setback.
“It’s on account of my teensy headaches,” my grandmother would say after she’d scream at me or send me to my room for something tiny, like accidentally letting Leroy track dust into the house. Then she’d lie down on her bed with the curtains drawn shut.
I worried maybe something was wrong because until her headaches started, Florida had tried to be a better grandmother. She came to at least half of my afterschool soccer games, and for the longest time she’d laid off trying to turn me into a girly-girl. Which, for the record, would be about as easy as getting my dog to sprout wings and fly to Jupiter. I made her promise she’d go to the doctor while I was gone. I figured she must have been getting better because during our Sunday morning phone calls, she sounded as if she was almost back to her old self.
Violet, Noah, Leroy, and I wound our way past the tiki bar next to the hotel swimming pool. A man in a swimsuit and a woman wrapped in a flowery sarong shared a chaise lounge. They gazed at each other all lovey-dovey as they sipped a drink through two bendy straws stuck in the hole of a coconut shell.
“Newlyweds,” I whispered. “Hope they last longer than the couple that stayed here in July. They got married on the beach at sunset, then kept everyone up all night, fighting. The next morning they asked Rosalie Claire to recommend a good divorce lawyer.”
“Sounds like Florida and your Grandpa Jack,” Violet said.
True. Except my grandparents never officially divorced. They just lived in two different places and saved their fighting for when they were together.
As we climbed the steps to the whitewashed verandah outside the lobby, we noticed a foul odor drifting through the door.
“Wow. Smells like the boys’ gym,” Noah said.
“Or something dead.” Violet scrunched her nose.
“Or both,” I said.
Here’s one thing I’ve learned about living in a hotel: you never knew who or what you’d to bump into. One whiff and my nose told me exactly who was inside.
Surfers. I recognized the no-deodorant rotten compost smell I’ve come to know and not love in Jacó. La Posada Encantada was a favorite with the surfers since it’s right smack on the beach. Two guys in their twenties stood in front of the desk. A stringy scraggly-haired one and the other shaved bald as a soccer ball.
Usually Sofia, the front desk clerk, checked in guests, but today was her day off. Rosalie Claire was behind the counter, her fingers flying on the ancient computer keyboard. Her coffee-colored skin was shiny with sweat from the Costa Rican heat and her braided black hair was partly covered with a red bandana.
“Dude, you’ve got like, a dinosaur computer from the Ice Age. Does it run on electricity or does it eat meat?” The scraggly-haired guy snorted at his own joke.
“A new computer’s on our list.” Rosalie Claire’s sparkly brown eyes crinkled with a grin. “You must be Riptide Atkins. Welcome.”
“That’s me. In the flesh.”
“The gross and smelly flesh,” Violet whispered.
Rosalie Claire handed Riptide a key to Room Five.
“Dude, we need two. One for me and one for Wingnut.” He motioned to his buddy.
She unzipped the battered tan leather fanny pack she always wore around her waist, fished inside, and pulled out another key.
“Cool.” Riptide stuffed it in his pocket.
But he had no idea just how cool Rosalie Claire’s fanny pack really was. It was magic. She kept regular things in there like anybody would, although if she needed something to help somebody out, then presto, it would just show up.
“Madison, would you kids kindly show Mr. Atkins and his friend to their room?” Rosalie Claire smiled her secret smile, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking about their stinky armpits.
The two surfer guys grabbed their surfboards and their bags, and followed us outside down the open breezeway. We passed Room Two where a pile of fresh white folded sheets sat by the door.
“Lady in White’s staying there. She’s terrified of dirt, only wears white, and changes her own sheets three times a day. She won’t let us touch them,” I whispered to my friends.
“Looney tunes.” Violet made the “crazy” sign, her finger twirling circles beside her ear.
“Pretty much. We sometimes have the strangest guests checking in. OK, here we are. Room Five.”
“Thanks, dudes.” Riptide unlocked the door. As soon as he opened it, Wingnut left his surfboard outside and lugged in his suitcase.
Riptide patted his shoulder bag. “Well, gotta go chill and play me some Battle Wizards.”
“Awesome game.” Noah gave Riptide the thumbs up.
“You know it, dude.” Riptide leaned his board next to Wingnut’s and dragged his duffle through the door.
We headed back down the breezeway toward the lobby. A pile of trays with dirty dishes now sat in front of Room Three.
“The old guy in there must have just put them out,” I whispered. “He says he’s a travel writer. He showed up the day after I did and nobody’s seen him leave his room since.”
“How can anyone write about travel if they never go outside?” Noah wondered.
“My thoughts exactly. Unless he’s writing a book about room service.”
Violet, Noah, and I carried the trays back to Thomas’s Café. Leroy trotted behind us, probably hoping the leftovers would miraculously fly to the floor.
The inn’s kitchen was a beehive of busyness with Thomas bustling alongside his employees, Miguel, Arturo, and Rose, as they prepared for the dinner crowd. His white apron looked like a painting I might have done in preschool. It was splattered with black from beans, red from salsa, and bits of something green. Thomas always whistled while he cooked, either theme songs from cartoons or the tunes from his childhood in the Dominican Republic. That’s where he’d lived until he moved to New Orleans with his family when he was ten. Today it was the theme song from Scooby Doo.
When Thomas noticed us with the trays, his licorice black eyes lit up.
“You kids are hired! How’d you like to stay here all year and help out? I’ll pay you in compliments and all the food you can eat,” he joked.
“Will. Work. For. Food.” Violet’s eyes shone at the thought.
I giggled. “She’d do it. She’s a bottomless pit!” More than once I’d watched Violet eat an entire large pepperoni pizza. All by herself. Never ever does she gain a single ounce.
And
