by Molly Harper
Sadie’s no-doubt scathing retort was cut off when our multimedia historian, Bonnie, and her boyfriend, Will McBride, came stomping through the front entrance, shivering. “We’re here! We made it!” Bonnie saw me and winced. “And I forgot to return your text. I’m sorry. But hey, as you can see, we’re okay!”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and rushed to Bonnie, throwing my arms around her. I heard Josh tell Sadie, “When we get back to the office, I think we need to have a remedial session on appropriate employee cell phone use and etiquette.”
“Sorry, I suck.” Bonnie sighed. “I owe you a Maple Bourbon Bacon cupcake from Sweet Eats.”
“Darn right you do,” I said, squeezing her before making a sour face at Will. “And you brought a stray.”
“Nice.” He chuckled, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “You know you love me.”
“I am mildly fond of you, but only because you make this one happy.”
Bonnie pinked up prettily, while Will pressed a kiss to her temple. I rolled my eyes. The truth was, I liked Will, a lot. He was just irreverent and no-nonsense enough to balance out Bonnie’s cockeyed optimism. He and Bonnie had a courtship almost as tumultuous as Sadie and Josh’s. Bonnie had journeyed to his dying backwater town, Mud Creek, to salvage museum pieces from his family’s music and dance hall for one of her multimedia exhibits. But when she found evidence that a historically significant blues song had been inspired and written about a local girl right there in the music hall, she overstepped ever so slightly and had the hall declared a landmark. The location’s landmark status derailed Will’s negotiations with a company that was interested in building a factory there, which would have been a major employer. Losing a potential large source of jobs for the town was something Will did not appreciate in the slightest. Thanks to some clever maneuvering on Bonnie’s part, she’d managed to convert the music hall into a museum while drawing in the much-needed factory. And now, because it seemed she could function only when he was within a ten-foot radius, Bonnie spent her time commuting between the Frankfort offices and Will’s place.
Sadie was blurring the lines in inviting Will to participate in the KCT retreat. She justified what was obviously a favor to Bonnie by saying he could provide valuable “municipal insight” from the perspective of the government officials in the communities where we staged events. Personally, I think Sadie knew Bonnie was far more likely to actually get to the lodge if Will drove. His “not having trucks burn up on the side of a rural interstate” record was far more impressive than Bonnie’s.
Like Sadie, Bonnie was unaware of my separation from Darrell. Like Sadie, she hated Darrell as much as her Disney-princess ass was capable of hating anyone. But also like Sadie with Josh, she was wrapped up in a love burrito with her handsome backwoods politician. She wouldn’t be a lot of help.
“Wow, it’s really coming down out there,” Bonnie said, shuddering under her heavy denim jacket.
“It’s just a little sleet,” Gina scoffed. “I don’t see why everybody’s making such a big deal out of it.”
“No, it’s freezing rain, which is worse, in terms of road conditions and strain on power lines,” Charlie noted, stepping closer. “It’s coming down hard. Look at the trees.”
I looked outside the entrance windows to see the rain slowly dripping from branches already slick and heavy with ice. Through the French doors opening to the back lawn and lake view, I could see a large sculptural bronze fountain—deer again—with icicles already forming on the delicately worked metal antlers.
“The power lines were starting to droop as we came in,” Will added, though it was clear from his expression that he didn’t want to be the messenger used for target practice.
“Look, we’re going to be fine,” Sadie said. “I’m sure there’s plenty of food in the kitchen, and over there we have what looks like a generously stocked bar. We have provisions, blankets, a roaring fire, and people whose company we enjoy. There’s nothing to worry about.”
We also had a chandelier overhead that appeared to be composed of deer antlers and white “candle” bulbs. That was something you didn’t see every day. And now I was thinking of a redneck version of Phantom of the Opera, in which the scarred, misunderstood, and bucktoothed country music genius dropped a deer antler chandelier on the jerks who messed up his magnum opus and “done stole his woman.”
I was not a well-adjusted person.
