Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(84)

Laire shrugged as she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. She pushed a lock of wavy auburn hair from her forehead and leaned forward to kiss her. “I don’t know. What do you think Kelsey’s making today?”

“Pancakes!” cried Ava Grace, throwing her hands into the air and waggling Mr. Mopples like a flag.

“Pancakes!” said Laire, cupping her daughter’s face. She was so beautiful, this perfect little person, with her deep brown eyes and coppery hair. Laire was floored, on a daily basis, that such a perfect little person belonged to her. “Didn’t she just make pancakes yesterday?”

“She said she’d make ’em every day for me!”

“I bet that’s because you’re the best little girl in the world.”

“Mr. Mopples doesn’t think so,” said Ava Grace, giving Laire a very stern look.

“Oh, no?”

She shook her head and sighed. “No. She thinks I’m fourth best.”

How Mr. Mopples was a she had been beyond Laire’s comprehension for years, but when asked, Ava Grace simply answered, “Because that’s the way it is.”

“Impossible!” cried Laire, pursing her lips in mock annoyance at the battered penguin. “I demand to know who are first, second, and third.”

“Katie, Leslie, and Hannah,” said Ava Grace, referring to the three little girls in her kindergarten class who had had bigger parts in the Christmas pageant than Ava Grace. “They’re the best.”

“Is that right?”

Ava Grace nodded somberly.

“Well, Mr. Mopples is wrong,” she said.

“How do you know?”

Laire turned to the penguin. “Because even if you don’t, Mr. Mopples, I see the person sitting here in front of me, and she is amazing. She’s smart and funny, and she has a huge heart. She’s kind and thoughtful. She is loving and brave. Do you know how brave she is, Mr. Mopples?”

“No, Mama,” said Ava Grace in Mr. Mopples’s voice. “How brave is Ava?”

Laire leaned down on her elbow to look the penguin in the eyes. “Between you and me? She’s the bravest kid I ever saw. Katie, Leslie, and Hannah? They still live in their comfy houses in Boone, where they know everybody. But Ava Grace Cornish is having an adventure! She’s moved to a whole new world. She’s going to start a new school. And you know what?”

“What?” asked Ava Grace in Ava Grace’s voice.

“Everyone at that new school is going to love her just as much as I do.”

“Are you sure, Mama?”

“One hundred percent positive,” said Laire, lifting her eyes to her daughter’s. “Don’t be afraid, Ava Grace.”

Ava Grace took a deep breath. “But I am, a little.”

“You don’t need to be, baby.” Laire tilted her head. “Especially because I found out something yesterday . . . School’s not starting until the third. Because of the storm.”

Ava Grace’s mouth dropped open. “You mean I get an extra day of vacation? At a hotel? With you?”

Laire nodded, grinning at her smart girl. “That is exactly what I mean!”

Leaping up from the bed, she jumped up and down with Mr. Mopples, saying, “More vacation! More vacation!”

Laire jumped up beside her, taking one of Mr. Mopples’s flippers and one of Ava Grace’s hands and joined them in a happy dance, wishing that every sad day of her daughter’s life could be so quickly turned around.

***

More vacation! More vacation!

He heard the squeaky little voice of a child through the floorboards and groaned as his eyes fluttered open. Erik had purposely pulled the blinds down so he could sleep until eight, and here it was, six thirty, and he was awakened by the people downstairs having a dance party.

“Fuckin’ obnoxious,” he growled, flipping back over and covering his head with a pillow.

He heard the voice of a woman, likely the kid’s mother, shushing her child, and the commotion ceased, though now he was on his guard for more noise, which meant that he was awake. Only five hours of sleep. Fantastic.

Since when did the Pamlico House admit kids anyway?

Picking up his bedside phone, he called down to reception.

“Front Desk.”

“Yes. This is Mr. Rexford in room—”

“Three-o-eight,” said Mr. Leatham. “What can I do you for?”

“The people in, well, I guess 208—they’re pretty loud for six a.m.”

“Hum. Yep. That’s the young mama with the li’l’un. Remember? I mentioned them? They come over from Hatteras?”

“Right. Well, do you think you could have a word with them about keepin’ it down before eight?”

A pause. “You want that I yell at a young lady with a li’l’un?”

“No. I don’t want you to yell at anyone. Just . . .” The line was quiet as Mr. Leatham waited for instruction or forced Erik to feel petty and withdraw his complaint. Hmm. No, screw that! He’d paid for a room the same as her. He had every right to a quiet night’s sleep. “But if you have a chance to remind her of quiet hours between ten and eight, please do.”

“Remind her? I guess I could, but—”