by Anne Eliot
“I’ll worry, but I’ll be okay. How about you don’t worry for once?”
I roll my eyes and don’t answer that, because he and I both know, me, not worrying is impossible.
Chapter 3
I spy a large decorative clock hanging near the gift shop, noting I have ten minutes before I have to be upstairs. Enough time to get Sage settled inside the gift shop or a lobby chair so he can chill out and burn some time before going into the pool and waiting for me.
He points at a sign hung to the left of the elevators. “Would you look? Is that…” He points. “Holy mother of, wow. Robin! Look!” He half-shouts, drawing a few stares. “Guarderobe is playing at a stadium somewhere near here tonight. And tomorrow, and next weekend! This is awesome. Guarderobe. Did you know? Is this why you chose it? You love me so much you brought me to the exact place where my favorite band is playing? You’re awesome. You’re the best sister in the world.”
I shake my head, biting back a grin as the kid gives me a half hug. “I wish I could say that, but I honestly didn’t know.”
Worries erased, Sage is all but dancing in place in front of me. “They must be staying here.” He blinks. “At.” He blinks more. “This.” He blinks again. “Hotel.” Blink. Blink. Blink. “It’s a sign.” He places his hands over his heart. “I’m going to meet them. I just know it.”
“That would be cool. Can you imagine it?” I ask, shaking my head at his antics.
“Hell yes, I can imagine it.”
His blinks are so intense now it’s making his eyes look crazy, that or he’s making me dizzy.
“Oh, do I miss my cell phone right now, because I could jump on Instagram and see if they’re active right now. Sometimes they randomly show up in public then give out free tickets to people. It’s going to happen to me! It has to happen to me. Let’s get a closer look.”
Sage drags me along until we’re face to face with the gold-gilt-framed poster. While he reads the small print, I can’t help but take in the perfectly aged leather jacket on the tallest, black haired band member. Then I check out the swirling tattoos the guy holding the drum sticks has on one arm. It’s hard to see what the exact image might be, but I do notice that a well-placed tattoo shows off his mega bicep to a nice advantage. The third guy is blond, of course, he’s also handsome. He’s holding the required electric guitar while doing the classic rocker, stare off into the distance, pouty-face thing. Each one has great hair and a perfect square chin—with all the muscles in all the right places.
On closer inspection, I decide the poster must be edited, because the trio also has these heart-stopping, fake-looking, over-bright eyes. They’re burning off the poster like headlights from each of their faces. The drummer dude has these big-cat looking, amber colored eyes. Color enhanced or at least wearing contacts, I’m sure. The blond—Mr. Stare Away Pouty, he has this blue Gatorade thing going on with his eyes. And the last guy, Mr. Hot Leather Angry, the one who to me, is the most handsome of the three? Well, he has awesome, silver-blue eyes. And I’m talking, silver as in buckets of full moons plus pure glitter must have been somehow embossed into the poster to back light them. Or, maybe his seem brighter than the others because he, unlike the other two, has one of those three-day-old sexy-man beards. He’s also got a nice tan, as well as dark brows paired with dark lashes to set off the contrasts. Add in his thick, wild and wavy, ink-black hair add in those dark, brooding brows, and all you can do is stare. And stare some more. “Wow,” I accidentally say out loud.
Or maybe I’ve sighed it.
I step back, pretending to take them all in at the same time, but then, of course I’m only staring at the silver eyed one again.
“Hard to look away from them, isn’t it?” Sage says.
“From an artist’s point of view, yes,” I bluff. “It’s like looking at thoroughbred horses or famous statues.”
“Horses? Statues? They’re people, Robin. Real people. Are you objectifying them?” he teases.
“No! And how do you know what that even means?”
“Sex-ed, last month. It is very uncool to objectify the opposite sex. Shame, Robin. Shame.” He cracks up at himself.
“Of course I’m not doing that,” I feel heat prick the back of my neck.
“The cheeks are going red, liar.” He waggles his brows and pulls a face.
