Alpine for You Read Free Page B

your grampa had room for a La-Z-Boy recliner…and his TV was bigger.”

Chapter 2
    I n the midst of a dead sleep, I felt a light tap on my shoulder and heard Nana’s voice close to my ear. “Emily, dear, it’s a quarter to five. Can you be dressed for dinner in fifteen minutes? Remember, Wally said to meet in the lobby at six o’clock sharp.”
    I opened one eye. I felt as if I’d been hit with a sledge-hammer. “How long have I been asleep?” I mumbled.
    “Five hours.”
    “FIVE HOURS?! But…but how could I sleep that long? I wasn’t tired. I slept on the plane. I was only taking a catnap.”
    “Must be jet lag. I seen on Dateline NBC that crossin’ the Atlantic by plane can really disrupt your circadian rhythm. Throws your sleep pattern way outta whack. You sleep when you should be awake and you’re awake when you should be asleep. They done a study.”
    I scrubbed my face with my hands and eyed Nana through my fingers. “Have you been asleep, too?”
    “I slept for twenty minutes, ’til the bags arrived. Then I unpacked, and showered, and set up my laptop, and sent an E-mail to your parents to tell ’em we got here okay. I checked Hometown temperature and would you believe it’s warmer in Iowa today than it is in Lucerne? Back home it’s seventy-five degrees. It’s only fifty in Lucerne. I’m headin’ down to supper now so’s I won’t be late. You come when you can.”
    “But supper isn’t until six. It’s only quarter of five. You have an hour and fifteen minutes.”
    “So I’ll be right on time. I’ll leave the key on the desk for you, dear. Don’t forget to bring it.”
    Iowans were always punctual. Insanely punctual. If they were an hour early, they thought themselves “on time.” If they arrived at the appointed time, they considered themselves late. Even though Nana wasn’t a native Iowan, she still had the compulsion. I guess it came from growing up in a bordering state. After my stint in New York, I’d schooled myself to become less compulsive about time. These days, I could remain calm and in control even if I was a few minutes late.
    I stumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I stared at the bathtub, wondering why the shower apparatus was attached to the wall directly in front of me rather than the end wall. Nana said she’d taken a shower, but the showerhead looked too complicated for a person suffering from a disruption in her circadian rhythm to figure out. Besides, I didn’t want to get my hair wet, so I’d be better off taking a bath. I turned on the faucet.
    “YEEEOOOOOOOWWWW!” Cold water blasted me in the face. It needled into my eyes. Shot up my nose. I leaped out of the way. Cold water pounded onto the tiled floor and formed rivers in the grouting. I stared in amazement. Nana had been right. The water pressure was great.
    I grappled with the faucet to turn it off then stood for a moment in abject shock, assessing the damage. The floor had become a tidal pool. My feet were soaked, my hair was drenched, my dry-clean only silk turtleneck was plastered to my Click Miracle bra. I glared at the showerhead knowing exactly what had caused the disaster.
    Nana had touched the dingus.
    I stepped out of my wet leather skirt and mopped up the floor on my hands and knees, then realizing I’d used our entire supply of clean towels in the endeavor, I unpacked my blow-dryer and blew myself and my turtleneck dry. My turtleneck ended up stretched to my thighs, with a splotch like a six-headed amoeba tattooed on the front. And it had been my favorite! Berry. To match my nails. I’d bought it in a little boutique in Ames because it had spoken to me. I love clothes. They speak to me a lot. But considering the size of my bank account, I wish they would speak to me in a language I didn’t understand, like Latin or Croatian.
    I checked the time. The crystal on my wristwatch was fogged up and I could see tiny droplets of water clinging to the inside. “Aaaarghhhh!” I