Rosalie shifted forward, admiring the gaps in the brick as they formed a perfect circle. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a hotel manager.”
Alex gave a slow nod and took a sip of her beer. “It’s a big job.”
“It is.”
“What makes you most nervous?”
Rosalie thought back to the office: the once-unorganized files, the slowly increasing revenue, the sorry state of the custodial staff. The whole endeavor was overwhelming.
“Nothing in particular. Just all of it.”
Alex tapped her bottle with her fingers and nodded, gazing at where a fire should have been crackling. It was silent for a long minute, and Rosalie wondered what she was contemplating.
Rosalie didn’t want to think about the hotel. It made her anxiety spike. She’d been presented with a new out, and she had to tell Alex about it. She dreaded the reaction she’d get.
“I have a real estate agent interested. She’s coming to see the property on Thursday.”
Alex’s gaze fell to the ground, and she picked at the label on her beer bottle. “You still want to sell?” Alex asked, her voice as close to hurt as Rosalie had ever heard.
Rosalie felt guilty. “Can you blame me?”
Alex shook her head, but bitterness was clouding her body, making her shoulders stiff and the little tugs of her fingers on the beer label more aggressive.
It was quiet for a long moment. Alex always thought every word through before letting it pass over her lips. Rosalie appreciated this; every word she received was incubated and thorough, never hitting anywhere but its desired mark.
Still, she knew whatever came next had the potential to knock her over.
Rather than speak, Alex swiveled her body so she was facing Rosalie, sitting up straighter, keeping her knees slightly spread. She looked at Rosalie at this new angle and reached forward, her fingers relaxed and gentle, tucking a strand of hair behind Rosalie’s ear.
Rosalie felt herself flush at the tiny touch. Alex’s work-roughened hands were intentional and gentle. Alex let a trace of a smile pass over her face, letting it fade into a look of pity. Rosalie wondered what that pity was for.
“I don’t know anything about business, Rosie,” she said.
Rosalie felt her stomach tense with the delight of being called Rosie. Few people called her that; she let few people call her that. Usually, she felt small and childish, but when Alex said it, she felt sheltered from any threatening dust cloud or desert storm.
Alex continued, “But I know at a certain point, no real estate agent or lawyer or hotel management expert has the answers for you. You may be new to this, but you can do it. I know you can. You have to trust your gut.” She brought the hand with her beer bottle closer to her stomach, sitting up straighter to indicate how solid and reliable her gut was.
She held Rosalie’s gaze steady, as serious as Rosalie had ever seen her. Rosalie felt they could have been discussing something as grave as the fate of the town, until she felt they were discussing something much more sacred. For the first time, she saw a yearning in Alex’s face, mirroring what she felt in her chest whenever she had called Alex to come fix something or help with a new project or ask which store in town had the best yogurt. There was something uncertain in Alex, too, and Rosalie had been given the power to fortify it.
Alex parted her lips, gaze flickering down to Rosalie’s mouth for a second before she let her question pass through them.
“Do you trust yourself, Rosie?”
Rosalie was paralyzed, unable to move, speak, nod, or lean forward and press her face to Alex’s. Alex had given her a rare opening into her stoic psyche. She knew she couldn’t ruin it.
Yet the question itself sealed her fate. Under the intensity of Alex’s gaze, she couldn’t lie. She felt air escape her chest in a wounded puncture as she shook her head.
“No.” She shrank back, disappointed and afraid of Alex’s response.
Alex deflated, too, gaze falling to her beer. She glanced back at the remaining pack of beer, heaving herself up from the stump. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Alex walked away without saying anything more.
Rosalie sat in front of the unlit fire for a long time. She studied the dry land before her, looking for signs of life. The small gray cat came for dinner, and Rosalie heaved herself up to retrieve its food. A creeping sense of dread flooded through her when she saw Alex’s truck in the parking lot. She’d hurt Alex’s feelings. She needed to make sure she hadn’t completely alienated her.
