Seven Stories Up (4 page)

But propped beside the lamp on the bedside table was a black-and-white picture I thought I’d seen before. Or
I’d seen something like it anyway. A photo of a couple, dressed in old-fashioned clothes. I had a flash of memory. I whirled around to look for the other pictures on the wall behind me. There was only a large painting of a small fat dog sitting on a small fat pillow.

This wasn’t the same room!
Had
I sleepwalked? Either way, what was this girl doing in the deserted hotel?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I thought this was the room I went to sleep in.”

“
Freak
me out.” The girl repeated my words slowly. She burst out laughing. “I don’t know what those words mean, but you’re funny. You should stay for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I guess.”

As I stood up, I noticed that the canopy on this bed was a pure, fresh white. A breeze from the open window beside me ruffled the crisp curtains. I could hear bird sounds from beyond. The rain was gone.

“You really should,” said the girl. “Nora will be here shortly with my tray, and Cook bakes delicious muffins. Will you join me?” She paused for my answer.

Nora? Who was Nora? And Cook? Everything was making less sense by the minute. This couldn’t be a deserted hotel if someone was going to be stopping by with room service. I stared out the window at an unfamiliar skyline.

Was it possible that this was some kind of … 
magic
? An alternate universe? A
Star Trek
wormhole? Had I made a wish without realizing it? I remembered the shimmer when I first set foot in the hotel. I remembered the thunder, the static in the air before I fell asleep. If magic existed anywhere, it probably belonged in a place like this. But
still …

When I didn’t respond right away, the girl turned from me sharply. “Never mind,” she said. “You don’t have to stay for breakfast if you don’t want to. I don’t care. I’ll eat the muffins myself.”

“Wait, what?” I said. “Hold the phone! I’m hardly awake over here. Of course I want muffins. Who doesn’t like muffins?”

Then the girl’s face lit up again. It was like watching a campfire catch. Her smile was quick. Her eyes sparkled. I’d never met anyone who changed moods so quickly.

“Oh,
good
,” she said, bouncing on her knees on the bed. “That’s settled! Though you might want to put on something more … suitable.” She waved a hand at my bare legs. “For Nora’s sake.” The girl reached over, picked up something blue, and tossed it at me. “Here. Try this on.”

I slipped the blue robe over my nightgown; it was
smooth, made of rich folds of silk. It reminded me of the sleeping mask. “You can wear it back to your room, then just leave it at the front desk. Tell Mr. McGhee it’s for Molly.”

“Mr. McGhee?”

“The hotel manager,” she said.

“Oh, umm, sure,” I said. I guessed this meant I
was
still in the hotel. Only now the hotel wasn’t deserted? How could that be?

Then an idea began to form in my mind, a crazy, scary, spectacular idea. “Molly?” I said. “
That’s
your name? Molly.”

“Yes.” The girl put a hand to her chest in a funny formal gesture. “
I’m
Molly.”

I stood there, nodding slowly. All the while my brain was scrambling, trying to fit the pieces together. The thought flitting around in my head was so impossible, I couldn’t believe I was even having it. But nothing else made sense.

I looked at the photo on the bedside table. The two people in the picture stood in front of a big black car. The man wore a suit and a dark hat pulled low over his forehead. He had a mustache. The woman was staring off into the distance. She was beautiful, in a pale dress and a tiny veiled hat.

Behind me, Molly said, “That’s my mother. She’s away. But perhaps you saw Papa downstairs?”

I turned back around. “Perhaps,” I said slowly. “
Perhaps
.” I tested the word out, and it felt funny in my mouth.
Perhaps
wasn’t a word I usually used.

“Which floor are you staying on?” Molly asked. “I don’t think you said.”

“I—oh, I don’t know. That is, I’m not sure I remember.” I glanced across the room at a magazine on the dresser. If only I could hold it for a second, I might be able to confirm my impossible suspicion. “Hey,” I said, “can you—maybe remind me of today’s date? It’s, like, the eighteenth, right? August eighteenth?”

