Dead Voices

“Nope,” said Brian, still a little grumpy himself. “It was these two banging on the door. They tried to bribe me with hot chocolate.”

“And it worked,” Ollie commented.

Brian sighed. “Hot chocolate, my kryptonite,” he said.

Ollie’s dad popped out of the kitchen like a magic-trick rabbit. “Did I hear a call for hot chocolate? Coming right up!”

Ollie groaned and laughed and sank down into a chair next to Brian. “Dad’s in the kitchen already,” Ollie said. “Why am I not surprised?” Coco laughed too, and took the chair on the other side of her mom. It was so like Ollie’s dad to take over the lodge kitchen.

Coco’s mom smiled again. She seemed, thought Coco, more cheerful than she usually was in the mornings. “Your dad does love cooking, doesn’t he?” Coco’s mom said to Ollie. “When I came down, he was already in the kitchen. Said he heard Sam Wilson swearing at the stove and smelled something burning. Of course, he had to jump in and lend a hand.” She laughed and shook her head at the memory. Coco couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mom laugh like that. She must like being on vacation, even if vacation so far was just sleeping in a weird ski lodge.

Mr. Adler popped out of the kitchen again, this time with a jug in one hand and a big platter of pancakes in the other. He marched over. “Breakfast coming up!” he announced in the booming voice of a circus ringmaster. They all giggled. Even Coco’s mom.

“Come one, come all,” continued Mr. Adler, sweeping over to the table. “And experience—PANCAKES. For Miss Olivia Adler, most favorite daughter, we have banana chocolate chip PANCAKES. For Miss Coco Zintner, favorite almost-daughter, blueberry! And for Mr. Brian Battersby, favorite almost-son and hometown hockey hero, buttermilk! And something left over for us, of course,” he added, winking at Coco’s mom. He plopped the pancake platter in the middle of the table, took the chair next to her, theatrically wiped his forehead, and helped himself to three pancakes. “Sam’s bringing bacon and eggs,” he added in a normal voice, waving his fork at the kitchen door. “Eat up!”

“And butter and maple syrup?” asked Brian hopefully, helping himself to a buttermilk pancake.

“And more coffee?” asked Coco’s mom.

“It’s like feeding an army, making breakfast for you four,” said Mr. Adler. “But yes. What are pancakes without maple syrup? And I know you’re a five-cups-a-morning kind of woman.” He grinned at Coco’s mom, took her hand, squeezed it briefly, and started cutting up his pancakes.

Ollie looked from her dad to Coco’s mom with a strange expression. Coco was staring between the two of them herself. Hand-holding? Where did that come from?

Coco, wondering if she should say something, helped herself to a blueberry pancake and passed the platter. Ollie took a pancake, mouth shut tight, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

Coco decided that she didn’t dare say anything, if Ollie wasn’t going to. She could ask her mom later.

Coco started on her pancake, and realized that she was happier than she’d been since they left East Evansburg. The smells of bacon, coffee, and pancakes filled the dining room. The fire was crackling, and she was nice and toasty. Mr. Adler had made them all laugh; her mom was smiling. And Ollie’s dad had held hands with her mom. Just for a second, but still. Coco was delighted. Ollie’s dad was one of her favorite people.

Maybe, Coco thought, this trip to Mount Hemlock wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

But why wouldn’t Ollie meet anyone’s eyes?

“Better dig in to those pancakes,” said Mr. Adler. “Or I’ll start telling jokes again.”

“Oh no,” said Coco’s mom, but she was still smiling. They all hastily began to eat their pancakes. Sam Wilson came out with a huge platter of bacon and scrambled eggs, and also a jug of golden maple syrup, some pats of butter, and a pot of coffee hanging dangerously from a pinkie. Ollie’s dad raised a cheer at his appearance, and Mr. Wilson managed to set the food onto the table without spilling any of it.

“Whew,” he said to Ollie’s dad. “You’re quite the chef, Roger. Glad you lent me a hand! Not to say I couldn’t have done it all myself, but . . .”

“Have a bite, Sam,” said Mr. Adler hospitably. “Don’t be formal; there’s only the seven of us here!”

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” said Mr. Wilson, and he sat.

“Guess there’s not going to be any skiing today, huh?” Brian asked once he’d downed his first pancake. He peered out the window, a little glum. Coco felt sorry for him. She thought of how happily he’d talked of boots and skis and snow and trails on the drive up.

“Not today,” said Mr. Adler. He sighed. “Too much wind. You guys probably heard the wind this morning. Absolutely shrieking. It woke Zelda and me up.” (Zelda was Coco’s mom.) “Besides, Sam says they’ve been having a lot of mechanical difficulties, isn’t that right?”

Mr. Wilson gulped a bite of bacon, and said, “Never seen anything like it. The lift keeps breaking down. The generator’s only putting out half—less—of the power it’s supposed to, but I

can’t find anything wrong with it. It’s just—not working.”

Brian looked unhappy at the news. But Coco’s heart leaped at the words not today.

No slippery cold mountain, she thought. Great. We can stay here and play chess. Or Scrabble. We can draw. Read.

Ollie was good at chess too. Coco practiced more, but Ollie was smart: the best at math in the entire middle school, and her mom had taught her to play chess when she was little. Brian could play chess, though he didn’t love it. He was a mean hand at Scrabble. Coco thought contentedly of spending a cozy day by the fire playing board games with her friends.

“We’re just going to have to entertain ourselves,” said Mr. Adler, echoing Coco’s thought.