I defend myself. “I stared so long because I admire the composition of the poster, and of course they’re styled to be attractive because they’re rock stars. Meaning of course anyone is going to pause and notice that.”
“Yeah. Of course,” he mimics my voice, laughing more.
I swallow. “Come on. I’m a painter, I think the composition of the poster and the colors the artist chose here are really well done. Look here.” I point. “They each have nice lines and such well balanced…”
I’m gaping again at their collective and well balanced ab-muscles, cheekbones, shoulders, thighs, lips, chins, and eyes-eyes-eyes until I’m fangirling like a dork and wondering which one is the cutest, tallest, has the best lips, the most smoldering eyes.
“Uh…earth to Robin? You were saying?” Sage taps my temple with one finger. I flush all the way to the roots of my hair and then laugh. “Fine. I’ve objectified them. They’re hot. So very hot. So what?”
“They’re also amazing musicians. Artists, just like you are. After the last three days of driving you should know every word of every song they’ve ever written and how good they are. No need to thank me. I will be sure to get a second free ticket for you when I meet them.”
I toss him another smile looking away from Guarderobe and their contrived beauty and focus back on Sage—on reality. “Don’t get your hopes too high that you’ll see them here, Sage. Belle Paris is part of the Orb Hotel Chains. The website states they’re a premiere, five-star, family hotel chain.”
“Meaning?” Sage frowns.
“That means chicken strips and organic fruit-juice-chews are served even in the bar. It’s got a sand-bottom baby pool and a kiddy-club.” I point at the poster. “This bunch would stay at a place with a nightclub in the basement. A place with all-black carpets, a gift shop that sells fancy jewelry and silk lingerie, not gum and pool floats.”
“Maybe you’re right, but…” Sage points at the crystal light fixture dangling from the center of the glass atrium. “Even so, it still seems rock-star-worthy to me.” His eyes brighten and he cracks the first genuine smile I’ve seen on his face since our dad went missing in action. “And I’m not going to lie low if they do appear. I’m going to scream, get autographs, and lose my mind.” His smile widens even more. “Okay?”
“Well…okay.”
I’ve agreed simply because I know it won’t happen. I also return his wide smile because my little brother’s smiles are as contagious as his impossible, dreaming ways. “In the meantime, we’ve got a plan to execute, and you can’t search for famous band members hiding in corners.”
“Fine.” Sage points to my head. “But…you’d better, uh, I don’t know, do something different with your tornado-hair before you go.”
Sighing, I pull out my hairband and drag my fingers through my humidity-damp curls. Switching my ponytail into a tight bun at the nape of my neck, I also re-tuck my white polyester blouse into the hateful pants.
“Better?” I ask, handing him our last four dollars.
He nods, but his expression is making me think I’ve failed in my attempts to fix the hair.
I sigh, determined to keep any sort of anxiety out of my voice. “Use the money before you grab food off plates. Please. I can’t have you pulling our usual snack shenanigans until we find out if I’m hired or not. Deal? I don’t want us to look like we’re stealing. Not here.”
“It’s not stealing if it’s trash. Besides, if I spend the cash on food, then what will we use for gas? Don’t you want to eat, too?”
“It’s possible they’ll let me start right away, so I’ll have tip money for gas and I’ll get a shift meal.”
He looks even more doubtful as he scans me up and down, but says only, “You’ll rock it. I know you will.”
To cover my own rumbling stomach I hug him, even though I know he hates it. Then I say what he hates me to say out loud. “I love you, Sage. So much.”
“Do you have to be weird?” he asks, motionless inside the hug.
“Yes.” I laugh and hug him tighter, but he squirms out of my grip. That’s when I notice a gray-haired man watching us.
“Alert.” I flick my eyes in the man’s direction so Sage can follow my gaze. “Could be hotel security.”
Sage turns to look at him though his lashes, then turns back. “Not even. Suit is too nice. And he’s with his mom and baby or something. You’re just flipping out.”
