Chapter Two
Briar
The Ozark Grand Lodge leaves quite a bit to be desired, but after driving all night following a grueling final exam, I can’t be bothered to find an alternative. The bored kid at the front desk is no help whatsoever. He immediately ignored me after he swiped my card and slid an actual metal key across the Formica countertop without looking up from his phone.
Hiking my bag higher up on my shoulder, I turn with a grimace, pushing my way through the old front door and make my way around the lackluster building in search of my home for the next week. I’m surprised to see that the parking lot is nearly full, but it gives me hope that I might not be murdered in my sleep.
I finally see a faded door marked with either a sixteen or a nineteen. The old metal numbers are hung loosely, so it’s difficult to tell if it’s slipped over time. Looking at the next door, I feel fairly confident that this is, indeed, nineteen—my room.
With a groan, I insert the key and turn the loose knob, bracing myself for what I’ll see when I flick the lights on.
“Could be worse,” I sigh, walking into the small, sparsely furnished, but seemingly clean room. I’ve definitely stayed in worse.
“It’s only for a week. It’ll be fine.” Those words become my mantra as I leave again, locking the door behind me and checking the lock twice before I head back to my car to grab the rest of my stuff.
It only takes a few minutes to unpack everything and get it put away. As I close the closet door, my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. In my rush to get on the road, I’d foolishly decided to do a grocery run when I got here, not realizing it’s basically a ghost town after eight p.m.
Hoping against hope that there’s a functional vending machine around here somewhere, I grab my wallet and room key. The ear piercing hum of an ice machine draws my attention, and as I round a corner, an eerie glow makes me almost giddy.
Shimmying my hips as I close in on the machine, my stomach rumbles at the surprisingly fresh-looking options. I stare for a while, trying to choose, finally settling on a bag of pretzels. Opening my wallet, I grab my debit card and lift it, only to realize—there’s no swiper.
“Fudge!” I whisper-yell, wrapping my arms around the machine and gently banging my head on the plexiglass, so close yet so far from the deliciously salty treat. “I just want carbs! Is that too much to ask?” I plead desperately.
Groaning, I pull back, unzipping the small pouch in my wallet and peering in, my eyes widening comically when I see a lone, folded bill among the pennies I’ve picked up on my adventures. Grabbing it, I grimace when I see the deep creases. Running it on the edge of the vending machine to force some of the kinks out, I smile when it’s sucked into the slot and isn’t immediately spit back out.
Giddy at the prospect of food, I push in the number for my pretzels, grateful they’re only a dollar, and wait for the coil to recede so my dinner can fall into my starving clutches. It doesn’t.
“Son of a biscuit!” I scream, wincing when I realize it’s the middle of the night, and other than the squealing ice machine, only the crickets and tree frogs are making noise out here. When no one yells for me to shut up or comes running to my rescue, I try my luck, smacking the front of the machine with the palm of my hand, unsurprised when nothing happens.
Turning away with a glare at the thieving machine, I trudge back to my room, trying to remember if I have a half-eaten bag of peanuts in my car. Telling myself it’s not worth it, I return to my room, locking the door behind me and flopping onto the thin mattress in defeat.
When I’d made the reservation, I didn’t expect a lot from a place that offered such cheap weekly rates, but this place is so underwhelming that I can’t help the snort that escapes when I look around the room.
One threadbare towel.
One dining chair with questionable stains.
One bedside table that must double as a dining table.
One double bed, old enough that I can count the springs beneath me as I move.
Fantastic.
At least the bedding seems clean. Thank the lord for small mercies.
Stomach growling, I curl into a ball and fall asleep quickly.
My eyes open and blink against the light coming through the thin curtains hanging in front of the small window. I sit up, stretching the knots in my back from the ancient mattress. The sounds of slamming car doors and people moving around the parking lot piques my interest, and I climb off the bed, moving across the room to peer through the window. I watch as families scurry around, several strapping kayaks and canoes to the roofs of their minivans.
My stomach rumbles in protest, reminding me it’s been nearly twenty-four hours since I’ve eaten. Rubbing it absentmindedly as I turn from the window to get ready, I look around the room, experiencing its underwhelming glory in the harsh light of day.
I grab my toiletries as I walk into the bathroom and hop in the shower. I’m pleasantly surprised with the water pressure. The water doesn’t get hot enough for me, but it does the job.
Minutes later, I’m dressed and ready to explore. The lodge doesn’t offer breakfast, but I head toward the office anyway. After I win the fight with the ancient, heavy door, I’m elated to find a middle-aged woman behind the desk.
“Mornin’, honey,” she greets cheerfully as I walk to the counter.
“Good morning… Sandy,” I grin, taking in her polished name tag. “I was hoping you could recommend somewhere that serves breakfast.”
She nods emphatically, reaching for a pen and grabbing a folded map from a clear plastic stand with a large chunk missing. She opens the map, a colorful, hand-drawn version of the town that makes it look quaint and cheery rather than sparsely populated.
“The best place for breakfast is Sweetie’s, hands down. It’s popular with the locals, but tourists are usually in a rush to hit the river, so you should be okay. Tell Sammi that Sandy sent ya. She’ll take care of ya.”
Her smile is contagious, and I realize I haven’t stopped grinning since I stepped inside. “Thanks, Miss Sandy. Have a great day.”
I take the map she hands me and leave, looking at the blue line on the map from the lodge to a small building just down the main street. It’s walkable, so I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and start the short walk to Sweetie’s, stopping along the way to take photos.