Past Presence

by Nicole Bross

  I’m going to keep the inn.

  ***

  I work doggedly on the inn’s paperwork all the next day, even though the crash of the ocean and the seabirds are calling me to join them. I have the rest of my life to enjoy the surf if I want to; right now, I have to finish the task at hand.

  Again, I struggle with properly itemizing the credit card statements. Multiple charges each month have no corresponding paper invoices, and Google is no help in deciphering what the cryptic line item descriptions could mean. Everything else is so easy to categorize, and my background as a historian and researcher makes it difficult to just call them ‘miscellaneous’ like Cora has suggested. On the other hand, I know nothing about operating a hotel and pub—or any business for that matter—and this may be the norm when you’re managing hundreds of transactions every month. Right now, I don’t even know what I don’t know. I’m going to need a crash course in running this place, and I know I might not be able to count on Cora’s help.

  So far, I’ve avoided thinking about that uncomfortable conversation, but now I spend a few minutes rehearsing several scenarios in my head. Hopefully, my appeal to her love for Roz and what she wanted for me and for the inn won’t end in her throwing in the towel and telling me to go fuck myself like I initially envision.

  What would be ideal—I muse—is if she would enter into a fifty-fifty partnership with me. As much as we have a superficial personal relationship right now, perhaps we could have a beneficial business one. That would be the best-case scenario for everyone—we both get to stay, the inn continues to benefit from her expertise, and I get to continue my historical studies of the smuggling culture in the area, hopefully implementing my tourist-drawing idea as well. That’s something I suddenly want to fill Cora in on sooner rather than later so she can see I’m committed to helping make the inn succeed. Energized by the thought, I jot down some notes about how our partnership might work as a precursor to a more formal business plan proposal.

  Before I know it, it’s the appointed supper hour. Normally, I would head straight into the pub, but today I stop by the front desk to talk to Cora.

  “Have you been working upstairs all day?” she says and frowns slightly when I nod.

  “I’m feeling a lot better today. I’m going to grab something to eat, do you want to join me?” I ask before I can second-guess myself. Other than the one awkward, near-silent meal we’d eaten together at her house, we’ve spent virtually no time together.

  “Jana doesn’t start until eight tonight,” she replies. I’m half-disappointed, half-relieved we won’t have to partake in an hour of chitchat.

  “Oh, well that would work too if you don’t mind sticking around for a little bit afterward? There’s something I want to show you.” This is a better plan. I’ll take her right down to the basement and explain my idea there, in the full ambiance of the hidden room. Cora’s eyebrows are raised above her glasses, but she nods in agreement. “It’s really cool, I promise,” I assure her with a grin as I head out the door.

  The pub is full of low murmurs when I enter and is fuller than I expected for a Monday night. Nearly every seat is occupied. Heads are crowded together as faces that are starting to become familiar talk in hushed tones, but a few people look up and nod hello to me. Then the smell of fresh-fried fish hits me full on, and my mouth begins to water.

  “You look as hungry as the first time I saw you,” Kellen says as I slide onto my stool. He’s already pouring me a glass of sangria. “Happier, though. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been doing some research, and I’m going to show Cora the hidden room tonight,” I tell him.

  “And?”

  “I have this idea for what to do with it that I’m hoping she’ll be into.” I trace patterns into the condensation of my wine glass with my fingertip.

  “Cool, I hope she likes it,” is his reply, which surprises me. I was expecting him to ask what my idea was, and I was looking forward to telling him he’d have to wait until later to hear it. “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” he adds with a wink. I smile wryly at how he flipped the game.

  “Busy tonight,” I say, looking around.

  “Oh, Irene Bell passed away last night. In her sleep,” he adds pointedly. “She was in her eighties so I suppose it wasn’t unexpected. Her home care nurse found her this afternoon.”

  “Irene Bell.” The name sounds familiar. I’d met her yesterday, at church. She had been with her daughter, and Naomi had introduced me to both of them. I shook her hand.

  The pain in her head, right behind her left eye, jolted her out of a deep sleep. She struggled to sit up, but her body did not seem to be responding to her commands properly. A weak cry escaped her lips, but there was no one in the house to hear it. She sank back into her pillow, no longer fighting. She knew what was coming and did not resist the inevitable. It was time to go home, to reunite with her beloved Muhammet again. Her parents and her brother would be waiting for her as well. It was them she thought of in her final moments, how happy she was to be able to see them again after so many years apart. She did not fear death, and as the darkness closed in and the pain faded, she was at peace.

  “That’s too bad,” I murmur. I want more than anything to ask if it was from natural causes, but I’m sure Kellen would tell me if that wasn’t the case.

  “It is. She lived in Soberly her entire life, raised five kids here. She would have been a great person to talk to about your bootlegging project.”

  I nod, feeling the shine wear off my excitement as I contemplate yet another Soberly death that mirrored a past life. Dying in one’s sleep was a common way to go. Surely, I could chalk this one up to coincidence—couldn’t I? Somehow, I wasn’t so sure, but all I could do was wait and see if the coroner found any irregularities.

