MAGGIE
She sees Rhonda talking to a table of guests and laughing gaily, that charm bracelet of hers flickering.
“Mrs. Simmons’s father used to say that if you started the customer’s day off right, you would keep their trust and loyalty throughout all the hours.” He smiles. “He had a point.”
The man stands, and Bridget smiles warmly. “You made it,” she says. “This is Jacob Simmons, Rhonda’s husband. He’s in charge of new membership and what else? Oh, playing golf.” He chuckles.
“That’s all?” Alfred says. “I believe you do a lot more to keep us running smoothly.”
“Only when Elliot makes me a proper martini.” Jacob then introduces her to two women who are on the board, one of them Rhonda’s cousin. “We’re all in the family here, aren’t we?”
Rhonda is charging toward them, Elliot by her side, looking reluctant. “Here we all are,” Rhonda says. “I told Elliot he should join us.” She widens her eyes at the others like she’s worried about him or something, as he stands behind her with his hands in his pockets.
Now one of the servers is coming by with coffee and filling water glasses, while another is topping off their orange juices with a splash of champagne.
Elliot takes a seat next to Maggie, and she smells his familiar cologne.
“Hey, Shirley Temple,” he says. “Ever tried a mimosa?” For a second, the scent feels familiar, like something she’s gotten used to.
Rhonda grips the back of her chair. “So everyone, wonderful to see you all.” She looks around. “Now where is Paige?”
“Beats me,” Alfred says.
Rhonda narrows her eyes. “Let me go check.” She rushes away, her bracelet jingling on her wrist as she walks.
“Get used to that,” Jacob says. “I’ve never seen her sit still for more than forty-five seconds.”
Elliot nods as coffee is poured for him, and he stirs in a couple spoonfuls of sugar. Maggie tries to sit up straighter. She sips from her juice as a small parfait with a mint leaf is put in front of her. “So how old are your daughters now?” she says to Jacob and smiles at him.
As soon as the words leave her mouth, she realizes it’s a mistake. She sees Bridget’s face fall, and Elliot looks down at his plate, his expression grim. Jacob stares at her. “I, uh, I assumed—” Maggie clenches the linen napkin on her lap and twists it.
He puts his hand up. “It’s no trouble,” he says quietly, and he looks around at everyone to reassure them he’s not distressed.
Maggie’s heart is thumping so forcefully she can’t believe they can’t hear it. “I’m-I’m really sorry.”
Jacob takes a deep breath. He strokes the sides of his mustache and picks up his coffee cup, and now she notices how much older his face looks than in the photograph. Those bags under his eyes have their own bags, her grandma would say. “Our daughters passed away,” he says quietly.
Maggie feels punched. She knows better than anyone what a well-meaning but ignorant comment like this can do to a person. How’s your brother? Where is he now?
Her eyes burn, and she starts tapping her foot.
She remembers when her parents tried to get themselves together to attend a family reunion in upstate New York in April.
Her mother crying when she stepped out of the house with her overnight bag, her dad fiddling with the radio the whole drive.
How all it took to unravel them was one person saying the wrong thing.
They hadn’t been there forty-five minutes when her mother’s great-aunt pulled her aside and asked her if she was thinking of giving away Chip’s stuff because she knew some struggling kids who would sure like his bike and old clothes, and her mom started sobbing; her dad shook his head and put down his chili dog and motioned for Maggie to follow.
Her mouth is so dry. “I’m really, really sorry, Mr. Simmons. I just saw the photographs. That was so dumb of me.”
He puts his hand up. “Let’s not bring this up in front of my wife, please. But I know it was an honest mistake.” He gives her a faint smile.
She nods. Elliot is passing her a platter with something that might be eggs Benedict, but she’s lost her appetite. He leans close to her ear while the others are busy eating and says in a low voice, “You couldn’t have known. Don’t feel bad.”
She nods at him but can’t push away the queasy feeling.
“I’ll tell you more later,” Elliot whispers now, and he bends down to pick up the napkin she’s dropped.
“Here we are,” Rhonda says, marching toward them, Paige beside her with an embarrassed expression.
“Our hard worker who wears so many hats lost track of time.” Rhonda smiles, and one of the servers rushes to pull up another chair.
Maggie can’t stop looking at Rhonda, knowing she shouldn’t, knowing the other people at the table are watching her watching Rhonda.
It all makes sense. That exhausted look she and Jacob both have—just like Maggie’s parents.
Maggie feels her eyes get wet and has to distract herself.
There are tiny salt and pepper shakers on the table, and she touches the crystal.
Maggie looks around and thinks she’s never been in any place even half as nice as this.
It is beautiful and refined and well run and not at all tacky like she imagined some of the other Pocono resorts to be.
She looks at Rhonda, who beams at her, and wonders what happened to her little girls.
She thinks of her staring at the boats in Paris: I found myself going back there.
Rhonda lifts her glass. “I’d like to welcome our newest employee, Ms. Maggie Bishop,” Rhonda says, and everyone toasts her.
“Maggie brings a wealth of experience, and we’re happy to have her here as long as she wants to stay.
” Her voice softens then. “We were lucky to know Maggie’s brother, who changed Red Maple—and me—in small and big ways.
” Paige looks sad and thoughtful, and the others nod in a respectful manner. Elliot stares straight ahead.
“One of a kind,” Bridget says. She stares into Maggie’s eyes. “I wish I’d gotten to know him better.”
Maggie looks around. Chip changed Red Maple? He changed Rhonda? She needs to know more. She wants to ask Rhonda right here. But maybe she’s just exaggerating out of politeness. Rich people often blow smoke up your you-know-what, her dad has said.
Jacob Simmons looks at her and smiles cordially, and she feels terrible about her mistake. “To Maggie. May she be successful here and beyond,” he says.
“Hip-hip,” Bridget says.
“And may she help me get my chaotic office in order,” Rhonda adds, and everyone laughs and sips their drinks.
The champagne and fresh-squeezed orange juice taste perfect to Maggie, and almost instantly make her head spin.
She looks at the spread in front of her, the parfait, the eggs, the waffles, the smoked salmon, and it’s almost too pretty to touch.
Elliot is pouring syrup and cutting into his French toast, and Bridget is savoring her fruit and yogurt.
Rhonda doesn’t appear to eat, and Paige only takes some smoked salmon.
Maggie clears her throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Simmons, for hiring me, and for having me to this, uh, great meal.” Out the window, she sees a golf ball sail through the air, and someone is trimming the hedges by the porch.
The sun is so bright, and she wishes she could be a guest here—just explore and eat and drink and take in every moment of it.
She wishes she could bring her parents here and let the beauty of the place transform them. Maybe they’d smile again.
During the meal, she’s surprised to find she’s glad Elliot’s there. He feels like a connection to the ordinary world. Around her age, down-to-earth. A little sad, too.
Paige looks over at her and gives an adequate smile, but Maggie can’t help feeling there’s something wrong. Paige leans in and whispers something to Rhonda, and Rhonda’s face changes. “Can we talk about that later?” she says, and Paige shrugs and stands.
“It’s been lovely, everyone, but I have to take care of something.” She excuses herself and they watch her go.
“Is everything okay?” Maggie says, leaning back as more coffee is poured for her.
Rhonda looks down at her plate, untouched. She nods. “Of course. Our dear Paige just worries too much.”