Chapter 4
Ben’s computer chimed again with another incoming email.
Seventy-three emails and counting. Not to mention two calls from his boss in the last hour.
Jim had made it very clear Ben needed to be in Sydney as soon as possible.
Ben guessed he regretted giving him the summer to finalize his grandmother’s—no, his—estate.
Jordan’s multiple emails cemented Ben was needed Down Under.
Ben, is there any way you can get here earlier? I know you have your grandmother’s estate, but things are moving fast. Jordan.
Ben, here are the applications for the reception staff. I need your top forty by the end of the week. I’ll set up Zoom interviews. Jordan.
No rest for the weary. Ben downloaded the zip file, then stared at the cookie he’d stolen from the pantry. He’d missed dinner, but the cookie held no appeal.
After Cami had left, he’d gone back to work, cutting up his “memory” tree. He’d stacked the branches to use for firewood, but the trunk could be milled for lumber. Cole Danner was picking it up tomorrow. In exchange, Cole would give him lumber back for repairs around the inn.
Speaking of repairs… He spied the inspector’s folder under Cami’s blue one. Note to self: Ban the use of folders at the Emerald.
The weight of the last few weeks settled on him.
If this were just any ole inn, a place he didn’t love and treasure, he’d sell in a heartbeat.
No question. Cami’s offer was fair. There was a huge part of him that wanted to do just that.
Let it go. Get on with his life. If all went well with the Emerald and Hong Kong, he might make South Pacific regional director.
One director bonus check was more than he’d make in ten years running Hearts Bend Inn.
As it stood now, he made a good salary. Viridian paid for his apartment and gave him a food stipend to eat from resort kitchens. He was able to tuck a little into savings and send financial support to his parents. But if he made director—
Was that the answer? Work hard, get to regional director, and fund the inn’s repairs? But that’d be at least another three to five years. He’d have to hire a staff to run the inn. Could he find trustworthy folks? How could he keep an eye on things when he was so far away?
Then there was the matter of the debt. His savings account was generous but not quite up to two hundred grand.
There were his folks. Now in their early sixties, they might be ready to come off the mission field.
They could live at the inn. Run things. Though Dad had never once expressed any interest in the family business.
In fact, he’d run from this place the moment he graduated from high school.
Said he had a different calling on his life.
“What should I do, Dad?”
The tenor of his father’s voice resonated across his heart.
Sell, follow your calling.
Then again, Dad didn’t fully grasp how the inn had saved Ben.
Enough. Brooding never helped, so Ben stirred himself, reached for the cookie, and started working through the rest of his emails.
Besides the applications, Jordan had sent twelve more emails, four with problems and the solutions already outlined. All he needed was Ben’s approval.
Jim’s emails always required research, and emails from the builder, engineer, city inspectors, health inspectors, and insurance agency were packed full of questions and information.
Another email from Jordan dropped into his inbox. He was in the office bright and early.
After the Hong Kong call, Jim is going to be on-site to check on our progress.
For the first time since he’d arrived in Hearts Bend, Ben felt the stress. He really needed to be in Sydney. The entire resort chain was holding their breath on this one. The opening must be a success.
Ben peeked at Cami’s folder. He was asking for a solution, and here it was staring him in the face. So why turn it down?
Take the offer and get back to your real job.
Cami had given him forty-eight hours, and ten hours had already ticked off the clock.
From the lobby, the front door chime sounded. The doors locked at 10:00 p.m., so new guests had to ring the bell.
Ben found an older couple waiting on the porch, arm in arm, the man wheeling a small suitcase behind him. They were dressed in their Sunday best—the woman even wore a small red hat pinned into her gray hair.
“We’ve a reservation. Room Twelve.” The man stretched out his hand in a greeting.
Ben shook his hand, escorted them to the reservation desk.
“Let’s see…Mr. and Mrs. Walker? We have you for two nights with the honeymoon package.
” Myrtle May and the housekeeper went all out for the honeymoon guests—which they didn’t get very often if Granny’s records were accurate.
“Complete with bubbly and chocolate-dipped strawberries.”
“We’re not really honeymooners.” The woman looked up at her husband.
