CHAPTER 11 DELILAH
DELILAH
“Mark says he’ll be here tomorrow,” Jackson says, his face turned down toward his phone and one arm propped against the open door of the trunk. I try to edge around his broad body at the back of the van, fighting to reach for the suitcase he won’t let me grab.
“His daughter had a dance recital he didn’t want to miss,” I explain, biting the inside of my cheek as Jackson moves to block my reach for the twelfth time.
I don’t usually feel our size difference, but I’m feeling it right now.
I feel like a baby rabbit, trying to paw at an overgrown oak tree.
Is this how he feels every time he has to climb through the window of his car?
Unbelievable. “He’s heading out first thing.
Should be here before the snow starts to fall. ”
“Great.” He maneuvers my doughnut sled to the far side of the van, then grabs my bag, setting it neatly on the curb next to his. I huff, but he ignores me, closing the back and turning toward the sign that says LOBBY, both suitcases trailing behind him. Mine bumps along with its broken wheel.
“I can carry that.”
He spares me a brief glance. “I know.”
I have to take two hopping steps for every one of his. “Hand it over, then.”
A smirk curls his lips. “No.”
I stubbornly try to get it back anyway, trailing behind Jackson while trying to pull the handle out of his grip.
I probably look like a fly on the back of a buffalo.
Jackson pays me no mind, continuing along, tipping his head back and squinting into the muted sunlight to take in the rustic lodge we’ll be staying at for the duration of the coverage.
I begrudgingly do the same. It’s gorgeous.
An old cabin that’s been converted into a string of connected suites.
Wide glass and warm wood and towering pines, anchored on either side of the front walkway.
The front is low, built into the side of the foothill, but the back is nothing but wide-open space.
The elevation drops without warning, the balconies from the cabins jutting out over a descent that cuts all the way down to the lake, spilling inky black in every direction.
Everything is still and quiet in the way it only gets before a storm. The whole world holding its breath.
We push through the wide-set glass doors to a fire in the hearth, Jackson still holding on to my bag. A woman with long gray hair and an apron tied around her waist welcomes us in.
“You must be the newspeople. I’m Lottie, the owner of Wolf’s Lodge. We’re so happy to have you with us for the storm.” She folds her hands in front of her. “I hope the trip out wasn’t too much trouble?”
“No trouble at all.” Jackson’s eyes cut to me briefly.
Well, that look says, maybe some trouble.
I stick my tongue out and a gruff laugh rolls out of him.
He shifts his attention back to Lottie. “Are you all right with us checking in early, or do you want us to kill some time at the arcade across the street?”
Lottie waves her hand. “That arcade hasn’t been operational since 1983.
A theme, I think you’ll find, here at Deep Creek.
” She strides behind a long desk situated in front of the fireplace.
There’s no one else in the small lobby. “Now is a fine time to check in. We operate with a skeleton crew during storms like these.” She pulls out a sheet of paper listing the hotel’s amenities, several of them either crossed out or with handwritten notes next to them.
“Most of the amenities will be closed for the duration of your stay, and there won’t be any room service.
But we will serve three hot meals a day and have a rotating tea service with coffee, pastries, and the like.
Those will be family style for the guests and on-site staff. ”
Jackson nods. “That’s no problem. We’re here to work.”
I wander to the back windows while Jackson and Lottie continue chatting through logistics, pressing my palm to the cold glass and staring out at the lake below.
I came here a few times with my grandpa growing up, always in the summer when the water sparkled so bright I could never look at it directly.
We’d wander down to the docks on the east side before the sun poked its way over the horizon, slowly shedding our layers as the sky turned purple, then pink, then bright, shining gold.
We’d fish until our necks burned red, then sit in the backyard of the cabin we rented and roast the day’s catch on an open fire.
He’d tell me stories he made up and I’d pretend to believe them.
Does he remember it the same way I do? Cicadas in the grass and aloe on my fingertips. Ice cream melting over my knuckles, loose pebbles beneath my feet. Laughing so hard it hurt, the sky so bright above our heads I felt like I could put the stars in my pocket.
He went into assisted care two years ago when he started forgetting things.
