Chapter Ten
“What’s going on?” Kada asked.
Drawing a deep breath, Sue picked up a glass ornament and held it. “These balls are so pretty. They look artistic, but they’re strong, right? They’re supposed to last.” Her hand shook. “How do they last?”
Lifting the ornament from Sue’s hand, Kada set it back in the bowl, gripped both of the guest’s hands, and dropped her chin. She recognized stress, but she didn’t know the cause. “What’s going on?”
Lip quivering, Sue looked at the red tile floor. “Choosing a classic, American trailer seemed like the right choice for my family. After all, the vehicles are iconic, and they must have something going for them, right ?”
“Of course, they do.” Kada loosened her grip. Vacation woes were a lot easier to manage than interpersonal conflicts. “But they might have a few downsides, too.”
Sue looked up. “A few? You try driving halfway across the country in an aluminum bullet with two small children! First of all, that traveling hot dog cost me seventy-five thousand dollars!”
She swallowed. I thought they were vintage chic and cheap. Sue looked like the kind of woman who monitored her IRA on a monthly basis. Laying out that kind of investment must have hurt. No wonder she resented a few hiccups.
“That aluminum exterior that looks so cool? Corrosion! Dents! Have you ever polished a trailer?” Sue asked.
She led Sue toward the peacock chair. “I can’t say I have.”
Sue resisted the gesture. Widening her stance, she brushed her bangs out her eyes and picked up another glass ornament. “I thought the bunk beds would help with the narrow aisle. You know what helps? Keeping Mack occupied with discrete tasks. And where does that leave me? Parenting two kids who can’t remember song lyrics they learned ten minutes ago.” Her voice wavered, and then it cracked. “We’ve watched the same movie fifteen times! And there’s no storage. None!”
“Okay.” Prying the second ornament from Sue’s grasp, she chose action over empathy. “Let’s get you a fresh set of towels. Are you going somewhere tonight?”
“We’re releasing floating lanterns.” Sue hiccupped. “My childhood neighbors released them every month for the full moon. It’s a tradition.”
She considered espousing the magic of hanging lanterns, but after Sue’s description of life in a recreational vehicle, Sue needed wide, open space, not a dangling fire hazard. In Buddhist culture, releasing a floating lantern into the sky represented optimism and new beginnings, but Kada had no idea what the motel guests chose to reveal. No matter who influenced Sue’s childhood, the symbolism stuck with her, and Kada would honor it. “You still have time to release the lanterns.”
“The water…”
“I haven’t had other water complaints, but you can shower in an empty casita .”
“Really?” Sue wiped her dripping mascara.
“Really.” She opened a wooden door and pulled out spare linens staged next to miniature toiletries, light bulbs, and bug spray. After she took over the motel, she added USB chargers, feminine hygiene products, and crayon boxes, but every guest had his or her needs. “Here are the towels. I’ll get you a room key, take away the old towels, and check on your family in about half an hour. Okay?”
Sue clutched the towels. “Amazing. Thank you.”
Inventorying what else she had to offer, she tilted her head. Sue’s hands no longer shook. Kada wondered whether the towels, the shower, or the sympathetic ear mattered most. “It’s the least I can do. Let’s get the old linens out of your way.”
“Okay.”
“So, what do you miss most about”—she wracked her brain for Sue’s registration information—“Oklahoma?”
Sue widened her gaze. “The food! Chicken fried steak. Fried okra.” She wet her lips. “Cornbread.”
If cornbread could soothe Sue’s anxiety, she bet Benito could whip up a batch in an hour. She might have to bribe him to exclude the candied peppers or ancho chili oil, but comfort food went a long way toward soothing nerves.
Sue walked toward the aluminum vehicle like a prisoner entering a cell.
Trailing, Kada gave Sue and Mack’s recreational vehicle a second glance. The vehicle had seen better days. Corroded panels suggested the family drove on snowy roads. Municipalities often used magnesium to treat roads because the salt melted ice and snow. If a savvy person looked under any Wyoming vehicle, they would find clear coating or telltale corrosion.