She went to Alex’s room, feeling sheepish and obligated. When she knocked, Alex invited her in. Alex was lying on the bed, hand behind her head as she watched a baseball game. After glancing at Rosalie, she focused back on the screen.
There was a tense silence as the game made ambient noise in the background.
“How’s the game?” Rosalie asked.
“We’re up by four runs.”
Rosalie looked around, debating sitting in one of the chairs. Taking a risk, she sat. “How’s Toby doing?” she asked, parroting a question she’d heard one of Alex’s friends ask.
“He’s not pitching today,” Alex said, her voice flat.
It was quiet again, and Rosalie feigned interest in the TV. The silence, once so normal around Alex, was excruciating.
As though knowing how uncomfortable Rosalie was, Alex spoke up. “Did you need anything?”
Rosalie squirmed, realizing Alex didn’t want her there. But she’d come in with a purpose. “Just checking to make sure we’re okay.”
Another pause.
“Are we good?”
“Depends on what ‘we’ are,” Alex said.
“What do you mean?”
Rosalie wanted Alex to turn her head and look at her, but Alex’s gaze was fixed stubbornly on the television.
“If you’re asking as someone I’m dating, no, we’re not good. But if you’re asking as my boss, yeah, we’re good.”
Rosalie felt her shoulders start to hunch up under her discomfort. She knew Alex wasn’t trying to be difficult on purpose, but she hated the way Alex was making her feel.
“What about as your friend?” Rosalie asked.
Alex tipped her head to the side to look at her with contempt. “I don’t want to be friends, Rosalie.”
Rosalie fidgeted. She wished she knew how to fix this without sacrificing her hope of someday getting out of Ashhawk.
“Friends take care of each other and hang out. We’ve always done those things. What’s the difference between that and what we are?” Rosalie asked.
Alex looked at Rosalie with an expression of blank incredulity. Rosalie panicked, realizing she’d said exactly the wrong thing.
“Are you joking?”
“No...” Rosalie said, feeling even worse.
Alex looked back at the TV, a look of sullen resignation on her face. “I guess there’s no difference then.”
Rosalie sat still, tuned to Alex, wishing she would call her Rosie. But Alex said nothing, staring at the TV as though Rosalie wasn’t there.
Dejected and angry at herself, Rosalie got up and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She shuffled to her room, barely acknowledging the cat as she made her way inside.
****
Rosalie didn’t see Alex the next day. She would have thought she’d left, had her truck not been in the parking lot for most of the day. She felt they were doing some sort of passive-aggressive dance by the next day, when she still hadn’t seen Alex.
Finally, Alex came into the lobby after Rosalie had eaten lunch. Her shoulders were more hunched than usual, hands jammed in her pockets.
“Hi,” Rosalie said, steeling herself against any barbs or pouting from Alex.
“Hey,” Alex said, gaze flickering around the lobby in a desperate attempt to look anywhere but at Rosalie. “I just finished up with the paint in room fourteen.”
“Great,” Rosalie said. “Thank you.” She was relieved to b
e able to step into the easy roles of employer and employee, but it pained her that they had come to this.
“I’m gonna head down to Malcolm’s for a few days,” Alex said, scratching her cheek. “He’s got an infrared sauna he wants me to install.”
Rosalie bit her lip and nodded, hoping Alex’s trip was coincidental and not because Alex couldn’t stand to be around her.
“Okay. Say hi to him for me.”
Alex bobbed her head. It was stiff and forced. She reached into her pocket and took out a square of paper. “I’ll be back Tuesday. If anything breaks, call this guy.” She set the paper gingerly on the counter, then shoved her hand back in her pocket. She bit her lip, eyes still looking everywhere but at Rosalie. “Good luck with the real estate agent tomorrow.” Then she turned and slunk out of the lobby.
Rosalie felt a puncture in her chest. She’d never seen Alex so tense and uncomfortable around her. She knew she’d hurt Alex deeply, but Alex was too tough to let it show in traditional ways. It almost made Rosalie want to run after her. But she had nothing to say yet.
