Maggie
“Hello,” she says curtly, crossing her arms.
“This is Paige,” Bridget says. “General manager, next in line to our boss.”
“We’re not hiring.” Her smile has disappeared and the woman’s face is hard. Elliot was right. A dog, showing its teeth at the fence. What did Chip do with her? She imagines him winning her over immediately. “We’re at full staffing capacity.”
“I’m afraid not,” Paige says.
Maggie swallows. There was something about this place—she knew it when she saw Chip’s nametag, when she walked down the wide lane. She wanted to explore every acre—to see it be bright and green all summer until the leaves started to fall.
She wanted to be where he was this time last year, see what he saw.
She wanted to witness meals being served in the dining room, watch the couples holding hands as they strolled the grounds; she wanted to meet golfers, tennis players, horseback riders.
The Red Maple was supposed to restore her, send her on her way, like it had Chip.
But this place owes her nothing. What a foolish idea, she thinks, and in her mind, she’s already walking back up the lane.
Bridget is playing the piano for the new guests, and there is a marquee by the fireplace listing the weekly activities: canoe rides, bingo, horseback tours.
Maggie imagines the walk back to town. Her shoelace is untied, and she feels like the rest of her is coming apart.
A few items fall out of her bag as she slings it over her shoulder to tie her shoe.
Paige sighs and crouches down to help, handing Maggie her wallet and a stray earring and then stops. “Where did you get this?” she asks. Maggie looks over, and Paige is holding Chip’s nametag.
“It was my brother’s.”
“Chip was your brother? Chip Bishop?”
Maggie nods. She tries to explain, but it’s like a dream where she suddenly has no voice.
Paige takes a breath and clutches the nametag for a moment. She hands it back to Maggie. “Let me see what I can do,” she says, and motions for her to sit on a bench in the corner.