Molly shook her head. “It isn’t
like
the eighteenth. It
is
the eighteenth.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I meant,” I said. “August eighteenth, nineteen …”

“Well, 1937, naturally!”

I sat back down on the bed. Hard.

1937?

1937!

Had fifty years just melted away? It wasn’t possible. And yet …

Molly kept right on chattering. “I don’t suppose you
know how to play any card games? I like to play cards during breakfast, when I have company.”

“Yeah,” I said distractedly. “Sure I do.”

Molly beamed. “How nice!”

All the while I was thinking:
Magic? Magic?
It was happening. To me, Annie Jaffin. I’d fallen into a dream, a story, the past. Mom hadn’t told me anything about this place, but now I’d get a chance to explore it myself. 1937! What would
that
be like? Flappers? Were flappers from the thirties? Or Marilyn Monroe?

I looked up. Molly was watching me intently, the way she might have watched a TV show (not that she’d ever seen one—I was pretty sure they didn’t have TVs in 1937). “You look,” she said, “as though you’re thinking about something fun.”

“You could say that,” I said, grinning uncontrollably.

“What is it? Will you tell me?”

“Oh, I can’t,” I said. “But it’s nothing. Really. I promise.”

“Please?”

I shook my head. “If I told you,” I said, “you’d think I was bonkers.”

“Bonkers?”

“Nuts,” I said.

She still looked puzzled. “Nuts?”

“Crazy,” I said. “Because it’s impossible. The thing I’m thinking about.”

“Well, I like impossible things,” said Molly. “The impossibler, the better.”

I wasn’t sure what to do. In so many books I’d read, magic was supposed to be a secret. I didn’t want to break the rules and have my adventure end before it began. But what if Molly was supposed to be part of my adventure? Maybe Molly and I had a treasure to find or a mystery to unravel. Maybe we were supposed to bring two star-crossed lovers together.

“Okay,” I said at last. “Okay, but you have to promise to believe me.”

“Oh, I will,” she said. She leaned forward, waiting. “My eldest sister says I’ll believe
anything
!”

“And you can’t laugh!”

“Of
course
not,” she said.

I took a deep breath. “See, the truth is—well, I think I just time-traveled.”

I sat back and waited for her to register shock, but Molly only looked confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What does that mean?
Time-traveled
?”

“I mean, I think I came here by magic. I don’t know how or why, but I’m here from—
the future
.”

Molly stared for a minute. She mouthed the words
the future
silently. Then suddenly she clapped her hands loudly and shouted, “I did it!”

“You did?”

Molly nodded. “
I
did this. Or I think I did. I wished you here!”

“You
what
?”

“I’ve been wishing, you see. On stars. Each night, before bed.”

“For
me
?”

“For
someone
. Anyone. Now here you are, and you’re someone! So it must have worked, my wishing. How else did you get here?”

“I—I don’t know,” I admitted. It hadn’t occurred to me that my adventure might be the result of some random stranger’s wish. “I only know that I belong somewhere else. Or some
when
.”

“Some
when
? Is that a future word?”

“Oh,” I said. “No. In fact, I think maybe I just made it up this minute.”

Molly beamed. “Well, in any case, this is marvelous! Until you go back to
somewhen else
, you can stay with me. We’ll play and talk. You’ll be my secret.”

“
Stay
with you?”

Molly nodded vigorously. “You will, won’t you? Please? Say yes!”

I shrugged. “Sure. Until the magic sends me home.”

“Oh, thank you,” Molly said very seriously. “I’m so grateful. You can’t begin to imagine.” She tilted her head slightly, in a funny practiced way, and when she did, a memory shook loose in my mind. Her dark eyes and the angle of her jaw gave me a flash of déjà vu, a faint memory of a head turned just so.

“You know,” said Molly, “you haven’t told me
your
name yet.”

“Oh!” I said. “I’m Annie. Annie Jaffin.”

