Free Mending Places by Denise Hunter Page A

night, and that was just for a standard room. This was peak season, so why would they be giving their rooms away at such a discount?
    Hanna walked to the kitchen where Gram and Mrs. Eddlestein were making strawberry pies.
    “Gram, have you heard anything about the Majestic having a rate special this summer?”
    “No, dear, why do you ask?”
    “I just got off the phone with Delia Hampton. She cancelled her reservation, said the Majestic was offering a rate of fifty-nine dollars and that it included meals and activities.”
    “That can’t be right.”
    “That’s what she said. Do you think that’s why we’ve been having these cancellations?”
    Gram stopped crimping the edges of the pie dough. “Wait a minute, did you say Delia Hampton? Isn’t she that eccentric woman who brings all her photos and knickknacks from home and sets them up all over her room?”
    “Yes, but that hardly—”
    “Delia Hampton, you say?” Mrs. Eddlestein cocked an ear.
    Gram raised her voice. “Yes, yes, that woman from New Jersey that comes in June.”
    Mrs. Eddlestein rolled her eyes. “She told me last year all three of her grown kids were in the U.S. Senate. I mean, really, who would believe that?”
    Hanna didn’t know what to believe now. Had Delia told her the truth about the Majestic rates? Why would she lie?
    That night Hanna drove home from the grocery store and turnedinto the lodge’s parking lot. Only the street lamp lit the parking lot as she gathered the two sacks and trudged up the sidewalk and steps to the lodge. The oscillating buzz of cicadas filled the warm night air, joined by the chirping crickets. She’d always found the nighttime music relaxing—peaceful—but the darkness that accompanied it terrified her.
    No light shone from the porch, casting the walk from the sidewalk to the lodge in darkness. Hanna hurried as quickly as she could toward the lodge’s door. The bags grew heavy, and she shifted them while diging in her pocket for the key.

    Micah slowed to a walk as he neared the lodge, letting his heart rate fall. Tonight’s class had been rough, and when he’d returned, he’d felt the need to release some pent-up energy. The counselor of his group knew what he was doing; he was a pro at digging out the putrid junk Micah didn’t even know was there. When his foster father, Jim, had first told Micah about the Children of Alcoholics group meeting at his church, Micah had thought the whole thing was a bunch of psychobabble. But Jim had convinced him to give it a try. It was encouraging to know others had gone through the same stuff he had, but when they started getting into issues that hurt, Micah dropped out. Jim, a marriage counselor, stepped in once again and convinced him to go back. No Pain, No Gain was Jim’s motto, and it had become Micah’s too. Now he was determined not to let his past determine his future. Whatever it took, he would get over the pain of his past.
    He stepped onto the porch, breathing steadily now, and fished in his pocket for the key. Just then Hanna rounded the corner, and they collided.
    A shrill scream left: her mouth. He jumped, then reached out to steady her. Two bags of groceries dropped on his toes as Anna batted his hands away from her.
    “Hey, it’s—” A fist connected with his chest, then another.
    He reached out and took hold of her hands.
    She squealed and tried to jerk away, her eyes wide under the unlit porch.
    “Hanna, it’s me.”
    She stopped struggling, her chest heaving in the darkness.
    “It’s all right.”
    She put a hand to her heart. “Micah.” The word carried a load of relief.
    “Sorry I spooked you.”
    She closed her eyes and seemed to be recovering from the adrenaline surge. “You okay?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
    She stooped down and began gathering the groceries. Micah did the same and noticed her hands trembling.
    The porch light flickered on, then her grandma opened the door. “Hanna? You all right?”
    “Fine, Gram.