The outdoor area is completely empty. It’s a large Tuscan veranda reminiscent of the Macaroni Grill, only we’re overlooking a snow-covered golf course. There’s little light below or in front of us, so the golf course looks like a large white void in themoonlight. There are hints of the snowfall from earlier on the concrete, but not much. It’s still freezing. We find the one heater near the veranda rail and huddle around the base of it.
She has two cigarettes in her hand and holds one out to me. I take it. “Where did you get these?”
“From the DJ’s assistant.”
“Hanging out with the roadies again?”
“You know me. Can I get a sip of that?”
She points to my glass half full of bourbon. She takes a sip. “Holy shit. Is that just straight whiskey?”
“It’s been a long day. I’ll share.”
“It’s warming me up already. Remember when we used to do this?” she says as she lights her cigarette.
“Yeah, many long talks. Many cigarettes.” I light mine, inhale, and blow out a ring of smoke. “Damn, that’s good. I wish they weren’t so bad for you.”
“Yeah, me too. And I wish we didn’t have to roll back in there smelling like 1976,” she says. We laugh giddily. We’re both drunk.
“I don’t want to go back in at all,” I say.
“This place is likeThe Shining. There’s no one here. Let’s go back in and look around. Come on.” She finagles the cherry out of her cigarette and watches it fall into the snow near her feet. Dani pays attention to sounds, smells, and sights in a childlike way, like it’s the first time she’s seen fire get stifled by snow. She leaves the rest of the unsmoked cigarette on the base of the heater, so I do the same. As she starts toward the front entrance, I follow.
“Are we gonna go look for ghosts, or for Jack? Or is Jack technically a ghost now?”
She spins around on her heel so fast it creates a gust of wind.She points her finger at me. We’re mere inches apart. “Don’t,” she says in all seriousness.
Dani is the biggest scaredy-cat in the world. I’m convinced it has to do with her imagination. It’s so vivid that scary ideas or thoughts are paralyzing to her. She probably has a three-dimensional image in her mind right now of Jack wielding an ax.
“Okay, okay, sorry. You’re the one who mentionedThe Shining,” I say.
“Just don’t, please.”
She is so easily petrified that she won’t even allow conversation about something scary to take place in her presence. She hates Halloween even more than Thanksgiving and she makes it known. Every October first, she breaks out the Easter decorations for their second appearance of the year. Dani’s favorite holiday is Easter, and it’s not because of Jesus. It’s because of the chocolate and bunnies. Every year when Halloween rolls around, she says, “Chocolate and bunnies or rotten winter squash and flesh-eating zombies? You choose.” As if we actually have a choice.
She does let the boys dress up, but she wants no part in it. I picked out all of their costumes when they were little, and I’m the one who has taken them trick-or-treating over the years. In the beginning, everyone fussed about Dani’s nonparticipation in Halloween, but she would just say, “I’m sorry. I’ll make up for it at Christmas.” We’re all used to it now, but it’s still hard for me to refrain from teasing her at least a little bit.
“So, what are we looking for, then?”
“Snacks?” she says.
“Sure.”
We find our way into the dark and empty hotel kitchen. There is no way we’re allowed to be in here. There is a small whitelight over the industrial stove making it just bright enough for us to see where we are.
“I think that’s the freezer. Come on.”
“We don’t want to get stuck in there,” I say, and now I’m also having flashbacks fromThe Shining.
“Those don’t lock that way, silly. That only happens in the movies.” She yanks open the giant walk-in freezer door and a whoosh of freezing air hits us.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Whatever,” she says. She walks in and the door closes quickly behind her. The air suctioning mechanism turns on and the door is sealed closed. I have one second of worry and then I hear her joyfully yell, “Yessss!”
Less than five seconds later, she’s pushing the door open from the inside with her foot. She’s carrying a giant vat of ice cream.
I help her by pulling the door open all the way. “It’s like you have an ice cream–locating sonar.”