I swore I was seeing the chandelier swing ever so slightly when suddenly the lights snapped off and the HVAC system died with a mechanical whine.
Before my eyes could adjust to the darkness or I could pull out my anti-redneck Phantom pepper spray, I heard Sadie sigh, “Crap.”
3
In Which We All Fail at Being Happy Campers
Everybody seemed to start talking at once, but to no one in particular. I heard shuffling footsteps and the unmistakable smack of heads colliding as my esteemed colleagues stumbled around in the dark as if they’d expected those around them, whom they’d just seen a few seconds before, to have magically rearranged themselves when the lights went off. I froze in place, waiting for the chaos to ebb. And then I realized that I’d reached out for the nearest person and had frozen while clutching Charlie’s arms like lifelines.
In the faded light provided by the lobby windows, I saw the outline of Charlie’s head bending toward me. His hands curved around my elbows, keeping me on my feet. Shadows and my maladjusted night vision kept me from seeing his face, but I doubted he wanted me clinging to him like a lamprey. Just then, one of our ever-so-flappable colleagues blindly smacked into Charlie from behind, driving him into me. Charlie’s arms instinctively curled around me to keep me upright as we collided, and my face ended up buried in his chest.
By Frodo’s fuzzy feet, did he smell good! Like the herbal tea Bonnie drank, with notes of spice—cardamom or ginger or something like that. It was the same scent that had me drooling into my coffee during Charlie’s very first meeting on staff. All I wanted to do was bury my nose in his shirt and never come up for air.
There was a soft pressure against the crown of my head, as if Charlie had tucked his chin over my hair. Right. I sighed, resisting the urge to burrow myself in Charlie’s chest and live in that scent. Indulge in more masochistic olfactory torture. That will make things better. I felt Charlie’s hand ghost down my back, settling at the base of my spine, and I relaxed into him.
Everything was going to be okay. Sure, we were without power, in the middle of nowhere, in unfamiliar surroundings, with the storm of the century closing in on us . . . What was my point again?
I could hear Sadie telling everyone to calm down and stop responding like a bunch of hysterical farm animals. And when that didn’t work, Bonnie suggested a song to lift our spirits and keep us centered. Her proposed chorus of “Bridge over Troubled Water” didn’t band us together as she anticipated.
Finally I heard a booming voice from the direction of the front desk. “Ladies and gentlemen! Everybody stay right where you are.” A flashlight clicked on, revealing Luke’s handsome face, lit from below like a camper telling scary campfire stories. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t panic. If you all just wait a few minutes, I’m sure the power will come right back on. Everybody just have a seat and try not to run into anything sharp.”
I looked up, my forehead bumping gently against Charlie’s chin. His grip loosened and his hands slid away. With one last deep breath of that delicious spicy smell—because I hadn’t tortured myself enough—I took a step away. And another, and another, until I bumped against a club chair and slid into it.
We passed a half hour in darkness. We waited patiently for the insistent whine of electronics firing back up, but all we heard was the sluggish pattering of rain. We were tired and cranky, and our dinner of prepackaged sandwiches salvaged from the rapidly warming gift shop cooler hadn’t improved our colle
ctive mood.
Luke was monitoring a weather radio, keeping it at a low volume so as not to freak us out. Sadie suggested a nightcap by candlelight, which temporarily raised our spirits, if for no other reason than that it was funny to watch former college bartender Jacob try to fix our drinks in such low light. A scene from Cocktail it was not, but he got the job done. He did, however, lean forward when he served the first few drinks, as if he expected us to tuck a tip in his shirt . . . which made me wonder exactly what sort of bar he worked at in college.
The situation didn’t seem so dire with a (generously/sloppily poured) bourbon and branch in my hand. We gathered around the bar and watched through the picture window as the rain formed thick sheets of ice on the glass, blurring the world outside like a badly done watercolor. An hour later, the lights were still out and Sadie was calling a list of vendors to cancel various bonding activities she’d planned for us this weekend. The general response to her calls was (1) Duh, have you looked outside, lady? and (2) Good, because subjecting people to a firewalk in the middle of winter is barbaric.