The man is attending to an old woman in a wheelchair. She’s holding a baby while bossing the concierge, who’s nodding in response to her and saying, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
The man in the suit quirks his brow at me, as if to acknowledge the fact that he’s aware we’re watching him just as he’s watching us. That flicker of notice, plus his straight-backed stance, reminds me of our dad. I try to push away that idea, but it doesn’t work. Suddenly thoughts I’ve locked up tight because I’m not allowed to have them slip through.
What if I can’t do this?
What if I fail?
What if Joanie’s right and Dad never comes back?
Yanking my gaze from the older man’s, I ignore my thoughts as well as the moisture threatening the edges of my eyes now and choke out, “I’m going in the ladies’ room to fix my hair better. Maybe I’ll put on some makeup so I can look older. See you after and good luck, okay?”
“Good luck with trying to look older,” Sage jokes.
I nod but before I can step away he reaches out capturing my hand.
His brave mask slips as much as mine just did when I thought of our dad. His voice is hoarse and almost undoes all of my composure when he says, “I love you, too Robin. You know, I do, right? Thanks…for trying at least.” He squeezes my hand, hard. Our eyes tangle as we work hard to prove that we’re not swallowing back any tears at all.
I return his squeeze and because I can feel his hand tremble underneath my grip, I tell him the same lie I’ve told him every day since our father went missing: “We’re going to be okay. We are.”
Chapter 4
When I make it to the third-floor human resources office, I’m surprised to find the well-dressed man and old lady from the lobby crowding out the waiting area. It’s not because they’re huge or anything, nor is the room small, but rather because every inch of space is occupied by the baby in their care.
The baby who is now awake and howling.
I overhear the man in the suit say, “We’re trapped in here until she stops. Mother I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so.”
I’m pretending I don’t notice them as I read a folded card that’s been placed on the reception desk. We will return at 2:00 p.m. Those with interview appointments, please sign in on the clipboard. Those without appointments, please wait. We apologize for any inconvenience.
I write my name at the top of the list and smile briefly at the man as I pass him to take a seat in the far corner, trying to give them space while trying to stay focused.
After a few moments, I can’t help but look. I’m one of those people whose heart breaks when I hear babies cry, and because this baby won’t stop, I’m already wondering if I should ask if they need help. Watching out of the corner of my eyes, I see the old woman pull the baby to her chest, but her thin arms are shaking from the effort. I don’t think she can hold the baby’s weight for long. Worse, the man doesn’t seem to notice the woman’s in trouble, because he’s digging deep into the fancy diaper bag. “Damn. Where is that thing?”
“Keep searching. Poor little love and her little cries.”
“You call these little cries, Mother?” He snorts over his shoulder, resorting to dumping the bag contents on a chair. “I learned late last night that this kid is louder than an opera singer, and she’s only on her warm-up. Prepare for the glass breaking part next.”
The baby starts wailing even more piteously which makes me stand and approach cautiously. “Excuse me. I think, if you’ll let me, I might be able to help.” The woman’s silver eyes pierce me like a lance. I try not to be intimidated. “I’m really good with settling babies. Honest. I worked in a daycare after school, for two years. The baby room. Babies are my favorite.”
“Who are you? Do you dare try to ingratiate yourself to us,” she asks haughtily, looking me up and down.
“I’m sorry. I’m ashamed to say that I don’t know what that word means.” The old woman frowns like I’ve surprised her with my honesty but she holds quiet, so I forge ahead. “I’m here interviewing to be a waitress.” I point lamely behind my back at the clipboard and we all wince simultaneously as the baby’s cries grow more frantic. “It’s not easy being a baby, you know? May I try?”
“Please, Mother. Let her. I can’t find the pacifier anywhere.” He steps over to me. “This is My mother, Mrs. Felix. I’m Gregory Felix, but you may call me Gregory. We also had an appointment today. One we thought we could attend to while the baby slept. She normally sleeps anywhere just fine. She’s just eaten a huge bottle so we thought we’d be good for a few hours, but she seems not to be able to keep her nap going today.” He points to the squirming unhappy bundle. “So, please do, young lady, if it’s not too much trouble, please help us if you’re able.”
The man’s expression is pleading, desperate even.