“Annie. That’s pretty,” said Molly. “Nice to meet you, Annie Jaffin. I’m Mary Moran, but please call me Molly.”

“M-Mary?” I stuttered. I stared at the girl, who smiled and held out her hand to shake. She was waiting for me.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

I stared back at my grandmother. “Oh, no,” I said. “No. I think I’m just—hungry. You said something about … muffins?”

“Now,” Molly said, climbing down from the bed, “if you’re going to stay, we should find you something to wear, don’t you think?”

I nodded, stunned into silence. This girl was my grandmother? This laughing, pretty girl was going to grow up to be—
that
? It didn’t make any sense.

“What color do you like best?” she called out from the closet. “Blue? Green?”

“Pink,” I said. “I like pink.”

Molly stuck her head back out at me, smiling. “That’s my favorite too!” She reached for a pink dress, then
walked back over to the bed and laid it out, along with socks and shoes,
and some weird baggy underwear.

In the time it took me to undo my buttons, Molly had stepped out of her own nightgown and pulled a bright red dress over her head. Her curls popped up through the collar as she quickly zipped the side of the dress closed. “Ta-da!” she said, spinning around. “I win.”

“No fair,” I said. “I didn’t even know we were racing. Plus, it’s not what I’m used to, all these buttons.”

“Oh, here, let me help you,” said Molly. As I managed to get my arms into the sleeves, she began to button me up the back. “Tell me, what do future clothes look like? Are they silver? Do they help you fly?”

I laughed. “Nope, no flying. I wish.” I looked down at my pink dress, which was crisply ironed and smelled like soap. It was something I might have worn in kindergarten for the school Easter parade. “Our clothes aren’t so different, just stretchier, and girls wear pants a lot.”

“Pants?” Molly’s voice was shocked. “In
what
year?”

“In 1987,” I said. “Am I done?” I turned to face her. “How do I look?”

Molly shook her head, amazed. “Pants … 1987,” she repeated. Then, for no clear reason, she reached out and tickled me. “Got you!”

“Hey!” I yelped. “Stop!” I jumped away from her and
nearly fell over. “Cut that out! I hate it. The last person who tickled me was a kid named Reuben Meyer. I punched
him
in the gut.”

“Oh,” said Molly. She put her hands behind her back. “I thought it would be funny.”

I straightened my dress. “It’s not, but I’ll forgive you. Just don’t do it again. Okay?”

Molly nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just … my sisters have been gone for quite some time now.”

“How is
that
an excuse for tickling someone you barely know?” I asked.

“I only meant … I’m not used to having actual people about, and it’s very hard to upset imaginary friends. Would you
really
punch me?”

“
Probably
not,” I admitted. “But why are you alone so much of the time?”

Molly sat down on the bed. “Mother took Ginny and Maggie away. To Pittsburgh, for a wedding, for the whole summer. I couldn’t go because I’ve been ill, and Papa is busy, so I’m alone.”

“Still, you can go out, can’t you? To see friends? Now that you’re better?”

Molly squirmed. “My parents worry. They like for me to be
careful
.”

“Well, sure. That’s what parents do. They’re always
trying to protect you. They want to know where you’re going, and they make you wear dumb raincoats and carry money for the pay phone, just in case. It’s so annoying.”

Molly shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s not raincoats. Not for me. I was very sick.” She paused theatrically and whispered, “I could
die
.”

“Well, sure,” I said. “Everyone could die.”

“No. That’s not what I mean,” she said, shaking her head. “Or it is, but—oh, I don’t know. It’s different for me.”

“What do you mean? Different how?”

“I mean … my parents are
very
careful. They don’t like for me to leave.”

“Don’t like for you to leave where?”

“Here.” She looked around the room.

“Here? You mean, you stay in this room all the time? Alone?”

“I have a sitting room,” Molly said, gesturing at the door, “and a bathroom. But yes, this is my—my Lonely Room.” She said this like a Lonely Room was a dining room. Like it was a normal thing.