Sample text for Greetings from nowhere / Barbara O'Connor.

Bibliographic record and links to related information available from the Library of Congress catalog

Copyrighted sample text provided by the publisher and used with permission. May be incomplete or contain other coding.

From Greetings from Nowhere

Willow watched from the front seat of the truck as her father glanced around the weed-filled parking lot. Squinted out at the cracked, empty swimming pool. Frowned over at the faded, peeling sign.

“I know it ain’t much to look at now,” Aggie said. “But you shoulda seen it in its heyday.” She gestured with her skinny arm, making the sweater flop down over her hand. “This whole parking lot was filled to overflowing. Cars and kids and all. Guests in every room every night. Well, almost every night . . . at least in the summer . . . And—”

“Mrs. Duncan, I—”

“Aggie,” she said. “Please. Call me Aggie.”

She squinted over at the pickup truck where Willow sat.

Willow slumped down in the seat.

“Is that your girl?” Aggie said.

“Yes,” her father said. “That’s Willow.”

“Willow!” Aggie grinned. “Well, what a fine name!” She waved toward the truck. “Hello, Willow,” she called.

Willow waved back.

A tiny little wave.

“There haven’t been kids around here for the longest time,” Aggie said. “I just love kids,” she added.

Willow slumped down a little farther and pretended like she didn’t see her father motioning for her to get out of the truck.

She didn’t want to get out of the truck.

She wanted to go home.

Back to the little brick house with the screened porch.

Her father motioned again and said, “Please come here, Willow,” in that voice Willow hated.

So Willow got out of the truck and stood beside her father, looking down at her pink plastic sandals.

“I figured we should make arrangements for the inspection,” Willow’s father said to Aggie. “And get the rest of the paperwork done and all.”

Aggie’s hand fluttered up to her glasses, smoothed her hair, pushed at the sleeve of her sweater. “Um, well, okay.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “But there’s no hurry, right? I mean, you wanna be sure and all, and I . . .”

Willow studied Aggie’s face. She couldn’t put a name to what she saw there, but she knew that Aggie didn’t want to sell this motel.

She looked around her at the ramshackle place and wondered why.

Why would anyone want to keep an awful old place like this?

Library of Congress subject headings for this publication:
Hotels, motels, etc. -- Fiction.
Interpersonal relations -- Fiction.
Great Smoky Mountains (N.C. and Tenn.) -- Fiction.
North Carolina -- Fiction.