by Rebekah Lyn
Chef Gustave shook his head. “We do not have enough cereal to feed everyone this morning and the milk is limited as well.”
Stephen clenched and unclenched his hands, his anxiety growing. “Lizzie mentioned something about Tammy ordering several cases of granola bars, she was going to use them in box lunches for the school group staying here next week. I think they came in Friday morning. Have we already used those?”
Chef Gustave gave him a surprised look. “They’re not in the kitchen.”
“Maybe they’re in her office.” Stephen disappeared and emerged a moment later with a set of keys. The men set off across the lobby to Tammy’s office.
Stephen tried several keys before finding the right one. The room was pitch black. Both men panned their flashlights around the room without finding anything that resembled boxes of granola bars.
“There’s nothing here. Maybe now we can wake Lizzie,” Chef Gustave spat. Stephen recoiled from the obvious disgust in the man’s voice.
“I’m sure they are here.” Stephen ran down the hallway stopping to inspect several pallets that stood by the loading bay. He walked around each one shining his light on every box long enough to read the label. His heart leaped when he reached the last stack.
“Here,” Stephen cried. Chef Gustave hurried over, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
“There must be a few hundred bars here.” Stephen lifted several boxes and handed them to the chef.
“Good work,” Chef Gustave managed to mutter. The two men carried the packages to the galley. “The staff will receive the granola bars instead of cereal, children will get smaller portions, and we will give everyone only a quarter of a cup of milk.”
Stephen gathered the skeleton crew together for their morning meal, setting aside enough for Lizzie, and returned to the front desk feeling triumphant.
A few minutes after eight Stephen heard the office door open. He turned to find Lizzie staggering out to the desk. She rubbed her eyes as he filled her in on the change in plans for breakfast. She gave him a smile of approval.
“I told you Chef isn’t as scary as he seems,” she said. “I hope this storm passes soon. I don’t know how much longer people can take being cooped up in here.”
As if to support her fear, a group of guests spilled out of the stairwell, their shouts echoing around the empty lobby. A short, stooped man with wispy gray hair and glasses led the pack, followed closely by a woman with dark hair and large brown eyes. She screeched in a language Stephen didn’t recognize.
Stephen watched Lizzie meet the mob and approach the couple; speaking so low he couldn’t hear her from where he stood, rooted behind the desk. The woman pushed Lizzie and the older man aside and continued her march toward Stephen. The pack behind her all appeared to be related. He didn’t remember checking them in and the closer she drew the more anxious he felt. Lizzie now trailed the pack.
“I want out of here,” the woman demanded. Her voice was strident, her English laced with a thick Eastern European accent, and Stephen remembered alphabetizing the registration cards during the night. There had been a family from the Czech Republic. He tried to appear calm but the pounding of his heart made it hard for him to breathe normally. The woman shook her fist at him.
“Mrs. Valislyvich, I know you want to leave, but this is a serious storm.” Stephen spoke with care, enunciating each word, unsure if she understood anything.
“You no keep me here!” The rest of the family shouted something in Czech as they piled up behind the woman.
“Sshh,” he hissed, lifting a finger to his lips. The shouts continued and he noticed groggy guests beginning to enter the lobby to see what the commotion was about. Desperate to gain control he stuck two fingers in his mouth and rent the air with a sharp whistle. The family before him was stunned into silence.
“I understand you want to leave,” he said. “So do I, but it is not safe. Please go to the dining room and we will see what news we can find out.”
The woman opened her mouth again, but the stooped man took her by the hand and pulled her toward the dining room. The rest of the family wavered a moment then followed.
Stephen’s legs shook, threatening to give out from under him. He looked up and saw Lizzie giving him a thumbs up from the door to the restaurant. More guests were milling around now, some heading to breakfast, others pressing their faces against the windows. He slipped into the office and found the weather radio. He turned it on hoping for good news.
“Hurricane Frances has been downgraded to a tropical storm and is expected to enter the Gulf of Mexico later today continuing on its west-northwest track,” the broadcaster announced. Stephen let out a whoop of delight mindless of the rest of the report.
He raced out of the office toward the restaurant where he found Lizzie walking from table to table speaking with each family, offering reassurances. When she looked in his direction, he gestured for her.
“The worst is past, we can go home soon.” Stephen couldn’t contain his delight when she met him at the door. Lizzie patted him on the shoulder and gave him a sad look.
“We can’t leave until someone comes to relieve us.”
His smile faded. “I…I…but,” he couldn’t find any words.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer,” Lizzie said. “You’ve done a wonderful job, hang in there. Why don’t you go back to the desk and make sure everything is ready for us to hand over when reinforcements arrive?”
He nodded and returned to the desk.
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the house, slipping under the bedroom door, and waking Jeffrey from a deep sleep. He opened one eye and noticed the clock on the bedside table flashing angrily. He rolled onto his back and stretched before sitting up. He rubbed his face and raked his fingers through his hair. As he became more alert, he felt as though something was missing.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the window where he pulled the curtains back to reveal a yellow plywood board outside of the glass. Placing his ear to the windowpane, he listened for several moments before realizing there was no wind. He stumbled down the hallway into the kitchen where he found his mother standing over a hot pan, a piece of raw bacon dangling from her fingers.