“Sorry about the dust.” Sue waved toward the vehicle. “We try to keep it up.”
She stopped a respectful distance from the mobile home. It looked large enough to have separate black water and gray water tanks. Since the family struggled with water pressure, she would suggest checking the tanks, but rivets and leaks exceeded her responsibility as innkeeper. “It looks great.”
Two children clambered down the aluminum steps.
The older child wore two red braids, a ruffle nightgown, and pink, fuzzy bunny slippers. “I don’t want to go driving around in the cold!”
“Me, neither!” The younger boy stuck out his tongue. Navy cords trimmed his white pajamas, and he clutched a teddy bear. “And you can’t make me.”
“Kids!” Mack walked to the doorway, braced his hands above his head, and sighed. “Come on. Listen to your mother. We need to get ready!”
Sue held up the clean towels. “We’re showering in one of the little houses!”
The kids exchanged looks.
“No,” the girl said. “We’re staying here.”
“Resolutions.” The boy nodded. “We’re writing plans for the New Year. I’ll grow three inches and have a pet iguana.”
The girl planted her hands on her hips and turned to her brother. “Will not!”
“Mary Elizabeth and Robert Ross!” Sue wagged a finger. “You two get over here right now.”
Robert grabbed Mary Elizabeth’s arm and lifted his chin. “Three inches.”
“Not happening, Sue.” Mack sighed. “Let’s call it a night. We’ll release the lanterns tomorrow evening.”
“No!” Sue stamped a foot. “Tonight’s the full moon.”
Scratching her head, Kada looked away and wondered if Sue could open her heart to new traditions. She missed her childhood activities, too. Volunteers in Laramie transformed the University of Wyoming Art Museum into a holiday wonderland, complete with trees and fake snow. The Mayor’s Tree Lighting promised old-fashioned hijinks, and the candlelight collegiate choral concert sold out weeks ahead of time. Lying in bed after the spurt of holiday magic at the Starlight Motel, she thought of her family and how much she missed them.
Her childhood wonder couldn’t transform the Coachella Valley, but she felt tomorrow’s promise as keenly as she felt it back home. Admittedly, the valley floor was a lot warmer than a freezing, wind-scoured Wyoming plain.
“Sweetheart…” Mack took a deep breath.
“Sue, why don’t you shower first?” Kada asked. “Mack and the kids can come inside and sing a few songs, read books, and make hot chocolate in the kitchen.”
Mary Elizabeth leaned forward. “You have hot chocolate?”
She smiled. “I sure do, if that’s all right with your parents.”
The pair of kids looked at each other and clasped their hands beneath their chins.
Mack waited in the trailer’s doorway.
Looking between Mack and her kids, Sue furrowed her brow. “Fine!” She drew a deep breath. “Yes, please. I won’t turn down a hot, quiet shower.”
Kada wondered which adjective meant more to Sue. Beckoning the kids, she led them and Mack back to the main building. “Why don’t you grab a table? I’ll check with the chef and see if now’s a good time to invade his space.” She hoped Benito would let them use the microwave. “Do you want marshmallows?”
“Yes!” Robert pumped a fist into the air. “I love marshmallows!”
Mary Elizabeth fingered the tinsel tree. “This tree is fake!”
She absorbed the waves of energy emanating from the kids and took a deep breath. “I have a real one in my office. Pops picked it up at the grocery store when it was a crooked sapling. Over the years, it has almost taken over the workspace. Don’t tell anyone we’re keeping a dwarf fir tree in the business office. If you return next year, it will be seven inches taller.”
Robert solemnly nodded.
Inés walked out of the cantina. Seeing the children, her lined face broke into a soft smile. “Did you come to hear me sing?”
Mary Elizabeth hid behind her father.
Robert ran to the vocalist, gripped her skirt, and looked up. “Do you know any songs from cartoons?”
