Checking Inn (19 page)

“Oh God,” I say, leaning on the wall for support.  “We’re done.”

“Of course we’re not,” my mother argues.

“Mother, I’m not sure if you are grasping this, but we run an Inn.  And the purpose of an Inn is to house paying guests.  Do you see any guests?” I wave my hands around.

“Well, of course not.  They aren’t due until Friday; that’s when the renovations will be complete,” she says.

Oh god, she’s actually gone delusional.

“What are you talking about?”

“The guests,” she slows her speech, and I feel we are both equally confused with each other.  “They are checking in this weekend.  We are fully booked.”

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Dr. Chural endorsed the program that Tracy made for our guests, and some of his clients are coming from New York for the weekend.  Dr. Chural says that if they love it, we will be set for life,” she says.  “Apparently New York woman have extensive social circles, most of whom want to stay young and rejuvenated.”

“And we have the perfect setting,” Tracy joins my mother’s pitch.  “They can come to Summerside to relax and get away from it all.  Plus, we are far enough away from New York, and we’ve made our treatment rooms very private, so if a client wants full disclosure, they can have it.”

I shake my head.  I have nothing to say.

“We will still have guests staying with us that will just be enjoying our spa, or visiting the area,” my mother argues.  “But this way we can be very busy during the week as well.  Most of the women want the work done while their husbands are away on business.”

“Dr. Chural himself is coming this weekend,” Tracy says, clapping in excitement.  “He’s going to watch me do the first procedure so he can endorse it in good conscience.”

“So,” my mother says, wrapping the front of her flowing kimono around her finger.  “What do you think?”

“How did you even get this doctor to agree to do this?” I ask.

“Tracy sent him the basket full of soap that was meant for Samantha,” Mom says, her arm wrapping around Tracy’s shoulder.  “Apparently he hasn’t been sleeping well, and after his bath he had the best night sleep he’s ever had.”

“I–” I shake my head, tears glistening in my eyes.

“You’re upset,” my mother says.  “I should have talked to you about it first, but I just wanted to surprise you.”

I take one step, then another until I am in front of Tracy and my mother and have wrapped my arms around both of them.

“Thank you,” I manage to say.

“We just wanted to make your dreams come true,” my mother says, choking up herself.  “This Inn is your life.”

“Our dreams,” I say, hugging them both tighter.  “And I love this Inn, but I have much more important things in my life as well.”

“Oh God, if your mother hadn’t just injected my crow’s feet I would definitely be crying right now,” Tracy sniffles as we stand behind the reception desk.

“But what about the other investors?” I ask my mother.  “Please tell me you ran this past them.”

“They were fine with it,” she waves her hand.

“Were they really, or did they say they would think about it, too?” I ask.  “Maybe I should just call them to make sure.”

“You can’t,” she says, avoiding my eyes.  “They’re in… umm… Istanbul.”

“Istanbul?  Who do you know that’s from Istanbul?” I argue.  “Anyways, they still have phones there.”

“Well, they can’t take any calls,” she says.  “They don’t participate in anything modern.”

“But they were okay with 
Botox
?” I ask.

When my mother avoids my eyes I know something is up.

“Mother…”

“Alright,” she says, sighing.  “There are no other investors.”

“What?  Where did you get the money for the Inn?”

“I got it from your father’s estate when he died.  He left me a million dollars to spend however I saw fit,” she says.

“
What
?  Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“Because, you love this Inn.  You loved it from the second you saw it when you were a little girl, and even after your father left you were determined to own it,” she says.  “I knew the truth would someday come out about him, and I didn’t want where the money came from to taint your love of this place.”

I study my mother’s guilty face.

“So we own the Inn?  Just me and you?  It’s all ours?”

“And Tracy, I gave her ten percent for getting the endorsement,” she says. 

I look at Tracy, who shrugs her shoulders, and has a huge smile on her face.