  Naomi emerges from the kitchen bearing a heaping plate of battered cod and chips for me a few minutes later, greeting me warmly.

  “I heard you weren’t feeling well yesterday,” she says, examining my face. I shoot an irritated look at Kellen, who puts his hands up, palms toward me, pleading innocence. “It was Cora who told me, and about all the work you’ve taken on here to take your aunt’s place,” she says, her voice stern. “You’re working yourself too hard. We’re in no rush to run you out of town, child, and that includes Cora,” she adds in a gentler tone. I open my mouth to tell her that may soon change but close it again without speaking, opting to remain positive that Cora will be receptive to my offer. “Now eat up,” she orders me. “You’re too pale. What you need for the next few days is some good food and more rest.” She throws some definite side-eye at Kellen at her latter remark and shakes her head. “This isn’t what Roz wanted for you, Audrey. You need to slow down. Now I know I’m not your mama, but I hope you see I like you well enough, and I’m looking out for you right now since yours ain’t here herself.”

  “She wouldn’t give a shit,” I mutter under my breath, stabbing at the fish with my fork. Naomi’s already turned away and doesn’t catch it, but I can tell Kellen does from the way he presses his lips together.

  “You got off easy. My guess is she’s going to put me back on curfew,” he jokes. “She’s right though, Audrey. Cora knows the sale will go through eventually.” He busies himself pouring a round of pints for an order Drew drops off. “You could even maybe try and draw it out a bit if you wanted. Stick around a little longer,” he adds, avoiding making eye contact.

  I almost tell him my plans right there and then, but hesitate, not wanting to get his hopes up before I talk to Cora.

  “Don’t worry, there’s still tons left to do. I’m not going anywhere for another couple weeks, at least. You’re going to be utterly sick of me long before then.”

  “Doubtful.” He smiles out of the side of his mouth, and I know we’re all right.

  I meet Cora back in the lobby at eight after promising I’d come back to the pub to tell Kellen how it all went. The news of Irene Bell’s death and Naomi’s lecture had dam
pened my excitement a bit, but it’s coming back on strong as I lead Cora down the hall and into the basement.

  “As you know, I’m a historian,” I tell her. “When I first came to Soberly, Sheena—”

  “Sheena Underwood, who owns Out of the Attic Collectibles?” I nod. How many Sheenas are there in Soberly? I almost ask.

  “Sheena told me about how the town has this history of bootlegging during Prohibition, how her house and few others have secret hiding places for smuggled whiskey, and that someone named JT even has a sort of cellar dug into his backyard. It got me thinking about the inn because it was around during those days and was a pub on top of it. A couple nights ago, I came down here to see if I could find anything, and—” I haul aside the wooden door to the root cellar, belatedly remembering I should have brought a flashlight. My phone will have to do.

  “This is very interesting,” Cora says as she surveys the room’s barren shelves. “I admit, I had no idea this room was down here.”

  “No, this isn’t it,” I tell her with a grin, and, poking my fingers into the holes in the floorboard, pull up the trap door. “This is. Come down and see.” I make my way down the ladder first, and when she meets me at the bottom, the shock and wonder on her face are genuine as I shine my phone’s light all around the room for her to take it in. “Isn’t this amazing?” I ask, barely able to bring my voice above a whisper. “It looks like everything’s intact. There are dates, names, everything. There are even a few bottles of whiskey left behind.” I show her the crate and its contents.

  “It’s like walking right into a museum,” she says, studying the papers pinned up on the wall. “To think how many decades this has sat here, right below us, with none the wiser. You show up and unearth it in a matter of days.” She shakes her head, and a small smile appears. So far, so good—she doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve been poking around, or that I held back the discovery from her for a couple days.

  “This whole thing gave me an idea that might help the inn and bring more tourists into Soberly—what do you think about running a bootlegging tour? Some of the other people in town who have false walls or hideouts like this would have to sign on—from what Sheena’s said, this guy JT is really into it and would probably be on board for sure—but the idea would be that a guide would lead people through the town, visit a few of the sites, maybe go down to the beach to see where the boats pulled in, and give them an overview of what it was like to be a smuggler in the 20’s and 30’s. Tours could start and end at the pub, and maybe we could even include an old-fashioned whiskey drink with the tour price. A lot of places are doing ghost tours, but no one is doing anything like this. I think it would set us apart from the other towns along the coast—”

  “Us?” Cora interrupts as I’m about to tell her I think we could get the tour up and running by fall for a couple months’ test run before next spring. Shit. I’d been trying not to insert myself into the plans, but she’d caught my slip of the tongue. I swallow hard and begin the part of this conversation I’ve been rehearsing in my head for the last twenty-four hours.

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking a lot the past couple days, about the inn, and Roz, and the town. And I think…I want…to stay.” A heavy silence falls as Cora takes this information in. “What I’d really like though, is to do it together. A partnership. Fifty-fifty. Would you—is that something you’d consider doing? With me?”