Laughing, Inés put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know many songs. Come on, buddy, I know a table by the piano that’s perfect for assembling puzzles. After you’ve had a sip of hot chocolate to warm your voices, you can join me for a few songs.”
Mack took a knee and wagged a finger between the children. “Behave?”
They nodded.
He returned the gesture, stood, and faced Inés. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” She offered her hands.
The pair took her hands and pulled her toward the cantina.
Watching the kids leave with Inés, Kada turned to Mack. “Do you also want a drink?”
He sat in the peacock chair and closed his eyes. “I want to rest. Kids are precious and precocious, but they take over your life. I thought I could reclaim a little adventure with the trailer, but I should have known taking those rascals to a playground was adventure enough.”
“I always wanted a sibling,” she said. “The kids will help you remember the best parts of the trip.”
He smiled like a man recalling his childhood scrapes. “I hope so. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Leaving Mack to his well-deserved break, she checked the computer behind the reception desk.
The piano started, and Inés sang a cheerful ballad.
The song’s lyrics brought back childhood memories, and she thought about how much Mom and Dad loved her. Their appearance in the valley shouldn’t be a surprise, but asking them to visit left her queasy. Mom demurred and said the holidays would be too stressful. They negotiated for New Year’s Eve, but Kada worried. If being on-site pained Mom, she handled her grief like a champion. Why couldn’t she run the motel?
The ballad ended.
“Are you coming back to dinner?” Dane asked.
Blinking, she looked up and found him standing to the counter’s side and holding his hat. In a minute, music would fill the cantina, and talk of water rights, politics, or religion could wait for a quieter venue. She smiled and logged off the computer. “I’m coming back.”
He nodded. “I think your food’s probably cold.”
She checked the time. Twenty minutes had elapsed since she had left him and subjected him to a paternal inquisition. Most people would excuse themselves or change the topic, but he met Dad’s questions straight on. She wondered if his approach stemmed from his work or his romantic interests. If a kiss gave him indigestion, then she might never see him again. She scanned him. He looked no worse for wear. “I thought I was quick.”
“Beautiful, but not quick.”
She laughed off the compliment. “Hardly. The Midwest family needed a break, but now, they’re squared away for the time being.” She tilted her head. “I guess I could lock the doors and keep anyone else from barging into the motel and ruining our meal.”
He straightened a brochure rack. “Isn’t that against the hotelier code of ethics?”
She gasped. “Wait, how do you know about the code?”
Smiling, he picked up a brass peacock figurine. It wore a faded red Santa hat. “If there’s a code, I’m sure you know it by heart. You’re obviously capable of making this motel a success.”
“Thanks.” She toyed with the computer mouse. “Being a smaller venue has its quirks.”
The hotelier code of ethics didn’t exist, but Palm Springs had an association of small hotels that allowed smaller venues to pool their resources. The association hosted an annual walking tour where guests donated a toy and viewed member properties decorated for the holidays. She couldn’t ask tour-goers to drive to the Starlight Motel for a holiday tour, but she hoped the New Year’s Eve fireworks display captured their attention. She arranged a stack of brochures. “I hope I’m making Pops proud. I want people to be happy.”
He set aside the figure. “I can tell. How about you come back to the table and let yourself be happy for a spell? Your mom and dad are nice people, but they didn’t come all this way to listen to Walter and me debate the weather.”
Walking around the reception desk, she hesitated. With so many problems on her hands, he represented an indulgence, and she feared she hadn’t earned it. Watching him handle himself in front of her parents eliminated a worry, but she rejected the idea he worried about her. “You’re so helpful, but I don’t need you to manage me.”
“It’s a hard habit to break.” He worked his jaw. “On my land, everyone chips in.”
“I can do it.” She lifted her chin. “I can take care of the motel and the guests.”
“Nobody said you couldn’t run this place.” He cleared his throat. “You’re doing a good job.”
