Dear Diary,
My past week has consisted of the following routine: sleeping in until noon, sneak downstairs to grab bread and butter from the fridge while grandpa is at the motel and Darla is in the basement making flower arrangements, sit at my window and read the Catcher in the Rye, tell Darla I'm not hungry when she comes to my door at dinner time, then sneak down stairs at midnight to eat some leftovers. I fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, and wake up again at noon when I hear those timid steps outside my door. I assume it's Darla, fretting over how she could get me to spend more time with them.
Vanessa and I share quick texts throughout the week, but I miss our real conversations. She's so busy with her new job, but I'm really happy for her. I could just imagine how relieved we'd feel when she was finally in her new apartment and away from that stranger across the hall.
Today when I finished the final chapter of the Catcher in the Rye, I swept my long hair into a bun and added some tights and socks to the oversized white t shirt I had been wearing for the past 7 days. I was completely content with the daily pattern of events for the past week, but was now starting to become stir crazy. That and, not having a book to distract me made me ever aware of the guilt brewing inside me; I had to make an appearance downstairs.
Opening the fridge, I remember that I ate the last piece of bread the night before. Seeing there is nothing to eat, I decide to venture into the basement, and I wonder if Darla made sure that was so. She's standing in front of a large table completely covered with flowers and baby's breath, facing in my direction with her big smile. She must have heard me coming down the stairs.
"Hungry?" She asks, already knowing the answer.
...
The motel restaurant is a bit busier than I thought it would be, particularly in the back of the room where a large table is covered with books and paper, cups of coffee and slices of pie poking out throughout the chaos. The table is surrounded by men and women furiously jotting things down and shouting over each other while stopping to sip from their mug every so often.
"They're working towards restoring a bridge." Darla nods towards the table when she notices me inspecting the scene. "It's old, like the 30's or somethin'. The town wants it torn down but they're protesting."
"Can they do that?"
"I don't know, but they're working awfully hard on it if they can't."
"What can I get ya Lindens?" Calvin appears beside our table, pen and paper in hand.
"How do you manage the front desk and serve tables at the same time?" I wonder out loud.
"Seeing as we don't get many people passing through Bear Paw, I'm free to come here during the lunch rush Janie. Although I could use some help. But you're going to get back to me on that." He points his pen toward me, then scans the restaurant.
"No, I'm pretty sure I said no." I say trying to avoid Darlas eye as Calvin tries to avoid mine.
"Oh that's a great idea!" I glare at Calvin for telling my overbearing Step-grandma this piece of information that she'll now be nagging me about for the next few hours, but he's no longer paying attention.
"I don't need a job."
"Why not? There's not much to do here," Darla nods at Calvin who signals he'll be right back, "And it wouldn't hurt to make a little extra money in the meantime."
"You don't know my uncle. He's going to call me out of nowhere and demand that I come back home. I don't need to commit myself to anything right now." Darla gives me an empathetic smile, fit for someone who is being completely delusional. They didn't get that uncle Ger took trips like this all the time.
YOU ARE READING
That One Summer
Teen FictionJane was raised by her free spirited uncle, but when he moves to Paris she is forced to live with her grandpa for the summer in a small town where she finds romance and secrets to her past that she never knew were there.