  “A partnership. The two of us.” Cora’s focus is entirely on me now, the surroundings that so recently held her full attention forgotten. Her voice is full of condescension, and if we weren’t in such cramped quarters, I would have stepped back to give her some space.

  “It’s just—I keep going back to Roz’s letter, and what her last wishes were for the inn, and for me, and she was right. I should have listened to her and given it some time like she wanted. I also know you’ve put so much of your heart into the inn as well and I don’t want to take that from you, and I bet Roz didn’t either—”

  “Oh stop, Audrey,” Cora snaps. “Enough with the ‘Roz would want this, Roz would want that’ bullshit. You don’t know the first thing about her or who she was. Do you want to know something? All the things she said in her letter about wanting to be co-owners with you someday, about how it would make everything perfect in her life, she used to tell me. As soon as my student debt was paid off, as soon as I could get approved for a loan, we were going to do it. Your name never came up once until she found out she was dying, then all of a sudden everything was all about Audrey, the niece who’d never even bothered to visit and barely remembered to write. The inn had to go to you, and to hell with our plans with each other.”

  Each sharp sentence is like a slap in the face. Tears begin to prick at my eyes, and I swallow hard, willing them back. I will not cry again in front of this woman.

  “Want to know the best part? I have half a dozen or more witnesses who can swear to the court that Roz had told them at various points in her life she wanted me to be co-owner. I could dispute her will, say the tumor that killed her made her incompetent when she wrote it, and I’d win. She knew I was angry, so she made me make a promise. She made me promise I wouldn’t try and undermine you. That I would even stay on as manager and help you. I, unlike you, keep my promises, which is the only reason why I’m still here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying hard to keep my voice steady. “I shouldn’t have been so hasty about saying I wanted to sell when I first got here. It was a mistake. What I want to focus on now is moving forward, and I still want to do that with you. Please. What do you say?”

  “I think I already said my piece,” Cora replies. “The inn is yours if that’s what you want. I have no intention of entering into any sort of business partnership with you, but I will stay until you find a replacement.” That had better be soon, is her unspoken implication. She steps around me to the ladder and begins to climb, jaw set. “I’m sure your bootlegging tour will be popular,” she adds through clenched teeth. “Great idea.” Her low heels clack away across the basement floor above me and up the stairs to the main level, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room.

  17

  An unknown amount of time later, I hear footsteps on the wooden planks above me again, this time sneakered. Probably Kellen. I’ve been sitting on the floor in the corner, alternately crying and running the conversation between Cora and myself over in my mind, wondering what I should have said or done differently. I contemplate pulling the wooden trap door back into place above me, but the amount of energy it would take to get to my feet and climb the ladder seems overwhelming right now.

  “Audrey?” he calls from above, and I watch his legs drop down onto one of the rungs.

  “Yeah, I’m down here,” I say.

  “You all right?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. Your conversation with Cora didn’t go well?” He settles down onto the ground beside me, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Reconnecting physically with Kellen after such an emotionally draining ordeal feels like I’ve reached an oasis after crawling, parched, through the desert, yet my body remains rigid, unable to lean into his side and give in to the need to be supported. I’m glad the light from my phone is dim enough that he can’t see how swollen my eyes are, or the part of my shirt where I wiped my nose.

  “Not really, no.”

  “I’m sorry.” We sit in silence for a minute or two. He seems like he’s waiting for me to fill him in on the details, but when I don’t offer anything further he doesn’t push it. “Why don’t you come on up out of this place,” he says. “It’s late. You should get to bed. Are you going back to Cora’s tonight?”

  Shit. I haven’t even thought about my living situation. “No, and in fact, I think I’m homeless.”

  “Not when there’s a hide-a-bed with your name on it upstairs,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. “Come on. I’ll tuck you in or stay if you rather. Not to—well, just to stay if you don’t want to be alone.”

&nb
sp; “Okay,” I say, and take his proffered hand to stand. Since he came down to join me, a dull numbness has set in. He could have offered to lead me into the ocean, Sylvia Plath-style, and I probably wouldn’t have objected. Silently, we make our way out of the basement and up to Roz’s office. My office now, although I’ll probably always think of it as hers. I move mechanically, stowing the couch cushions in an organized pile while Kellen hauls out the mattress. I plunk down on it and stare at the bookshelf opposite without really seeing it at all. A deep well of emptiness is opening up inside me from Cora’s rejection. Despite the fact that we were never friends and she is only family in the most superficial of ways, I feel myself grieving for what must surely be an irreparable schism in our relationship.

  “You told her you were planning on staying.”

  “How did you know?”

  “When you said you were going to church—the idea seemed to terrify you, but you were going to do it anyway. You don’t need to tell me why right now, but sometime I’d like to hear about it.” He drops a kiss on the top of my head and sits down beside me. Still, my body resists the inclination to lean on him for support. “I knew if you were willing to do something that bothered you so much as you start to get to know people here, you weren’t thinking about Soberly as a temporary stop anymore. Mama said you made a point of introducing yourself to almost everybody there.”