Page 12 of Room for Us
“Is this a joke?”
I frown. “What? No, this isn’t a joke.”
A sigh trembles into my ear. “God, I’m really making a mess of this, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” I answer drily. “But we’re all entitled to an off day, right?”
“Right.” Decisive tone—thank God she’s pulling herself together. “Mr.…?”
“Hart.”
“Mr. Hart, we don’t have any guests currently, so I’d be happy to offer you The Rose House for your extended visit to Sun River. How many guests will be joining you?”
“None.”
Another pause. “Oh, um… okay, sounds great.” Nervous throat clearing. “Is this a good number to call you? I’m not at the inn right now, so I don’t have our booking program in front of me. I’ll need to call you back to finalize your reservation and get your personal information and… such.”
She falters, her embarrassment inaudible but so clear it evokes a ping of sympathy from me. Either she’s never actually booked a guest before, or she has no idea how to figure out what to charge me for the extended stay. The different rooms had different nightly costs on the website, and there were options for adding amenities like laundry service and dinner in addition to the included breakfast.
Feeling charitable, I summon some of the charm I so recently discarded. “I know this is unorthodox, Ms. Kemper, so thank you for accommodating me. This number is fine to call back.”
“Perfect.” She sighs. “I’ll call you back in an hour if that’s all right?”
“That’s fine. Until then.”
With relief, I lower my phone and tap the red circle to end the call. Then I slump back into my office chair and stare at the ceiling in bemusement. My pulse skitters inside my ribcage and the sunlight behind me is a hot blanket on my back. I’m a miserable sonofabitch.
At least it seems as though I’ll have my wish of escape. From the photos online, The Rose House is exactly what I want. Plus, its walls are soaked in history. If I can’t write a book there, I might as well throw in the towel.
I try not to think about Hemingway, who inspired my search in Sun River, and who spent the last years of his life in the same arid valley.
Or that he orchestrated his own end there, alone, with a shotgun blast.
8
“I can’t believe it. I mean, I believe it—the cash deposit has been made and everything—but I also can’t believe it. In three days, my first guest will be here.”
“You hit the jackpot on your first try!” My mom’s grin slips wider, lubricated by the champagne we’ve been drinking all night. “The universe works in mysterious ways.”
I snort. Drunk Mom is funny. “Since when?”
“Pish-posh.” She chuckles and points her flute at me, the mouth dipping low, the glass thankfully empty. “You weren’t always a cynic. You know damn well what I mean. Causality and intent and stuff.”
The first problem of drinking with my mom is her size. Two drinks and she’s blotto. The second problem is that if she still adheres to past patterns, in a few minutes she’ll get weepy. But I wasn’t thinking about that when I called her and told her the news. I wanted to celebrate my first booking and I didn’t have anyone else to call—a fact that would be depressing on any other day.
Wait…
Yep, it’s depressing now. My eyes are wet. Like mother like daughter. And drunk or not, my mom seizes on my rare show of pain like a shark scenting blood.
“You miss him a lot, don’t you?”
I look at the ceiling, blinking the tears back like they’re overzealous eye drops. “Sometimes I miss him. Sometimes I just miss being married. It’s so stupid, but I miss the comfort of knowing I’m legally bound to someone. I can’t believe I ever thought something as arbitrary as words and a piece of paper actually meant something.”
Mom sits up, intellectual fire briefly diluting the effects of the alcohol. “Of course you believed it! You were in love and you trusted him. And you believed it because Chris met all your basic needs. Security, familiarity, and social and sexual acceptance. There’s no shame in wanting a life partner. And there’s also no shame in picking the wrong one.”
I spread my arms wide. “Dr. Kemper in the house, everyone!”
“Oh, stuff it.” She starts to laugh, then pivots and tears up instead. “I’m sorry. I think I did this to you.”
