now we bake?” I asked, eager for our creation to take its final form.
“No.” She carried the ball to the fridge, a coppery Sub-Zero number. “Now we chill. Tomorrow we bake. But if you like, we could start on something else. Hold on, let me get some things. I have an idea.” She gave me a quick smile and disappeared into the pantry.
No sooner was Rita out of sight than George ambled into the kitchen. He was wearing faded blue jeans with a small hole that offered a peek at his muscular thigh. His navy sweatshirt said C.I.A. in large white letters. He still needed a shave, but his hair was freshly washed and drying wavy. Stopping short when he spotted me, George’s mouth opened, but no words came out. I knew what he was thinking though: there was a non-Henion in the kitchen. I felt the blood color my cheeks.
Suddenly Rita was standing next to me. “I could not find what I needed, I am afraid,” she said. “Oh, hello, George. Penny and I had important work here this morning.” She winked at me.
George folded his arms and took me in. With daylight on his face, I was getting my first good glimpse of his eyes, only I couldn’t tell what color they were. Either bluish green or greenish blue. No, that wasn’t it. He turned his head slightly, and then I got it. His eyes were two different colors—one green, one blue, like a peridot and a sapphire, or maybe jade and lapis. He uncrossed his arms long enough to rub his neck—did my stare make him uneasy?—and a necklace spilled out from under his shirt. It was a crescent moon-shaped pendant with a stone the same shade of blue as his right eye. Dangling from a slender gold chain, it looked like an expensive piece of jewelry, and I had to wonder if it was from a girl.
“George, can I get something for you?” Rita asked. “Maybe a—”
“No, nothing,” he said, still looking my way. “I was just going to…but never mind. I didn’t realize the kitchen was in use.”
“Actually, I was just leaving,” I said. And it was true. As soon as he showed up, I decided I was just leaving.
“No, no,” he insisted. “You finish up your—whatever it is. I’m not really hungry anyway. I’m…yeah.” He about-faced and walked out the door without another word.
“What’s the matter with him anyway?” I asked after the door swung closed behind him. “I mean, what’ve I ever done to him?”
Rita wiped her wrists on her apron, leaving two floury splotches. “Do not take it personally, my dear. He gets big headaches—migraines—that is all.”
But I didn’t believe that was all. Something wasn’t right. Bubbles treating me like her long lost godchild. George treating me like a leper. Not to mention the fact that Mom never so much as uttered the Henion name before last week.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I said.
“Something else?” Rita made a point of not looking up.
“Something I did. Or something I said. Maybe just being here, cutting into George’s space.”
“I think…” she started. “No, I do not know.”
“Don’t you?”
She shook her head. “Perhaps I have said too much already.”
“Rita—”
“I know you have a curious mind, but some of the things you wish to know are not for me to tell.”
“But we’re kindred spirits, you and me, right?”
She pinched her lips shut.
“It’s just—I’m all alone here, and I don’t know what’s going on. If you could just throw me a lifeline…”
Still no response.
“You know what?” I said. “I’m sorry. This is obviously a sensitive subject. I’m sorry if I intruded.” Confession time: this is a ploy Mom taught me. When someone resists answering your question, you apologize for having asked. That usually guilts the person into answering. They feel sorry for having put you in an awkward position, even though you’re the one who actually put them in a difficult spot.
“Okay, all right, you have me,” Rita said. “Come, sit.”
Bingo. I dropped onto a stool while Rita stood leaning against the island, looking uneasy. “Penny,” she said, fumbling with her apron strings, “do you have any idea why Bubbles and your mother are no longer best friends?”
“They were best friends?”
“They were very close. But when your mother called to ask if you could stay here, they had not spoken for a long time—years.”
“Oh, God, what did Mom do?”
Rita sat on the edge of the stool next to mine. “Your mother came to visit one summer when I was still fairly new here. And what happened was…” She drew a warning breath. “What happened was, your mother got the idea that the inn was haunted. She said the TV kept turning on all by itself, that the phone in her room would ring, but no one would be there when she answered it. Things like that.”
I stifled a moan.
“Your mother thought it was wonderful. She wanted to—how you say—promote the ‘haunted inn.’ She called the newspaper. She called a TV station on the mainland.”
“Poor Bubbles.”
“Now, for some reason, your mother thought the crawlspace had something to do with the ghost—there is a crawlspace right over here, behind that potted plant. So one afternoon when the kitchen was empty, she went into the space to have a look, which would not have been so terrible except that she left the door open. Little George—he was just a toddler—wandered into the crawlspace. Climbed the stairs inside. Fell. And ended up at Jonesport Hospital with a concussion and a gash on his forehead.” She pointed to her eyebrow.
I winced. How could Mom have been so careless, so thoughtless?
Rita stood up and began filling the sink with dish soap. “Your mother left the very next day. As far as I know, the two of them did not talk again, until last week.”
I spun around to face her. “So George has spent his life hearing the story of the nut who got him hurt then.”
“Not so,” Rita said. “Bubbles never talked of it. And George does not remember the accident. No, I do not think George knew anything, not until last week when your mother called and Bubbles got a little crazy. Who knows what she finally told him? But, well, I imagine it makes him…”
“…suspicious? Like I’m picking up the ghost trail where she left off? Rita, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t know about any of this. If I did, I’d’ve run away from home rather than show my face here…did he go ballistic when he found out I was coming?”
“You wish to know all the details. I understand. But later. Tonight, in the study.” She tipped her head toward the door.
I was dismissed.
The