“This is it, right?  There are no more secrets that you plan on springing on me later?” I ask, but at this point I’m not really sure what to believe.

“That’s it, I swear,” my mom says.  “Except for the fact that I broke the oven in the kitchen making homemade candles yesterday.  But that’s it.”

I nod and put my bag on the reception desk.  Turning back I grab both my mother and Tracy’s hands. 

“So… we own the Summerside Inn,” I say, looking around the front entryway.  “And it’s fully booked through to the New Year with famous, rich New Yorkers?”

“I guess we do,” Tracy says, equally in awe.

I stand there nodding.

“Happy dance?” I ask.

“Definitely,” my mom replies.

We spend the next five minutes doing a lot of movements that are neither dignified nor coordinated.

It was the best moment of my life.

Seventeen

Who knew a month could go by so quick, and so slow at the same time?

To say my mother was right would be an understatement.  The Inn is so busy that I’ve had to make more and more lists to get everything done.  So, of course I’m in Heaven.

The reviews from the first weekend were unbelievable, and we are booked up through Valentine’s Day with our spa treatments.  And people are telling other people who are telling other people.  They love the quaint charm of our Inn and town.  Everyone also happens to love my guest book; I’ve had to make a second edition to accommodate all the new names.  The first one is in our hutch in the dining room, displayed proudly.

Surprisingly, not a lot of people ask about Samantha, and those that do don’t have a lot of nice things to say. I actually find myself feeling sorry for her during these moments.  I mean, it’s sad that you live your whole life and when it’s over, no one misses you.  I make sure to give my mom a hug any chance I can get now.  I’m not willing to go out that way.

I haven’t heard from Greg, which is not surprising.  He has tried to separate himself from the town and the whole situation.  Apparently it’s bad for his image.

I don’t blame him for anything, really.  I was too blinded to see what I should have all along.  No matter what I was led to believe, I have always been better than the Samantha and Gregs of this world.

And Ben was right: Greg should have stood up for me all those years ago, and the fact that he didn’t means we were never meant to be.  Thank God!

And then there is Ben.  I haven’t heard from him.  Which is…

Well, it is what it is.

I screwed it up.

But, if I ever get the chance again– if someone like Ben comes along again– well, I will know what to do.

We just never had the right timing; never said the right things. 

But I have to move forward.  No more trying to change the past.  I have a fabulous Inn to run, and everyone is depending on me.

I also still haven’t heard from Meryl.

“Kate, Mr. Shaw wants to know if his dog can be in the room while I do his forehead,” Tracy says, her eyes wide and pleading as Mr. Shaw stands behind her, clutching his Chihuahua. 

“I’ve explained to him that it is against the Inn’s policy to even have animals as guests, let alone in the room during a session,” she says, smiling, trying to hide the clenching of her teeth.

“Mr. Shaw…” I say, turning to him.

“I’m just so nervous,” he says, stroking the dog a little more forcefully than necessary.  “And poor Pinky can pick up when I’m nervous.  I don’t want him to worry.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I say, waving to Becky as she passes by with her arms loaded with towels.  “I’ll get Becky to light some of her special incense in the room.  It is specifically designed to relax the nerves.  And she can take, umm… Pinky, for a walk while you have your session.”

He squints his eyes to look at Becky, who smiles over the towels.  “Alright, but not too far.  And don’t walk him around a lot of other big dogs, he gets depressed,” he says.

Becky nods as I take the towels from her hands.

“And make sure you stop every twelve minutes for a water break, he only drinks reverse osmosis…” I miss the rest as Becky walks with Mr. Shaw and Tracy back to the spa. 

“Where is that girl going?” Luisa asks, coming towards me and taking the towels.

“I’ve asked her to walk Mr. Shaw’s dog,” I say.

“I guess I do the 
baños myself then,” she says, shaking her head.

“I’ll help you,” I offer, seeing that a meltdown might be coming.