“Good morning,” she greeted him with a smile. “Well, it’s almost noon, but it’s still so dark it feels like morning.”
Jeffrey poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped into a seat at the table. “Is the storm over?”
Jacquelyn nodded. “Power came back about an hour ago. I hope that will be the last hurricane of the season. How many eggs would you like?”
“You don’t need to do that,” he said, feeling uncomfortable.
“I’m already cooking so you might as well tell me what you want.”
“Three eggs, scrambled, would be nice.” He rose and moved to the back door. He pushed it open to find the sky still gray but no longer threatening. The backyard was littered with pine needles and tree limbs. A trellis that had supported several climbing roses lay at an awkward angle with vines fluttering in the gentle breeze.
“What a mess,” he said shutting the door.
“We’ll have to call the lawn service.” Jacquelyn arranged a plate with an egg white omelet, two pieces of bacon, a slice of toast, and a glass of orange juice on a tray. “I’m going to take this to your father then I’ll cook your eggs.”
Jeffrey moved around the island and cracked three eggs into the pan she’d left on the stove. He opened the refrigerator, found a bag of shredded cheese, and poured a handful into the pan. As the eggs began to firm, he whisked them into a fluffy pile. He poured the eggs onto a plate while they were still moist and lifted two pieces of cooked bacon from a napkin. He took the meal back to the table just as Jacquelyn returned.
“I told you I would make it,” she chided him upon seeing his plate.
“I didn’t want to be a bother.”
Jacquelyn moved behind he
r son’s seated form and wrapped her arms around him. “You are never a bother to me,” she whispered into his ear as she gave him a loving squeeze.
Since his father’s illness he’d come to help out of obligation, maybe even a touch of guilt, but each kind word or action opened the door to the battered heart he’d closed after Camylle’s death. The growing sense of vulnerability unnerved him and made him want to retreat, yet something kept drawing him in.
Jacquelyn poured another cup of coffee and returned to the table while Jeffrey finished his breakfast. He felt her eyes on him as he sopped up the last bit of egg with a piece of toast and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, eyes downcast, waiting for her to speak.
“Thank you for coming over and taking care of things.”
Her words were casual. Jeffrey had never been good at reading people and struggled now to see beyond his mother’s exterior. He knew she wanted him back in her life, but what else, what wasn’t she telling him?
He pushed his chair back and rinsed his plate before slipping it into the dishwasher. His gaze flitted around the room and he shifted restlessly.
“I should go to work, make sure things are okay.” He tugged his keys from his pocket, spinning the ring on his finger several times. Jacquelyn nodded and took a sip of her coffee.
“Drive safely; the roads are bound to be a mess.” She reached for a magazine in the center of the table and pulled it toward her.
Her disinterested air annoyed him. He let out an exasperated sigh and turned to leave the room. As he reached the hall, he stopped as if he’d walked into an invisible wall. I want her to ask me to stay. Why isn’t she asking me to stay? He wanted to turn around, to study his mother’s face, but he pushed himself forward, hurrying out the front door.
Jacquelyn waited for the sound of the front door before closing the magazine. She busied herself with washing the pans and wiping down the counters. As she rung out the dishcloth and draped it over the edge of the sink Edward shuffled into the kitchen.
“Is he gone?” Edward asked.
“Did you leave your dishes in the bedroom?” Jacquelyn shook her head giving him a frustrated look as she swept past him.
Instead of turning toward the bedroom, she made a beeline for the front door. She leaned against the door peering through the small peephole. Unable to see the driveway she pulled the door open a crack, smiling when she saw Jeffrey still sitting in his truck. She wanted to go out, but didn’t want to push him.
Several minutes later she returned to the kitchen with her husband’s tray. Edward stood at the back door gazing out. She piled the dishes in the sink before joining him.
“Do you want me to call the lawn service?” She placed a hand on his back, her touch light as if she were afraid he might break.
“No, I’ll do it,” he grumbled. “I’m not dead yet, and I’m still the man of the house. I see the prodigal son didn’t take down all the boards, guess I’ll have to do that too.”
“There’s no rush, maybe he’ll come back later.” She walked back to the sink to deal with the dirty plate and glass. Edward pushed the door closed with a loud thump and paced around the large kitchen, his steps small but determined.
“You didn’t answer me last night, did you enjoy the movie?” Jacquelyn struggled to contain the smile that played at her lips.
“I don’t know what you are talking about. I fell asleep in the study.” He stopped pacing and leaned on the back of chair, his breath labored.
She pursed her lips and nodded. “You’ll have to watch it sometime. I think you’d like it. I’m going to make some calls. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Gray sunlight fell through the western windows bathing the lobby in more illumination than it had seen in days. Lizzie sat at the desk struggling to keep her eyes open. The rain had stopped two hours ago, but there’d been no word on when reinforcements would be in to take over. Many of the guests were outside with their cameras taking pictures of uprooted trees and flooded cars. Lizzie tried to warn them of the safety risks, but she understood their need to get out of the hotel, to breathe fresh air.