Rosalie’s phone rang just then, and she was surprised to see it was her father calling. He was a man of few words, so phone conversations didn’t suit him most of the time. Rosalie worried something awful had happened.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” her father said.
He had a way of speaking on the phone that was different from the way he spoke in person. Even more measured and slow, as though speaking too quickly would cause the words to jumble together as they soared through the air between cell towers.
“Oh, good. How are you?”
“I’m good,” Frank said. “Been having…lots of time to myself…reading books…” His words were slow, but Rosalie heard a smile through them. Frank was content. “How are you?”
The question caused Rosalie to droop. She never masked the truth with her father.
“I’ve been better,” she said. “Managing a hotel is no joke.”
“It’s certainly not,” Frank agreed. “You are a strong...brave young woman.”
Rosalie wasn’t sure how to respond to the abrupt compliment. She knew it was sincere. But she felt anything but strong and brave.
“Have you been learning a lot about New Mexico?”
“A little bit,” Rosalie said, feeling guilty she hadn’t done her daughterly duty of sending information back to him. “I don’t have a lot of time to get to know the place. I’m always fixing something or helping a guest or managing our new website.”
“It’s a big job…”
There was a drop-off at the end of his drawn-out sentence, and Rosalie felt obligated to give him at least one tidbit of information.
“I did learn something the other week,” she said. “In Navajo tribes, a baby’s first laugh is a big deal. There’s a whole ceremony around it. Whoever made the baby laugh throws a party, and the baby symbolically gives gifts to everyone who attends as part of their lifelong education in generosity.”
Frank hummed, a pleased, descending note that made Rosalie think of how he’d read to her at bedtime as a child. “I remember the first time you laughed.”
A gentle chuckle pushed through his voice, and Rosalie’s chest lifted with hope. He remembered her first laugh.
“You were so small…still looking a bit crumpled in your carrier. Gran had just arrived from Ashhawk to meet you.”
“How old was I?”
“Let’s see…she couldn’t get away right after you were born...you were probably three months old.”
Rosalie held her breath.
“Gran leaned over your carrier, expecting you to be asleep, but you weren’t...You were looking right up at her. She was so delighted to meet you, she started giggling. You started laughing, which made her laugh more. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen...my mother and my daughter getting along so well right away.”
Rosalie was speechless, imagining a younger Gran stooped over her carrier, giggling in her Gran giggle. Rosalie could hear that giggle now, a funny, girlish laugh that carried delicately through a room.
Maybe she was connected to Gran in a way she didn’t understand. Maybe there was something between them that had existed before she’d been born. Maybe their connection was the reason Gran had left her the hotel. Even if she never got any proof, she wanted to believe, in whatever mutated way, leaving her the hotel had been Gran’s attempt at a lesson in generosity. She felt guilty for not being grateful for it.
Rosalie tried to postpone her thoughts of Gran and laughter and generosity long enough to update her father on her life and make sure he was okay.
“I have an appointment with a real estate agent tomorrow,” Rosalie offered.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She’s a rep from All Nite Inn.”
“I’m surprised,” Frank said. He wasn’t disappointed or judgmental. “I thought you’d enjoy the challenge of taking over Hearth. But I understand. You can’t run a business if your heart’s not in it.”
Rosalie felt a small pang in her chest, a resonance her father had identified. Her heart was ambivalent about so much of her life. She realized, of the many things she missed about Philadelphia, her father was chief. His unconditional concern and care for her, his content with her quiet presence made her feel needed. Rosalie wondered if perhaps he needed her more than ever now, with all the transition of Marisol moving out.
“I’ll be back in Philadelphia soon. Then we can spend more time together.”
Frank let out a gentle, contented sigh, as though to soothe Rosalie. “I’m doing fine, sweetheart. As long as you’re happy, I’m fine.”
