Her sweet voice is wistful. “Yep. We have to be careful every time I go anywhere because lots of people try to talk to me and my dad.”
“That’s because your dad is famous, and because your dad is famous, people want to meet you.” And I realize at this exact moment the huge risk I took, taking Imogen into a public place. Weirdly, no one seemed to notice her at my side. She looks like a normal kid today. She dressed herself in a pair of overalls with a yellow t-shirt and let me brush her hair into a ponytail. We managed to walk in and out of a grocery store with barely a glance our way.
I also wonder what Micah Watson thinks of my hometown. I hope he loves it as much as I do.Maybe he’ll love it for the same reason Imogen does. Maybe he’ll want to move here…
“I don’t like it.” Imogen sighs, still watching the boring streets of my little hometown with fascination like it’s one of her YouTube videos.
It takes me a second to catch up. “You don’t like when people want to meet you?”
“Sometimes not. Sometimes people are nice, except I don’t like when they act like they know me. And sometimes my dad gets mad when people talk to us too much.” She gasps, “What’s that place?” she asks with the energy of a golden retriever that spotted a squirrel.
I can’t see what she’s talking about. I’m driving, so my hands are on the wheel at ten and two and my eyes are forward. “What place?”
“With the skating guy! Stop there!”
Oh. She means Hansen’s Rollerburger. The drive-in hamburger joint has a huge neon sign of a guy wearing roller skates, holding a giant hamburger. I guess I can see why it would catch a kid’s eye. It’s been a landmark in this town since the 1950s, so I don’t really notice the glaring, story-high neon sign anymore. My youngest sister actually works there to pay her way through college and has a shift today, I remember. I bet she’d love to meet Imogen Beck “by coincidence.”
“Want to check out Rollerburger?”
“Yeah!”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. In my hurry to get out the door this morning I had forgotten to grab a Coke. I find a place to safely u-turn and we pull into a spot in the shade of the awning.
While we wait for our rollerskating server, I read the menu to Imogen. “They have hamburgers, shakes, and fries. Do you like that kind of stuff?”
“Yes!” She unbuckles herself, grunting as she climbs over the center console and into my front passenger seat. “Let’s try everything!”
“Everything?” I laugh. “I’m still sort of full from your awesome eggie toast. What if we both get a snack and we can share?”
“Okay. But just so you know, me and my dad like to try everything. Then you know what’s good.”
“That sounds smart.” And wasteful and expensive. Oliver dropped by while Imogen was dressing and armed me with Anders’ credit card, which feels surreal, but I’m not going to be irresponsible with it. “Maybe next time.”
My sister skates up to my window, “Hey, Sis! I thought you were working—” her fairy-like face screws up and she fans her nose. “Oof. Is that skunk?”
“Yep! And we got stuff to fix it!” Imogen is maybe a little too excited to experiment on my hair. “You’re so lucky you get to skate at your job!” The child of an actual movie star has stars in her eyes over my rollerskating waitress sister.
When my sister spots my passenger her mouth hangs open. “Hey, you’re—”
“Goldie, this is Imogen. I'm nannying her while her dad is in town.” Please be cool, I try to communicate with wide eyes. She is not known for her decorum in exciting situations. “Imogen, this is my sister, Goldie.”
“Hi, Imogen. What can I get you?”
Praise the skies, she’s acting normal.
We order a few simple things from the menu, including a large Coke for me and a small lemonade for Imogen because I don’t know if she’s allowed to drink soda. She insists her dad lets her have Coke, but caffeinating a tiny person sounds risky. We make our way back to the resort, eating our chicken nuggets and fried pickles while I drive because I’m anxious to de-funk my hair.
A few hours later I wake with a jolt. It takes a minute for me to process my surroundings. I’m lying on the couch in Anders’ suite, with Imogen curled into a ball at my side, and Hairy curled into a giant ball at our feet. This afternoon we had applied a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap to my hair and wrapped it up in a heavy white towel to do its thing. We decided to watch a movie while the solution worked on my hair, and we must have slipped into a fried food coma. I feel like I’ve been asleep for hours. What time is it? Whatyearis it?
My eyes are still a little blurry, but I finally notice a pair of legs standing in front of me. I gasp and bolt upright when I realize it’s Anders. The big towel falls to my lap and my damp hair falls into my face. Imogen mumbles in her sleep.
“Sorry,” his hoarse voice whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you from your nap.”
That was no nap. That was the beginning of hibernation. I realize with shame that it’s dark through the windows. Anders must have turned on one lamp, and that’s the only light in the room. “What time is it?”
“A little after nine.”
“Seriously?” We slept for five hours?! I would say I can’t believe I slept so long, but I can believe it. I haven’t had a decent night of sleep in weeks, anticipating the arrival of the film crew. So really, it’shis fault. “I’m sorry. We turned on a movie and I guess that’s all it took.”
