“Let’s go in!” Lemon said, already heading for the glass doors.

  “Wait!” Marco called after her. “Do we need to?”

  “Well, he did tell us to get familiar with it,” Old Lady Marbles replied.

  Together, they walked toward the big glass entrance.

  The doors whooshed open as they approached, blasting them with a sudden burst of cold air.

  “Old people!” Lemon yelped, rubbing her arms.

  “Old Homo sapiens,” Marco corrected. “It means ‘wise man.’”

  Most of the seniors were bustling up and down the hallways or waiting in a long line for the breakfast buffet.

  Others stood chatting or quietly reading newspapers.

  A few sat at tables playing cards.

  One man was fast asleep in a chair, snoring upright.

  More than a few were staring at Old Lady Marbles and the children.

  Marco wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

  “Let’s hurry,” he told the others.

  Marbles found a large map on the wall, marked with a red dot and the words You are here.

  “We’re here,” she announced. “But where’s the cat?”

  “Look! Brochures!” she exclaimed in her old lady voice, waddling over to pick one up.

  Inside was a complete road map of the Golden Rays Retirement Community, filled with glossy photos of cheerful, active seniors cuddling and playing golf.

  “I smell fresh pie,” Lemon announced, closing her eyes and sniffing the air like a kitten on catnip.

  “Not now, Lemon,” Marco said. “Let’s stay focused.”

  Marbles and Marco studied the map.

  Several minutes passed before Marco realized they were the only two still standing there.

  Lemon had wandered off.

  “Do you see Lemon?” Marco asked, anxiety tightening his voice.

  “She couldn’t have gone far,” Marbles replied. “Come on.”

  They walked into a nearby hallway, scanning the crowd and calling her name.

  Elderly residents kept stopping to greet Marbles, each one smiling and telling Marco what a good boy he was for visiting his grandma. Then, after every interaction, they leaned in and whispered to each other.

  The constant whispering was making him nervous.

  He paused at an open doorway and peered inside. A cooking class was underway.

  Clusters of grey-haired ladies in puffy white chef hats stirred steaming copper pots and tended ovens that smelled like sugar and butter. The rich aroma of fresh pastries spilled into the hallway, wrapping everything in its golden scent.

  “There she is,” Marco said, pointing Lemon out to Marbles.

  She stood at a table piled high with warm, fresh pastries.

  They watched as she poked a finger into a pie, then popped it into her mouth.

  Marco began silently gesturing, trying not to draw the attention of the cooks.

  He whispered loudly, “Lemon!”

  “No, today is cherry,” one of the cooks replied without turning. “Lemon is Thursday.”

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  Instead of leaving, Lemon grabbed a knife, sliced off a generous piece of pie, and ducked under the table.

  She took a big bite and grinned up at Marco. Cheeks full, eyes shining.

  “Lemon! Come on!” Marco hissed.

  “I said cherry,” the cook repeated, a little testy this time. “Lemon is Thursday. You’ll just have to wait.”

  Marco looked at Marbles and shrugged.

  Marbles nodded confidently and flashed an “OK” hand signal, then casually shuffled into the kitchen toward the pastry table.

  The cook didn’t even glance up. Marbles moved like she belonged.

  “Come on, dear!” Marbles called in her kind, old lady voice.

  She reached down and gently pulled Lemon out from under the table.

  Lemon’s mouth was still full of pie. She couldn’t say a word.

  The other cooks, busy fanning smoke from a tray of burned cookies, didn’t seem to notice.

  Marbles led Lemon back to Marco, and the three of them regrouped in the hallway.

  “Now give grandma some of that pie!” Marbles demanded, grinning.

  Lemon laughed and held it up for her to take a bite. Marco took one too.

  “Mmm!” he said. He had to admit, it was really good pie.

  “I’m sticky. I need to wash my hands,” Lemon complained, spreading her little fingers wide.

  She held up a gooey hand for them to see.

  “Okay,” Marco said, checking the brochure map. “There should be a restroom just past the sewing room.”

  Together, they shared the rest of the pie as they walked through clusters of chattering seniors toward it.