His second compliment nearly floored her. She had admired his long, rangy muscles on horseback, but as she spent time with him, she suspected he cultivated patience like he cultivated crops. Without the all-hands-on-deck attitude, his farm and his staff would suffer. She didn’t want to add to his burden or feel like one of his workers.
Yet, after kissing him in the laundry room, she embraced their mutual attraction. If he had room for another complication, she could make room, too. Who am I kidding? I barely have time to shower or paint. The thought of sending him away hurt as much as the thought of falling short, but she stepped back. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
He exhaled. “I guess this is good-bye. Smoky won’t wait forever.”
His send-off came too soon. She swallowed. “I hope he feels better soon.”
He scratched his neck. “And that date?”
The uncertain gesture kindled her interest. After the holiday, she could make time for romantic nonsense and rangy cowboys, but she didn’t know how long she would remain at the Starlight Motel. A few weeks could feel like an eternity, and the distance between her and Dane loomed. She doubted he would kiss her in the lobby, but she wanted him to try. Admiring his perseverance, she smiled. “The fruit?”
He shifted his weight. “Um…”
If she had stayed behind the reception counter, she could brace her weight on the desk and keep her cool, but she would miss the pleasure of his fading scent. She clasped her hands behind her back and took pity on him. “When life calms down, I’d love to go out with you.”
He exhaled and smiled.
She wet her lips and prepared to repeat her caveats.
Picking up the flamingo a second time, he rubbed a thumb along the hat. “You made this?”
She nodded and opened her mouth.
He set down the piece and made eye contact. “It’s cute. I appreciate the touches of whimsy you scattered around the motel. I couldn’t put together cheerful, seasonal decorations to save my life, but I recognize the effort you put into them.” He smiled. “You’re killin’ it, Kada.”
Maybe she would kiss him.
He cleared his throat. “I’m looking forward to seeing the finished murals.”
“Are you sure you don’t care for the holidays? You’re awfully cheerful now.”
He shook his head. “Not my cup of tea, but if the festivities makes you smile, I can learn to love them.”
She laughed.
“Also, my birthday is January first. Nobody wants to celebrate it, so like a toad, I’ve just written off the whole season. I’m selfish.” He smiled. “You should know who’s in your bed.”
Leaning on the counter, she folded her arms. “Where is this bed of which you speak? So far, my ass and your ass haven’t had the comfort of a fitted sheet.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have an excellent bed.”
“At your parents’ house?” She raised her eyebrows.
Scanning the lobby, he cocked his head. “Good point, let’s try the chair.”
Laughing, she accepted his easy affection but refused to let him bury his frustration. “Don’t apologize for feeling left out. January first is a crap birthday. Did your birth make the local papers? Were you a New Year’s baby?”
He turned and swallowed. “Gift basket and all.”
“You poor thing.” She tapped her fingers on the counter. “Here, I am, worrying about student debt, social engagement, and family dynamics. You want”—she worked her jaw—“cake and balloons on your birthday.”
Blushing, he offered a smile. “Busted.”
His merriment stopped short of his gaze, and she held her breath. She understood wanting moments of carefree joy, but the difference between finding those moments of happiness and waiting for them to appear kept people from enjoying their lives. Every time she painted, she found freedom in her artistic release. He was a generous lover, but could he identify what he needed?
“Kada?” he asked.
She smiled and tried to keep the banter light. “Yes, birthday boy?”
“What happened in Los Angeles? I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth and ruin our date, but your father said you fled to the motel. What chased you out of the basin?”
In a heartbeat, the spotlight turned. Her cheeks warmed. The flamingo’s jaunty red hat mocked her, and she stared. The decoration required a hot glue gun and little skill. Why do I think art can solve every problem? Henri Matisse said, “Creativity takes courage,” but few people mentioned the downside of an artist’s life. At the Starlight Motel, she worked late, fought dejection, and bolstered her confidence for the coming day. Would her efforts be enough?