That last one wasn’t so much a general response as my response. But that didn’t make it any less true.
Charlie’s phone beeped once, then twice, until he glanced down and switched it off. I wasn’t sure who was texting him, but he looked . . . pleased, happy even, with the messages he was getting. Charlie was never much of a texter. He was a phone call guy. Maybe he had a girlfriend now? It might explain his occasional distance. And how he suddenly figured out how to dress cute.
Do not try to find logic in the male mind, I heard my friend Bud’s voice advise me. That way lies madness and sad conclusions.
Josh sat in the corner with an increasingly fidgety Sadie, typing away on his smartphone, the light from the screen almost blinding now that our eyes had adjusted to the dark.
“Josh, you might want to conserve the battery on your phone,” I told him. “Who knows when you’re going to be able to recharge?”
He shook his head. “I’m checking on the storm damage. It’s pretty widespread already and it’s expected to get worse. Temperatures are dipping into the teens. We’re supposed to get several inches of snow on top of the ice.”
Jacob tugged at the collar of his jacket, as if the idea of being snowed in with us didn’t fill him with incandescent joy. “We’ve never had an ice storm knock out power to half the state in one swoop, but that’s what happening right now.”
“What are we going to do?” Bonnie asked. “We don’t have bread, milk, and eggs!”
“Pretty sure they have those in the kitchen, Bon,” I reminded her.
“Oh.” Bonnie’s face brightened back into its usual state of perkiness. “Never mind, then!”
“Look, the good news is that the insulation is going to keep the rooms warm for at least a few hours,” Luke said, setting about a dozen flashlights on the bar. “So what we’re going to do is have one more round and then it’s off to bed. The electronic locks are not working, obviously, so you all can have your pick of the rooms on the first floor. Try to stay close together for convenience and safety. Please don’t do anything weird in there, because you’re not technically registered guests right now, but I will figure out a way to charge you for damages. Don’t make me put you in time-out in the snow.”
Jacob poured the drinks with a little less zeal, but we all managed to imbibe enough that sleeping in a big blacked-out hotel didn’t seem all that bad an idea. Josh was lugging “two-drink Sadie” down the hall, where he dutifully put her to bed in the first room he found and then bunked down in separate accommodations. He was all about professional decorum, even in an ice-fueled crisis. Armed with our flashlights, the rest of the staff split off to our own rooms without comment beyond whispered good-nights. No one seemed to want to share a room, and that was fine with me. I had the feeling we would all get enough togetherness over the next few days.
I dragged my giant duffel bag down to the last room on the right. True to Luke’s word, the door opened without a problem, but I couldn’t seem to pull my canvas albatross one more inch, much less around the corner into my bedroom.
I grunted, jerking on the handle. I felt the weight of it lift behind me until the bag slid through the door.
Charlie was there, lips quirked into a pleased grin. “I had to redeem my upper body strength somehow. Still packing the car-battery-size first aid kit, I see.”
“With good reason. Because if the electricity isn’t on by tomorrow morning, Sadie’s head is going to explode. That will involve a lot of Band-Aids.” I nodded toward the bag. “Thanks, Charlie.”
Charlie stepped back into the darkness of the hallway. “Good night, Kelsey.”
Smiling, I closed the door behind me and flipped the dead bolt.
I dropped the mega-bag and closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the door. “I want to have a marathon of dirty, sweaty monkey sex with you until my thighs give out and then maybe have a dozen of your super-genius babies,” I whispered against the door and then slid down to my knees and onto the carpet.
The only thing more pathetic than my personal life was the weak little beam provided by my hotel-issued flashlight. I couldn’t seem to move. I just lay there by the door, shining my pitiful light into the darkness, unable to settle into what was going to be an exceedingly crappy night of sleep.
