoops Saban up in her arms, stalks to the door, and throws it open, holding Saban in front of her like a shield.

The woman at the door is small, and she’s smiling. Her hair is short and mostly gray and shining in the fluorescent lights.

“Hi,” she says again, calmly, like we’re walking into her classroom on the first day of school. “I was hoping to introduce myself.”

I walk as quickly as I can to the door, standing next to Lydia so that our shoulders are touching. Together, we’re blocking the door. This woman doesn’t seem threatening, but, as Jakobe says, you shouldn’t trust strangers.

“My name is Gloria,” the smiling woman says. “I live at Hole Nine.”

“You live at Hole Nine?” I repeat. I’m so close to Lydia that her hair is tickling my chin.

“For now,” the woman says.

Lydia and I look at each other. Surely she can’t be serious—if someone were living around those empty aquariums, we would have noticed by now.

“May I come in?” Gloria asks again.

We both step back. I don’t move my hand from my pocket. She moves past us, perfectly relaxed, and—in a way Memama would very much approve of—gracefully lowers herself into one of the spinning seats. She cocks her head at the looks on our faces.

“This would normally be the part where you tell me your names,” she says.

We do.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says.

Then we stand there a while longer and stare at her. She smiles back and twists her chair from side to side.

“Please don’t look so stunned,” she says. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about. Yes, I live here. And you’ve already met my son.”

“Your son?” says Lydia.

“Why didn’t you talk to us then?” I ask.

“Well, honestly, I’ve been hoping that the two of you might give up. I thought you’d get bored and go away.”

She makes it sound like we’re in preschool.

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