Exhaling, she gave herself a familiar pep talk. Her parents bolstered her creativity, and her professors encouraged her work. When she stepped into the world, she fell flat on her face, but she could own her mistakes. Failure was okay. She had a therapist. The sting remained, but every smooth brush stroke helped her move on. The choice between the motel and an artistic career remained.
Looking up, she made eye contact and swallowed. “I attempted something big, and I failed. That’s okay. Art is subjective, but fundraising is clear. When I proposed a big project, I couldn’t find enough backers, and that project floundered. The failure stings, but I’m getting over it.”
He settled a hand over her hand. “Kada…”
She flinched and made a fist.
“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows and withdrew his hand. “Not my place.”
Holding his gaze, she swallowed. “We just met.”
He cleared his throat.
Her excuse sounded as lame as she felt. Sex and intimacy were two different things. He could hang with her family, but making her come and taking on a year of indecision were different levels of commitment. Breaking eye contact, she wondered how long the cheerful lobby would seem fresh. One day, she would run out of new ideas, and the shine would wear off the brass. Her attraction to Dane had potential, but he should understand how messy and complicated her life could be. She squared her shoulders and faced him. “Dane, I don’t need you to fix my mistake. I wanted to make a big contribution, and I failed. People fail every day. It’s okay, right?”
He nodded. “Yep, it’s okay.”
She wondered if he had ever failed. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to explain herself.
Walter walked into the lobby. “You about ready?”
Dane hesitated.
“It’s fine. Head out.” She waved a hand toward the cantina and absolved him of responsibility. “My family’s here. I couldn’t ask for a better reason to celebrate.”
“Okay.” Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek and pulled back. “Enjoy your evening.”
Cupping her cheek, she smiled. “Taking liberties?”
“Well, I’ll take them where I can.” He donned his hat and nodded. “Night, Kada. I’ll see you soon.”
Missy Roberts flung open the front door.
While the successful realtor renovated her house, she stayed at the motel. She wore a belted robe, curlers in her hair, and black, fuzzy flip-flops. A white facemask let her brown eyes shine through the refined clay, but every other inch of her skin looked prepped for a spa night. Kada gripped Dane’s hand. “Wait, don’t go yet.”
He laughed.
“How am I supposed to get any sleep?” Missy stormed toward the cantina. “If I wanted to sing Broadway tunes, I would have joined a drama club, flown to New York, or rounded up my gay friends for a door-to-door sing-along!”
Dropping his head and letting the hat shield his expression, he rubbed a thumb along her grip, but a wicked expression darkened his smile. “She has friends?”
“Git!” Skirting his warm embrace, she stepped in front of Missy and waved. “Oh! I’m so glad you came over for the evening. How’s your renovation? That mask looks intense. Is it organic?”
Missy jerked back her chin. Waving a finger in the air, she opened her mouth.
Inés sang “Seasons of Love” from Rent at full tilt.
Frowning as much as her demonological injections would let her, Missy turned her head and stared into the cantina. “I haven’t heard this song in ages.”
“It’s a good one,” Walter said.
Missy pivoted. “And you are?”
“Just leaving.” Walter tipped his head and walked straight out the door.
Dane followed, looked over his shoulder, and winked.
She made eye contact, felt a little bit easier with the world, and shifted to counter Missy’s peering review. “Inés is singing,” Kada said. “She’s also singing at the venue on Fred Waring Drive. You might have heard her practice in the mornings.”
Scratching her nose, Missy nodded. “Once or twice. It’s a wonder I get any sleep, but her voice is beautiful. Maybe I could pop into the cantina for a song.”
She turned the realtor back toward the front door. “Why don’t you go back to the pink casita and wash off the mask?”
Hey eyes shooting wide, Missy slapped a hand against her cheek and rushed back out the door.
Exhaling, she checked the time. Her meal might be cold, but her heart felt warm, her family waited in the next room, and life at the Starlight Motel had to calm down soon. At a minimum, the dinner rush usually ended around nine.