Free Finding Grace by Becky Citra

blink the sleep out of my eyes. “What time is it?”
    â€œFour-thirty.”
    â€œI’m coming too.”
    I slip out of my pajamas and pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I lace up my running shoes.
    We slip out of the hotel like thieves in the night. The lights are dim and there’s no one around, not even the doorman. Outside, the sun isn’t up yet, but the sky is pearly and a pale robin’s egg blue. The lake is as smooth and calm as a sheet of glass.
    Mom gazes all around. She takes a deep breath. “It’s nice here.”
    â€œReally nice,” I agree. I shiver a little. I should have brought a jacket.
    â€œThe mountains, the forest, the lake…this would be a nice place to grow up.”
    Mom’s voice trembles. She’s thinking about Grace. I squeeze her hand. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you the village.”
    We stroll along the path. Somewhere, some birds are singing like crazy. There’s no one around. I love being out here with just my mom. It feels like we are the only people in the whole wide world who are awake. I tell that to Mom and she smiles and says that in China right now people are probably having dinner.
    I’m thinking about that when voices drift across to us. I spot two men at the end of the red dock, loading boxes into a boat. Mom and I sit on a bench and watch them. One of the men waves and I wave back. Then the men climb into the boat and putt away, sending silver ripples across the water.
    We sit on the bench for a long time, staring out at the lake and not talking. Then we start walking again. We go all the way to the gravel beach. A crow is hopping near the edge of the lake, holding a piece of bread in his beak. He flaps away when we get near. Mom sits on a log and I walk over to the pile of boards where those boys were playing yesterday. Some of the boards are nailed across two logs. It looks like they’re building a raft. Nifty.
    I look for flat rocks and try to skip them on the smooth water. My best is three skips. Then Mom and I cross over to the other side of the street and start walking back to the hotel.
    All the businesses are closed up except for the Top Notch Café. The door is open and the smell of baking bread wafts out. “Smell that,” Mom says, and she pokes her head in the door.
    â€œWe’re not open yet,” a voice calls out.
    â€œNot even for a cup of coffee?” Mom says wistfully.
    â€œOh heck, you look cold. Come on in.”
    The woman speaking to us is behind a counter, sorting cutlery into piles. Mom and I sit at a table.
    The woman brings over a steaming cup of coffee for Mom and a hot chocolate for me. She’s a big heavy woman with the name Daphne stitched above her chest. “Fred could do you a fry up,” she says. “Bacon, eggs, hash browns, and tomatoes.”
    â€œHeaven.” Mom smiles.
    When the food is ready, Daphne sets the heaped up plates in front of us and plops down in a chair at the next table. “Time to take a load off my feet. You’re up with the birds, aren’t you? You must be staying in one of them motor courts; or are you just passing through? Not that there’s anywhere to pass through to, us being at the end of the road and all.”
    She pauses to take a breath.
    â€œWe’re staying at the hotel,” I say proudly.
    Daphne raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t take you for hotel guests. No offence, like. My niece Martha works at the hotel, a chambermaid you know, and she says they pay good and that it’s ever so nice a place to work. You wouldn’t believe what guests leave behind, not that she gets to keep anything, it all goes straight to the lost and found, an’ she says the job is better than dishing up here at the Top Notch, which she did last summer. She’s a hard worker an’ all, was here from six in the morning ’til the supper gang left because she’s saving her money