Rosalie pictured her father sitting on the couch with a book and realized he was fine. Frank was a student of places and animals, a lover of knowledge. The reason he was so content despite the absence of Marisol and the death of his mother was because he was content with knowledge over people, with one exception: Rosalie. Rosalie had always felt like his most important person. Whether things worked out with the librarian or not, Frank would be okay. He only wanted his daughter to be happy.
****
Rosalie lay awake that night, staring into the darkness above her as it pressed heavy onto her eyes. The popcorn ceiling above her was probably raining down particles of asbestos even though the fan overhead was motionless.
Listening to the coyotes outside, Rosalie thought of Gran. Had Gran had sleepless nights like this? Had she found managing the hotel as overwhelming as Rosalie did? Did her boyfriend, Marvin Cobalt, make things easier for her? Rosalie supposed having someone to love would make living in Ashhawk easier.
Rosalie thought of the property on the other side of town. Maybe keeping it a secret had been Gran’s way of holding on to a piece of Marvin that she could see and touch. The desert dust held a piece of him that hadn’t been bound to his physical body. Though Rosalie had never met Marvin, she imagined he was tied to the land, peaceful as he contemplated its stillness, allowing it to teach him the generosity that had prompted him to will it to Gran, who had passed that generosity on to Rosalie.
Rosalie knew Gran hadn’t meant to pluck her from her life and happiness in Philadelphia. Gran had wanted to give Rosalie a piece of her heart, a little piece of the desert. With it came the truckers and coyotes and the poverty of the small town that had contained most of Gran’s life on earth. She had given Rosalie all she had. Rosalie knew she ought to be grateful for it.
Rosalie thought she remembered Gran well—the crinkling lines under her eyes, the elegant sweep of her hair over her ears up into its tidy bun, the gentle voice slightly cracked like desert dirt. Gran had always seemed so calm and elegant. Rosalie wondered if those things were real, or if she’d dreamed them up to obscure a woman as weathered and weather-beaten as the rest of the town.
Knowing she wouldn’t sleep anytime soon, Rosalie got up to sit out back and look at the night sky as she tried to channel Gran. She didn’t believe she’d actually be able to c
onverse with her spirit as she might a living person, but perhaps a pearl of understanding would seed itself in her mind in the clarity of night, bringing her peace or wisdom as she learned to run the hotel.
But as she pulled on her robe, she saw where she’d flung her swimsuit over the rack in her bathroom and decided to take a swim instead. The pool was doing little more than sitting there, save for the occasional evening when a family came through town and the kids wanted to go down the slide. Rosalie had only been in the pool twice and only because she felt obligated.
She put on her suit and wrapped her robe around her, slipping into a pair of flip-flops she hadn’t worn in a long time. She closed her door behind her and shuffled across the parking lot, noticing the empty spot where Alex usually parked her truck. The space felt huge and accusatory, a punishment for Rosalie’s indecisive cruelty.
The exterior lights extended over the pool area, but the underwater lights were off. Rosalie looked down into the black waters and worried she might sink into the depths, never to be heard from again.
She draped her robe over a chair, feeling the chilly night air nip around her hips and buttocks, sending flares of goose bumps over her arms. She slid into the water, finding it comfortably warm for an unheated pool. Alex had been right; the relentless sun of New Mexico had a few perks.
Rosalie slid forward into the water, feeling it swirl around her, its chill seeping into the secret places the shower never reached between her legs and under her arms and at the backs of her knees. She took a few strokes forward, trying not to make noise lest she wake any guests or call attention to herself at this hour.
When she came to the middle of the pool, she slid under the water long enough to wet her hair, then twisted and rolled onto her back, surfacing face first, her breasts and hips and thighs and feet following as she leveled in slow motion. She kept her head tilted back, aligning her spine so she wouldn’t have to use her hands to stay afloat. She vaguely recalled swim classes with her mother as a child, the red of her mother’s bikini present in her peripheral vision as she struggled to stay afloat, the muffled sound of her mother’s voice encouraging her to relax as Rosalie panicked, certain she would drown.
Hearts Inn Page 21