The room looked comfortable enough, with a queen-size bed and a comfy armchair in the corner. I couldn’t get a feel for the décor in the pitch darkness, but the room smelled clean and the bedspread seemed nice and fluffy. There was no fireplace, which was disappointing, considering our situation. I was sure the view of the lake would be fantastic, even by moonlight, but the idea of opening the blinds was downright unnerving. I felt safe(ish) in my little enclosed space. I did not need to look outside and watch falling ice form a glaze of doom around us. Or that creepy Deadite girl from the Evil Dead remake singing “We’re going to get you” while licking the glass.
I climbed to my feet. Without the warm air circulating, I could feel the room getting colder. If I just stood there, I would be half-frozen before I managed to climb into bed. Using my light, I dug through my bag until I found a pair of pajama pants, then demonstrated mad speed-dressing skills, shivering all the way. Beyond splashing some warm water on my face and brushing my teeth, my bedtime grooming routine was seriously cut short.
I slid under the blankets, hissing as the cool sheets made contact with my skin. I covered my face with the comforter, casting aside every germaphobic thought I’d ever had about public bedding, and burrowed in for the night. This was not how I planned to spend my weekend. This was not how I wanted to recover from the Darrell bullshit—cold and cranky and baconless.
He broke up with me. That was what was really humiliating. I’d been dumped by a guy who referred to himself as a “theoretical entrepreneur” and sat on my freaking couch all day playing video games while he was supposedly gathering ideas for a Web site that would allow people to set up online stores to auction off their old junk. But if you pointed out that eBay had already sort of cornered that market, he stopped talking to you.
But this time, he left me. That had never happened before. I’d thrown him out a few times. I’d declared that I needed a break from him. Of course, he’d cry, ask how he was supposed to find another apartment with his bad credit, slide pictures of us in happier times under the door with notes attached telling me that “This boy still loves this girl.” If that didn’t work, he’d change tactics, asking who was going to want me if he left me, and how I thought I was going to find someone better. He’d give me the silent treatment for about a week and would somehow know exactly when I was weakest and show up at my door to apologize just one last time.
I didn’t know why I kept taking him back. It wasn’t that I loved him so much that I couldn’t let him go. That possibility died off early on in our relationship, after too many for
gotten milestones, too many plans brushed aside in favor of hanging out with his friends, too many nights spent trying to sleep with earplugs in because his buddies came over for a marathon gaming session on a weeknight. I knew it was ridiculous for me to support a grown man, to watch him raid my purse for gas money. But it was a relationship, and it was familiar, like old sweatpants. You knew what to expect from them (not much), but they kept you from wanting to leave the house or be seen by other people. And it kept my mother off my back. My mother didn’t care who I was with as long as I was with someone.
Elizabeth Wade was a beauty queen who never quite got over the fact that she wasn’t more. She was sure that if she had just won the right crown, met the right agent, made the right connection, she could have been the next big thing. Reminding her that she’d never actually acted or sung publicly beyond the painful concerts she forced guests to sit through at parties did no good.
I made it my mission in life to keep Mother from vicariously living her ridiculous dreams through me. I dated a string of unacceptable men because—I knew deep down—I didn’t want to meet my mother’s demands that I marry. Of course, I didn’t realize how my mother’s standards would drop as she became more desperate for me to settle down. Darrell was the least acceptable of them all, but she pushed for me to keep him happy because who else would take me on?
I maintained contact with her because she and my enabling dad were the only family I had. And somewhere in the back of my head, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person just walked away from their only family. There were a lot of people who had it much worse than I did. People whose parents hurt them or stole from them. All my mother did was annoy me.
I just kept hoping that this time with Darrell would be different. This time, he had finally learned his lesson and grown up. This time, maybe we could finally make a go of being happy, or at least not hurt each other anymore.
And then, I came home from work a few weeks before to find that he was moving out of our apartment. Unfortunately, he seemed to be moving out a lot of my stuff. It took intervention from my boys down the hall to get back my DVDs, my laser printer, and my pots and pans. The stealing I actually expected. What hurt was that he was so matter-of-fact about leaving me. As if it was expected that someday this was going to happen. I didn’t exactly try to talk him out of his decision, but I remember asking him why. Why now?