  Lemon and Marbles went into the restroom while Marco waited in the hall.

  His nose was suddenly assaulted by a wall of rose perfume so strong that his eyes watered.

  “Those knots!” exclaimed a particularly tall old woman, rushing up to Marco.

  She wore thick makeup and bright lipstick, her cheeks so taut and shiny they looked lacquered.

  Oh… barf, Marco thought, realizing she was the source of the overpowering scent.

  “Who did this? Where did it come from? It’s genius!” she cried, pulling and petting at Marco’s hat like it was a rare precious artifact.

  Several other ladies gathered around.

  “This was done by the hands of a master. That’s real Merino wool!” one of them exclaimed.

  She tugged at a fold of the hat, and even Marco was startled by how far it could stretch.

  “Ooooh… aaaah…” the women murmured in unison, reaching out to touch the fabric.

  It was a full-speed grandma convergence, led by the tall, glossy-faced woman and followed closely by her entourage, less aggressive, but clearly taking their cues from her every move.

  At that moment, Marbles and Lemon stepped out of the restroom and walked straight into the wool-fueled frenzy.

  “PU!” Lemon gagged, sticking out her tongue and coughing.

  She waved her arms dramatically. “What is that smell? Crap, I’m going to puke!”

  “Look! There’s more!” one of the ladies squealed, pointing at Lemon and Marbles.

  Several of the old women rushed over, arms outstretched, eager to touch their hats.

  “Such exquisite use of Angora!” the tall lady cooed, pulling and petting Marco’s hat.

  She pressed her cheek against it, caressing her face. “So soft! It’s heavenly!”

  Marco held his breath and frowned.

  “Are you the artist?” she asked, turning to Old Lady Marbles.

  “You’re a genius! I must know your methods!”

  She was nearly trembling with passion. “Teach me!”

  “Well...” Marbles began, slipping effortlessly into her sweet old lady voice.

  The impassioned tall woman pulled off Lemon’s Kitten Brigade hat and raised it high above her head.

  She declared, with dramatic reverence, “This work of art belongs in a museum!”

  “Hey! That’s mine!” Lemon yelled.

  Lemon jumped up and down, trying to get her hat back, but couldn’t reach it.

  Marco put his hands on his head, protecting his own Kitten Brigade hat.

  Old Lady Marbles straightened with sudden conviction. “I made them, yes… Please let me have that back. I’ll show you.”

  The tall woman handed Lemon’s hat to Marbles, who immediately gave it right back to Lemon.

  Dumbfounded, the tall woman said, “I thought you were going to show me the secrets of your art?”

  Marbles answered with wide-eyed certainty, “Silly! There will be plenty of time after the opera.”

  She exaggeratedly crossed and uncrossed her eyes. “What was that? Did I miss my cue?”

  Clasping her hands, Marbles sang out, “ME! ME! ME! ME! MEEEEEEE!”

  The strongly perfumed lady took a step back. Her glossy lips curled.

  “Oh, I see,” she said, her voice thick with contempt. Frowning, she glared at Marco. “Why didn’t you tell me she was in the Sunshine Club?”

  Then, grimacing at Marbles and shaking her head, she said, “Tsk.”

  The other old ladies whispered and shook their heads too, repeating “Tsk” and nodding their heads like a flock of cackling hens.

  She continued to berate the children, her voice sharp with disgust.

  “Why is this woman walking around without her Sunshine badge? Sun-Shiners must stay within their designated areas!”

  With a long thin arm, she pointed down the hall where a wide yellow line crossed the floor of the big hallway.

  “And where are your parents?” she snapped at Marco and Lemon.

  Ignoring her, Marco urged, “Come on, Grandma!”

  He took Marbles’ hand, turned, and quickly walked away with her and Lemon.

  “Stop!” the tall woman shouted after them.

  “There are no unattended children allowed at Golden Rays! Sun-Shiners are not considered attending adults!”

  Marco gulped and kept walking straight ahead without looking back.

  Crap.

  They moved farther and farther away from the now?screaming, wild?eyed old lady.

  Once they crossed the wide yellow stripe on the floor, they ducked into a side corridor and ran.