“But it’s our anniversary. We honeymooned here forty-eight years ago.
We were young and didn’t have a lot of extra cash, so we took a little day trip from Knoxville to Hearts Bend for a town festival.
We had a flat tire just outside of town.
Dan got soaked trying to put on the spare. Turned out it was flat too.”
“We thought we’d have to spend the entire night in the car,” the man said. “It was raining so hard we had no choice but to leave the windows rolled up and—”
“It was like a sauna, even with all the rain.” The woman looked as in love as ever. “Finally, a police officer drove by. He arranged for a tow truck, and they brought us here while the car was in the shop.”
“We looked like drowned rats!” The man’s laugh was youthful and energetic. “The owners put us up, free of charge. Said they kept a room just for situations like ours.”
The woman motioned to the upright piano shoved against the wall on the other side of the fireplace. “His wife played for us while the husband rustled us up some dinner and sweet tea.”
“Best dinner I ever had,” the man said. “Do you remember their names, honey? I thought I’d never forget, but I didn’t factor in old age.”
“Jean and Vern Carter,” Ben said.
“That’s right,” the woman said. “You knew them?”
“They were my grandparents.”
“Lucky you.” The man patted the desk surface with his hand. “How are they doing?”
“Granddaddy died six years ago and Granny…last month.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman said sincerely. “You’ll see them again, take comfort.”
Okay, but wasn’t that thought a bit of a cliché?
“This life is passing. But the next life—”
“Let me get you signed in.” Ben asked for their credit card and handed them a registration packet.
He’d heard the messages of life, death, heaven, and hell.
Seen more miracles than most. He’d read the Bible verses, argued about them with Dad, and in the moment, didn’t want to relive it all over again. Church, religion, wasn’t for everyone.
The man, Mr. Walker, signed the credit card transaction, then reached down for his luggage. “Are you running the place now?”
“For the time being.”
“We’ve remembered this place our whole lives,” Mrs. Walker said.
“Your grandparents’ kindness was life changing.
Our stay here is Walker family lore. One we’ve told over and over to our kids and grandkids.
Oh, Dan, I’m sorry now we didn’t make it back to tell the Carters.
” She peered at Ben. “We’d always planned to come back, but then the kids started coming, and we were working, raising a family.
Next thing you know, it’s forty-eight years later. ”
“But this anniversary our kids sent us back.” Mr. Walker was busting his buttons. “We raised some great kids, Barb.”
The Walkers shot heart eyes at each other. Their happiness and love were palpable, like Ben could reach out and touch it. Their memory of Granddaddy and Granny washed over him with sentimentality.
Never once as the hotel manager at any of the Viridian Jewel Resorts had Ben offered rooms to those in need or interacted with such a sweet couple.
He rarely, if ever, met the same guests twice. Business travelers, sometimes, if the timing was right. But honeymooning couples? Families taking an extravagant excursion? No, never. And forget about offering shelter to someone in trouble.
The rooms had to earn a specific amount. The food, earn a certain profit.
The profit margin was a part of the hotel business he didn’t like. The guests were just numbers. A way to meet the resort’s bottom line.
“Here is your room key as well as a key to the front door. We lock up every night at ten. Open every morning at six.” Ben handed Mr. Walker an old-fashioned metal key.
Were he to stay here and run the inn, he’d upgrade to keycards.
But he wasn’t taking over, was he? “And at Hearts Bend Inn, we insist on helping you to your room.”
Ben walked around the desk to help the Walkers with their luggage. Service was the Viridian culture. Escorting guests to their rooms was the Golden Rule.
Checking to make sure everything was shipshape, he bid the Walkers goodnight and returned to the lobby. It was late and he really needed to get to bed, but a mountain of VJR work waited for him back in the office.
Coffee. He needed coffee. Even a cup of Walt’s horrible brew would do. Which reminded him—check with Java Jane’s about supplying the inn with coffee.
At the registration desk, he checked to make sure he’d cleared the Walkers’ form, then turned off the lobby lights except for the wall sconces.
The warm, low glow of the lights triggered a store of memories. How many times had he checked in a solo traveler caught in a storm or a weary family who’d come to town for the Fourth of July festival or summer tourism?