“No, no, you don’t do it right,” she says and disappears around the corner.

Honestly, how can you not clean a bathroom right?

My bathroom seems perfectly clean at home.

I’ll have to write that on my list, see what I’m doing wrong.

“Honey, I’ve told Mrs. Thorn that we can make tonight’s trifle diabetic friendly,” she says, coming to the front desk and picking up the mail.

“But we can’t,” I argue.

“Can’t we just ask Cook to take out the sugar?” she asks.

“No, it will taste horrible for everyone else,” I say. 

“Oh well, I’ll just tell her its diabetic friendly then,” she says shrugging.

“Mother, you can’t do that!” I argue.  “What if she has an episode because of it?”

“Oh she’ll never notice, and I saw her eating a Mars Bar last night.  She just tells everyone she’s diabetic for attention,” she puts down the mail and kisses me on the cheek.  “Honestly, the woman is a nightmare.”

She walks away and I make a note on my clipboard to investigate the diabetic thing.  Just in case.

The front door bell chimes as I am finishing my note. 

I look up and smile to greet our new guest, but drop my pen when I see Ben standing in front of the reception desk.

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Hello,” he says, smiling.

His face is just as handsome as I remember, probably even more so. 
 
He’s tried to comb his hair into a semblance of order, but it doesn’t look right. 
 
I want to reach my hand up and shake it all out of place the way it should be. 
 
His shirt is wrinkled, and he’s tried to tuck it into his jeans but one of the front shirt tails has escaped and is hanging loose at the front.

“I–” I still have no idea what to say. 
 
What are you supposed to say in situations like this? 
 
You know, for someone who lives a well-organized life, I’m shocked with what little I have been prepared for in the past few months. 
 
Maybe I need to get out more.

“I brought you something,” he says, putting a gift bag on the desk, pushing my business cards to the side.

I look at him warily before reaching in the bag and pulling out a florescent pink clipboard.

“I thought it might be time for you to spice things up a little,” he says, smiling, and waiting for my reaction.

I hold the clipboard in my hands, staring at it. 
 
I reach for the clipboard I was just writing on, take off the paper, and put it on my new pink one.

“Thanks,” I say, holding the clipboard against my chest.

“So, how are things?” he asks as Becky walks by with Pinky who is wearing a miniature sombrero.

“His eyes are sensitive to the sun,” Becky says, shrugging before going out the front door.

“Pretty much the same,” I say, smiling. 
 
“Except everything has changed as well. 
 
We have expanded the spa and reached out to new clientele. 
 
Things are great.”

“I’ve heard,” he says, smiling and looking around at the bustling Inn. 
 
“I’m really happy for you, Kate.”

“It was mostly my mom and Tracy” I say. 
 
“I’m just here to make sure they don’t burn the place down.”

“The last thing you need is another investigation,” Ben guesses with a smile.

“The last one wasn’t so bad,” I offer and lower my eyes.

“Well, I have the weekend off and I was wondering if you had a vacancy,” he says.

My eyes shoot up to study his face, wondering what this means, but he doesn’t give anything away.

“We only have your old room available,” I say. 
 
“We just finished redecorating it yesterday, so we didn’t book it out this weekend yet.”

My mom and I have spent the last few weeks going to antique auctions picking up some great finds. 
 
Some we got for great prices; others I practically had to sit on top of my mother’s hand to stop her from raising the paddle when someone was trying to bid her up. 
 
She can get a
 
little
 
competitive.

“Sounds good,” he says. 
 
“Do I need to fill out the form again?”

“We should have your old one on file.” I say, writing his name in my reservation book. 
 
“How long will you be staying?”

“It depends,” he says. 
 
He puts down his bag at the side of the reception desk and leisurely makes his way around until he is standing in front of me.

I try not to get my hopes up. 
 
Maybe he is just here to be polite. 
 
He has always loved the Inn, maybe he just wanted to stay here in its heyday.