At first it was just small stuff, but it quickly escalated.
He’d call me confused from the grocery store, not knowing how he got there.
Not knowing how to get back. He started telling the same stories over and over. He’d call me by my mother’s name.
When he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, we started putting care routines in place.
Some days I wonder how much of him I’ll get to keep and how much I’ll have to watch slip away.
“Delilah?”
I turn to look at Jackson, shaking off the cobwebs. I don’t need to worry about it now, when I’m on assignment. I made a promise to my grandpa that he’d only ever see me smiling and that’s what he’s going to get. Bright and shiny Delilah, every night on the evening news.
Jackson beckons me over, his glasses reflecting the glare from the back window so I can’t read his eyes.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You made three reservations, right?”
“Yup.” I reach for the phone in my back pocket, pulling up my email. I flagged it this morning so I’d have it when we got here. “Three of the junior one-bedroom suites.”
Lottie’s face collapses in dismay. “You didn’t cancel one?”
“No,” I say slowly. “I didn’t.” I look over at Jackson. He’s watching me with a heavy, concerned look. “I didn’t,” I say again.
“I believe you,” he assures me. He hands me back my phone and looks to Lottie. “Is it possible there was some sort of clerical error?”
She shakes her head, raising one trembling hand to her chin. “I got an early-morning cancellation via email. I’m sorry, but you only have two rooms booked, see?” Lottie turns the monitor on the desk so it’s facing us. Three reservations in a line, one bolded and underlined in red. CANCELED.
I force a smile. “That’s okay. We’ll just book another room. No problem.”
Lottie fills her cheeks with air, then blows it out noisily.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“There are no other rooms,” she says with a wince.
“When we received your cancellation, we immediately offered it to the waiting list.” She threads her fingers together and squeezes until her knuckles are white.
“When storms this big roll in, the truckers that pass through town usually hunker down. We have an agreement with one of the dispatchers. We’ve got a pretty good waiting list going as we get everyone squared away. ”
I rub at my forehead. “All right. I’ll just—it was my room?”
I’d call it bad luck, but I think this particular black cat is six-foot-nothing with a receding hairline and a mean streak.
Lottie turns the monitor back toward her and clicks around. “Just your room,” she confirms. “In the email I received, it said you found alternate lodgings at”—she squints at the computer, mouth moving soundlessly as she reads—“oh, at, um, Liberty Hall across the street.”
“Oh, well, that’s good!” I nudge Jackson with my elbow. “I still have somewhere to sleep tonight.”
Jackson is busy glowering at the computer monitor. “In this email you received,” he says, “did it say who wanted to cancel Delilah’s reservation?”
“There wasn’t a name listed. Just a generic email with a signature line from the station. I thought it was—I’m so sorry, I thought it was legit.”
I wave her off and wrestle my bag out of Jackson’s grip. “It’s no problem. Liberty Hall, you said?”
Lottie hesitates, then nods. Warning bells start to chime, but optimism is a choice, and I’m not letting this trip go to waste because Keith wants to play games.
I’m going to kill this coverage, and I’m going to shut him up once and for all.
Hopefully, this will be the last time I ever have to jump through these hoops.
“I’ll go check in across the street, and then we’ll meet back here for coffee. Oh.” I glance at Lottie. “Can I still have coffee here? If I don’t have a room?”
“Of course you can. Scones too.” Lottie’s face eases into something sympathetic. “Whatever you need. I’m so sorry this happened.”
I manage a wobbly smile. The look on her face is like I’ve just announced a death in the family.
The warning bells turn into an air siren.
I don’t have a great feeling about Liberty Hall.
“Thank you. I appreciate your help. I’m sure I’ll see you—wait.
” I’m distracted by Jackson, turning and wheeling both of our suitcases toward the front door. “What are you doing?”
Mine bumps along unsteadily next to his, that damned wheel still broken.
“Jackson.” I rush to catch up. “I can do this myself.”
He shakes his head. “We’ll come back together, after you’ve checked in at your new place.”
A hot flare of indignation settles between my shoulder blades. “You don’t think I can walk across the street by myself? I can manage crossing the road.”