The Remarkable Romez

Chapter Two: The B&B (featuring the one and only, Byonca Romez!)

It was when I was five that I truly learned who my parents were. I thought I really knew them, as every daughter or son thinks, but then they learn a deep, dark secret about their parents that they didn’t think was possibly possible.

My parents own a B&B, which is in my house. When I was little, it was kind of cool how there were people who roamed around in your house, slept there, ate there—like a temporary family member. I learned how to be as charismatic as I am today. Not as much ‘learned’ it as the skill just came to me. People loved me when I was little, they thought I was genuine because of how socially accomplished I acted. I’d even put on little fashion shows for the B&B guests—I know, very embarrassing, but c’mon, it’s kind of cute, plus I was fabulous, anyway—and Acacia would help out choosing the costumes I wore. I mean, she didn’t actually have the words to give me an opinion, but I just asked her which costume she liked and she’d lift up her chubby little baby arm and point to the one she wanted me to wear. For some reason, whenever I asked her to choose between one outfit and the hippie-ish ‘Flower Power!’ costume she always pointed to that one. She loved it so much, that she stole it from me and wore it around the house. When I got it back from Acacia, it didn’t matter anyway—she had gotten a whole new wardrobe full of flowery garments. We started to call her the ‘flower child’, thinking it was cute and fitted her.

 People will pay a lot of money to stay at a B&B: true or false? I always grew up thinking that the statement above was true, considering how much my parents charged for a night. I thought it was normal that we had a lot of money, until one day, I was proved wrong. There were two lovers on their honeymoon at our B&B, and as star-struck as they were with each other, they were really nice. Like so nice, that if we had a ‘Guest Hall of Fame’, they’d be in it. Anyway, my parents and the couple really clicked. They talked, made jokes, laughed, all of the cheesy I’m-your-friend type of deal. The husband asked if he could get a picture with Mom and Dad so even when their honeymoon was over, the memories would last forever. Oh my gosh, too cliché to process. My mom eyed my dad in a tempting way and he nodded back. I knew there was something wrong with that, but it all went by too quickly for me to evaluate, so I let it slide.

“Sure!” exclaimed Mom. The husband handed the camera to his wife while my mom and dad stood by him. But, as soon as the wife was inches away from taking a picture, I saw my mom’s hand inching down the husband’s back, soft and nimble seeming. I didn’t understand. ‘What is she doing?’ I asked myself. The light from the camera snapped, and they released their positions. But something looked different from seconds before, on the back side of the husband. But then I recognized it, the husband had an empty back pocket, which had seconds earlier obtained a brown wallet—which was in the hands of my mother.

 

I had no idea what to do. Scream? No. Call the police? Nope, I’m five. Do nothing? How about ‘yes’? My parents nonchalantly suggested a group hug, while the husband and wife, oblivious to what my mom did, happily joined them. The husband then told them that they were going elsewhere, to do something for their honeymoon. As they walked through the frame of the door, my mom speedily pulled out the wallet I’d seen earlier. They pulled out some dough and counted it quietly. As they finished, Dad squealed with excitement.

“Jackpot!” he whispered to my mom. I still didn’t know what to do, but I knew that this was a good enough time to do it.

“Jack-what?” I asked, in my five year old stupid voice. Their eyes looked at me worriedly, because they had forgotten I was there and they knew I had witnessed everything. “Whose wallet is that?” I asked in the same voice. “I don’t think it’s yours.”

My parents glanced at each other. “Honey, w-we’ll explain this later.” I might have been young, but I wasn’t stupid. It was obvious, they had just had thieved the husband’s wallet! “And you keep your mouth shut, little missy! Don’t talk to him, not to her… not even to Acacia!” my dad said softly yet firmly. I made no movement. “Do you understand me!” I nodded my head up and down as quickly as I could. It was the first time I’d heard his voice in an angry voice. Dad stormed out the room, not even giving us a sideward glance more. That left Mom and I alone in the room. We were silent for a long second, but she looked like she had a lot of tension suddenly built up inside of her. She released that tension when her mouth started going off. “Byonca, sweetheart, have you noticed how nice a life you’ve had? You’ve had a nice house, nice clothes, and we’ve traveled to really nice places, haven’t we?” she said, asking me to confirm. I crossed my arms and agreed with the nod of my head. “—and soon, we’re going to New York. Or if, you’re not absolutely positive you want to go, we don’t have to…” Now as an adult, I realize that she was using reverse psychology. But at that moment, I was completely flabbergasted. I completely forgotten that weeks earlier my parents had asked me to behave for a month (no tantrums, whines, spying on Mommy and Daddy, pleading, or sequins and/or pixie dust) for us to travel to New York City, the city that never sleeps and parties all night. Now I specifically understood why they’d asked me to not spy on them, but I still had done it.

“No, no!” I screamed. “We want to go!” “Well then, you’d better keep quiet, dear.” I nodded, but as she was about to leave, I asked her one last question. “How long have you and Daddy been stealing?” Mom, although she was distressed after this, shrugged at me. She answered my question with a question. “How much money do we have?”