Greetings from Nowhere by Barbara O'Connor

at the basket where Clayton Underwood always left the mail.
    â€œNot yet,” she said.
    â€œI was thinking maybe you ought to go ahead and change your mailing address,” Mr. Dover said. “You know, so you won’t miss out on anything.”
    Aggie chuckled. “Only thing I’d miss out on is bills and bad news.”
    â€œGuess what,” Mr. Dover said. “There might be a tour group coming here in a few days.”
    â€œReally?”
    A tour group! Aggie felt a little twitch of excitement. “We
used to have tour groups staying here all the time,” she said. “Well, not all the time. But once in a while.”
    Aggie looked out the screen door to the parking lot, picturing the Greyhound bus full of folks from up in Gatlinburg or over in Chattanooga. One time a school bus came. A school bus full of children from some school in Charlotte. Harold had entertained them with magic tricks out by the pool. The pool had had water in it then. Clear, sparkling water.
    â€œIt’s not for sure yet,” Mr. Dover said. “But I’ve been talking to this travel agent over in Asheville, and I’m waiting to hear.”
    Aggie adjusted her glasses and studied Mr. Dover. He looked proud. And hopeful. And a little nervous.
    Just the way she and Harold must have looked all those years ago when the motel was brand-new.
    â€œOf course, I got a lot of work to do on some of them rooms,” Mr. Dover said. “Carpets need cleaning. A couple of window blinds are broke. And that showerhead in Room 8 needs replacing.”
    Aggie nodded. “That dang thing never did work right,” she said.
    â€œI thought I’d have time to get the lawn chairs washed, but now I’ve gotta see about the light fixture in Room 3.”
    And then Willow’s quiet little voice chimed in, “Maybe Aggie should stay and help us.”

    Aggie looked at Willow.
    Willow looked at her father.
    Her father looked down at his shoes.
    And the room filled up with silence.
    Mr. Dover cleared his throat.
    â€œWell …” Aggie said.
    â€œThose rooms won’t be ready if that tour bus comes,” Willow said. “And then nobody will want to stay and then—”
    â€œWillow,” Mr. Dover said, “why don’t you go put them tissue boxes in the rooms, like I told you to.”
    Aggie watched Willow turn and push the screen door open like it was made out of cement. “I reckon I better go water my begonias,” she said.
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    Outside, the sun streamed through big fluffy clouds in a blue, blue sky. Everything seemed to glitter. The gravel in the parking lot. The still-dewy grass around the flagpole.
    Aggie took a deep breath.
    â€œHoneysuckle,” she said out loud.
    â€œHey, Aggie!”
    Loretta was running up the sidewalk toward her.
    â€œHey there,” Aggie said. “Where y’all going today?”
    â€œTuckaleechee Caverns,” Loretta said.

    â€œOh, you’re gonna love it there,” Aggie said. “Me and Harold used to go there all the time.”
    She snapped a dry, brown leaf off a begonia and tucked it into the pocket of her apron. “Some of those cave explorers used to stay here at the motel.”
    â€œSpelunkers,” Loretta said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSpelunkers. That’s what cave explorers are called.”
    â€œWell, ain’t you smart?” Aggie hung her watering can on the hook by the outdoor spigot.
    â€œI read it in the AAA book,” Loretta said.
    Aggie dropped into a plastic lawn chair and wiped her neck with Harold’s handkerchief.
    â€œIt’s gonna be a scorcher today,” she said.
    Loretta sat beside her. “Which place on my bracelet do you think we should visit next?” she said, holding her arm out and jangling her bracelet.
    Aggie studied the little silver charms.
    The starfish.
    The cowboy boot.
    The Statue of Liberty.
    â€œHmmm,” she said. “Well,