The old woman again holds quiet, but like a queen, nods once keeping those eyes on me like a hawk.
I take the baby from her arms, undaunted by the old woman’s fierceness or the baby’s cries. The squirming crying baby cradles easily against my heart and tucks her legs up tight against me. I breathe deeply and calmly, letting her feel my calm all while loving how her ginger-blonde hair tickles my chin. “Oh, she smells wonderful. Baby shampoo is simply the best, isn’t it?” I whisper, cuddling her closer, and begin patting her back while I softly say, “Shh…shh…shh, there, there, noisy one. Shh…shh. It’s okay.”
The baby cries more into my neck, but her flailing arms seem to calm. “Is she teething?” I look over her head at the man who only shrugs. “How old is she, about five or six months?” I ask, then point to the pile of diaper bag junk on the chair. “Can I please have that blanket?”
They both blink oddly at me, but they still say nothing as the man—Gregory—hands me a pink, fleece blanket.
I wrap it around the baby’s form and turn slightly away from their stares while I rock on my feet, continuing with my calm breathing as I whisper more nonsense in her tiny seashell-soft ear, “Shh. Shh. Sweet baby. Shh. Shh. Let’s start with names. I’m Robin. Shh. It’s okay.” I tighten my arms and rock her more. “I have a brother whose named Sage. It means wise one, but it’s also a plant. Dad almost didn’t do it to him, but then he decided if a boy had a name like Sage he’d be one heck of a good fighter. And it’s true. Kid is tough. There. There. Shh. Shh.”
“It’s working.” The old woman draws her brows down even more, but her tone has softened. “Young lady, what are you doing that’s different than what I was doing?”
“Maybe it’s because I can stand and you can’t?” I answer quietly. “And, like I said, I have tons of experience with babies. With the ones who are possibly over tired, like she seems to be, it’s about patience, consistency, and a singular calm focus.” I turn back to the frosty old woman happy to see her distrustful glare has been replaced by grudging approval.
“Patience, and singular calm focus are things that might be against your personality, Mother.” The man chuckles, drawing a little smile that breaks his mom’s severe expression.
“I can learn. Go on, child. Tell me what you’re doing, step by step. I suppose I’ve forgotten how difficult it is to soothe a baby.”
“I’ve never analyzed it.” I keep patting the baby’s back, thinking. “I’m letting my voice go all around her while letting my warmth and breathing soak in to her, all while doing these circle-pat-pats with my hand. See?” I move so she can watch my hand going around her back. “It helps to talk non-stop, too, in a soft and confident voice.”
The old woman shakes her head. “I could swear I was doing just that.”
“It’s possible your hold wasn’t tight enough? That’s also important,” I suggest. “Little ones like tight cradling which is what the blanket is also helping with. Shh-shh. There. There.”
“My arthritis makes a tight hold on anything impossible, so maybe that’s where I went wrong.”
The baby’s crying fades to an intermittent, exhausted sounding whimpering, and then she stops crying, only stares up at me quietly with wide, bright-blue eyes that nearly take my breath away.
“Her eyes are gorgeous,” I whisper.
“A family trait. You should have seen my daughter’s eyes and her father’s eyes are the stuff of legends, so I hear.” She sighs. “I don’t give compliments lightly, young lady, but I find you to be simply amazing.” The old woman’s smiling at me now, and I note the eyes behind her glasses are kind and they’re also as gorgeous and as bright as the baby’s eyes. “Like a baby-whisperer, you are,” she adds.
I shake my head, and feel my cheeks growing warm at the praise, but answer only with a polite, “Thank you.”
“Did you say you and your brother are called Robin and Sage?” Gregory steps forward, like he’d like to get a better look at me. “Your dad is Army, then? Special Forces?”
“Yes. How did you—yes.” I swallow, not meeting the man’s gaze. “We were named after the—”
“The final training exercise. Robin Sage. I completed that training myself in North Carolina, many years ago. Make that many, many years ago, I’m retired now.” He straightens his back. “Excellent names for kids. Your dad must be devoted to SF.”