“I’m here! I’m here!” Jonathan called running through the front door. He stopped at the desk to catch his breath. “I would have been here sooner, but my car wouldn’t start.” He glanced around the empty lobby.
Lizzie scooted off the stool with a thin smile. “Anyone else coming in?”
A look of horror crossed Jonathan’s face. “No one’s here yet? I called everyone and told them to be here an hour ago.” He scrambled through the door and met Lizzie as she ducked into the office.
“I can stay a little while longer,” she stifled a yawn, “we should send Stephen home, though.”
“No, both of you go. Give me a run down on where we’re at and go get some rest.” Jonathan draped his coat over the back of his chair and followed Lizzie to the desk where she spent the next twenty minutes briefing him on the events of the weekend.
“Thanks again for doing this,” Jonathan said. Lizzie returned to the office where Stephen sat hunched over a desk, his head resting on his folded arms. She gave him a gentle shake.
“Stephen, wake up, we can leave,” she whispered.
“What?” he croaked, raising his head.
“You can go home.” Lizzie slung her raincoat over her arm and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Stephen shot out of his chair and grabbed her, hugging tightly.
“Thank you.” He let go and reached for his own duffel bag. The pair emerged from the office and passed Jonathan at the front desk.
“You guys take tomorrow off too,” Jonathan called as they passed, causing Lizzie to stop. She gave him an incredulous look.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. I’ll work it out.” He waved them off and returned his attention to the log of events Lizzie had kept throughout the weekend. Lizzie and Stephen walked outside and stood for a moment enjoying the feel of the breeze on their skin. They looked at each other and smiled as they entered the damp cool of the parking garage.
“You survived,” Lizzie congratulated her new protégé.
“Yeah, I did.” Stephen grinned. They climbed the stairs to the third level past half a dozen cars before reaching Lizzie’s Camry.
“See you Wednesday,” she called to Stephen.
He waved and ducked into his car. Lizzie eased out of the garage, searching for possible obstacles, surprised to find less damage than expected. There was plenty of debris cluttering the lawns she passed, and several large puddles where she feared her car would stall when she entered one too fast, water swirling up into her engine. She slowed to a crawl as belts screeched.
Panic gripped her when she pulled into the driveway and noticed her front windows were no longer hidden behind plywood. She threw the car in park and jumped out, racing up the front steps where she found the boards lying in a neat pile.
“Welcome home,” came a call from the end of the porch. She turned to see Ian dragging another piece of wood around the house. He rolled it up the steps and joined her on the porch.
“I thought I’d come check on things, when I saw you weren’t home I decided to go ahead and take the boards down for you.”
“Thank you.” She felt tears welling up in her eyes and blinked to hold them back.
“Looks like you made it through this storm unscathed,” Ian reported.
“That’s good news.” She regained her composure as she unlocked the door. “Let me put my things away and I will help with the boards.”
“No need, I’m almost done.”
She dragged her suitcase inside, made a quick tour of the house to confirm there was no damage or leaks, and returned to the porch where Ian was depositing the last piece of plywood.
“I started a pot of coffee, would you like some?” she offered.
“Sure.” He brushed his palms together and followed her inside. “I was surprised you didn’t ride out the storm here.”
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“Yeah, my boss asked me to work.” She handed him a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. Her body ached and her eyelids felt like lead weights.
“Don’t you work at a hotel? What did you have to do?” He blew on his coffee before taking a tentative sip.
“We had to have some staff on hand to deal with the guests who stayed in town. With all the evacuations, we ended up with a full house and a skeleton crew. It was definitely an adventure.” She placed her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand.
“You must be exhausted.” Ian set his cup on the table and stood up. “Get some sleep, we can catch up later.”
“You don’t have to go.”
He leaned close and ran his hand around the curve of her head stopping at the base of her neck, resting there for a moment making her skin tingle. “Sleep,” was all he said before letting himself out the front door.
She left the coffee cups on the table, stumbled into her room, where she fell onto the bed without changing clothes or pulling down the covers.
At five o’clock, a knock on the door woke Lizzie. She rolled out of bed, and still half asleep, made her way to the living room and peeked out the window. She jerked to attention when she recognized the man on her porch as Ralph Anderson. She dropped to a crouch and backed away from the window praying he hadn’t seen her.
He knocked again, more insistently this time. When she reached the couch, she laid on her stomach, her mind racing, trying to decide what to do. She saw movement at the window. Ralph’s face appeared, pressed against the glass.
Lizzie heard the distant cry of a police siren and watched Ralph pull back from the window. The alarm grew louder giving her hope that he would be scared off. She waited, guessing the car was now on her street. She crawled along the floor to the door, pushing herself up to the peephole. The front porch was empty and a police car was pulling to a stop in the street.
She watched the officer step from the car, one hand on his holster, his other wrapped around the radio clipped to his shoulder. He approached the house, his steps deliberate, head swiveling back and forth. Lizzie felt confident Mae had seen Ralph and called the police, but she was afraid to open the door and startle the officer. He slid his weapon from its holster as he approached the front porch.