The Lonely Heart of Maybelle Lane by Kate O'Shaughnessy

Author:Kate O'Shaughnessy [O'Shaughnessy, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2020-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

The rest of that summer afternoon at Magnolia’s was one of the best days of my life. The only thing that could have made it better was if Momma had been there to enjoy it with us.

One of the swimming pools was inside the building. I’d never seen a swimming pool inside before, but there it was, the wavy pattern of water reflecting on the ceiling in wiggly lines of light.

Mrs. Boggs settled on one of the pool chairs in a corner and immediately buried her nose in a book. I hadn’t even taken my shorts off before Tommy cannonballed into the deep end, not even stopping to take off his T-shirt.

It echoed across the room with a whooshing KERplunk-splash! and pool water sprayed the walls and all over my legs.

“That was a bigger splash than I meant to do,” Tommy said sheepishly, once he came up for air. And then he started to laugh. And the thing about Tommy’s laugh is that it’s more of a goofy giggle, and it sounds like happy, fizzing bubbles. And it’s contagious. Even more contagious than yawning. Because even though what he said wasn’t all that funny, Mrs. Boggs and I started cracking up, too.

Once we all calmed down, I took my recorder out of my shorts pocket. I almost didn’t bring it, but I’d learned the hard way that whenever I didn’t have it was when I found the best sounds to record. Like now. “Hey, Tommy—would you jump in again?”

Tommy happily obliged. I made him do cannonball after cannonball until I got the perfect recording of the splash. Then I took off my shorts, put my things away, and jumped in the pool to join him.

Mrs. Boggs let me and Tommy swim until our fingers were as wrinkled as prunes and our eyes were bright red from the chlorine. Tommy wasn’t nearly as good a swimmer as I was, and lost every race, but he could hold his breath for almost a whole minute longer than I could.

And then we went back to our room, put on the fuzzy white robes that were hanging in our closet on silk hangers, and ordered room service. In case you don’t know, room service is supper served in your room, and it’s brought on a little cart covered in a pressed white linen tablecloth. Tommy and I both ordered cheeseburgers and french fries, and Mrs. Boggs ordered a healthy-looking chicken salad. Our food came on white porcelain plates, kept warm beneath silver domes, and the ketchup and mustard came in tiny glass bottles.

I stared at it in wonder. Who knew that even ketchup could be fancy?

Mrs. Boggs was reading a local magazine that had come with our food. “Would you look at that?” she mused. “There’s a pop-up modern art museum outside of Memphis. Maybe if we have enough time, we can stop there.”

Tommy made a face. “Sounds boring.”

She ruffled his hair. “We’ll get some culture into you at some point.”

“Maybe.” Then Tommy pointed at her plate.

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