4. The Arrivals - Segways in Omniscience
“Chef Bartolomeo, where are your line cooks?” Gracie - garnished in a simple yet elegant pale-colored dress - asked as she passed through the kitchen with laser-like focus.
“They just stepped out for a ciggie, Ma’am. They’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“Well, that’s the third jiffy ciggie they’ve had since lunchtime. If prep isn’t done before three, I want you to find two new line cooks. Understood?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good. Helena, are all the rooms ready?” Gracie asked her housekeeper as she entered the dining room.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she replied, leaving the centerpiece she’d been constructing behind her to follow Gracie’s urgent stride.
“Are the bathrooms clean?”
“Spotless, Ma’am.”
“Are the guest’s wardrobes pressed and hanging up in their closets?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Excellent. Are the carriages ready?”
Without saying a word, Helena stopped and then beelined to the front door.
“Hurry, Helena,” Gracie said without breaking her forward gaze.
As Gracie entered the drawing room, she spotted May holding Bree as the twins improvised a pair of chaotic melodies up and down the ebony and ivory keys. Kai and Devin looked dashing with their ruffled sleeves and cambric cravats, Bree’s white linen dress made her glow like a pudgy little angel, and May’s beauty was nothing new but seemed more sophisticated in her olive day dress.
“Oh my gosh! You guys look incredible!” Gracie exclaimed.
“Thank you,” said May, before transitioning to a well-rehearsed British accent. “And I do say, with that face and that gown, no man alive has the resolve to keep his eyes off you.”
“Pleeeeaaaase tell me you’re going to be talking like that the entire time.”
“I don’t know. You think I should?”
“Of course. It’s fully immersive, right?”
“Fine…but only if you…”
“Nope!” said Gracie as she turned to flee the room.
“Please!” begged May, walking after her.
“No way.”
“It’s fully immersive, remember?”
“Not for me.”
“Oh, Gracie…you know the men folk would love it. I bet you even Mick Morris would love it…”
Gracie’s forward march was halted by the mere mention of Mick Morris. Relinquishing full control of her body to the moment, she submitted to spinning around and reengaging the conversation.
“Trust me,” Gracie said, “if I thought it’d pique his interest, I’d recite the Gettysburg Address in Swahili while juggling chainsaws doused in kerosene and set aflame! Ugh! Can you even believe he’s coming!?”
“No! Do you think he’ll sign autographs?” May asked.
“If so, I’m going to try and see if he’ll sign a marriage certificate,” she said as May laughed. “Speaking of marriage…where is your husband?”
“Pardon me, but may I have your invitations, please?” Josh said to himself in a much more rehearsed, yet far less believable accent than his wife’s. “No, no… it needs to be more straightforward…more direct” He cleared his throat then said, “Your invitations, please…” He shook that attempt off as well and tried it in a much quieter and deeper voice, “Your invitations, please…ah! I don’t know!”
Josh had been practicing his line for forty-five minutes, pacing back and forth behind his table just outside the front doors. He knew his part was critical to helping the guests get into the regency theme, and he wanted to be believable in his role. After all, he was the bridge between the 21st and 19th centuries. He was the one who - after each guest had pulled up in their carriage and been announced by Herb - would greet them with the warmest of welcomes. He was the doorkeeper of Hawthorne Hall.
Just then, a voice calling out from the other end of some twenty yards of red carpet draped over the gravel walkway interrupted Josh’s conversation with himself.
“Figure it out yet, sir?” asked Herb.
After a long pause, Josh answered loud enough for his voice to carry, “...No!”
“That’s alright. Maybe pick up the pace with your words!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Your tempo’s a little too robotic. I think you’re just trying too hard to pronounce each word like a Brit rather than just letting it flow right off the tongue!”
“Oh…that makes sense…thank you, Herb!” yelled Josh before returning to his not-so-inner dialogue.
“You’re welcome. Sir!”
From the ajar window of the yellow bedroom, Avi enjoyed the estate”s second-story view, which included the comical struggles of her brother’s actorial debut and the rest of the employees finalizing the preparations. With her elbows resting against the top of an old writing desk, and her chin, held up by her hands, she eagerly awaited the guests’ approaching arrivals.
Everything was perfect. The glade’s greenery glistened with gold. Waves of white cirrostratus danced across the May skyline, too thin to cast a shade on the quiet earth below. The gentle rustling of spring’s new leaves, the warmth emanating in from the window’s cool glass, and the old-fashioned fashion of the passersby below felt all too storybook to exist outside her imagination; yet there they were.
Even her perch was perfect. There, above the scene, out of sight and out of mind, she could sit and watch the guests’ grand entrances without the fear of forced conversation. She could go unnoticed, yet - in her own Avi Hawthorne sort of way - be very much involved in the collective experience.
As she turned her attention back to her brother, she saw Gracie emerge from the house. “Two minutes everybody…two minutes!” Gracie said as Herb, the cellist, violinist, flutist, harpist, and servants rushed to their places.
May and the kids took their seats on an elaborate wrought iron bench nestled up to some hedges. Under a vibrant blue parasol, the twins waved to their dad as their mom looked up and caught a glimpse of her husband’s blanched face.
“Are you okay, Honey?” May asked.
“I don’t think I…I can do…” he said as a nauseous belch puffed out his cheeks.
He shot up and ran through the front door seeking the mansion’s nearest bathroom.
“Josh! Well, that’s just wonderful!” Gracie exclaimed as she looked around in frantic worry trying to find anyone to man the post her brother had abandoned.
“Not an ideal start,” Avi said to herself.
Then she looked out and saw the line of horse-drawn closed carriages beginning to appear over the crest of the main hill. With uncharacteristic bravery derived from necessity, Avi stood up from the writing desk intending to fill in for her traitorous, weak-tummied little brother. After all, she knew his lines. She’d just spent the better part of an hour listening to them on repeat in all of Josh’s many timbres and tones. But before Avi could make a move for the door, Gracie saw the stagecoaches, sat down in Josh’s place, tidied the wax-sealed envelopes on the table in front of her, arched her back, straightened her neck, and smiled with the confident regality all Americans associate with England.
As the clip-clops of the four thoroughbred mares grew louder, so did the clicks and clacks of the carriages they pulled. Avi was happy to see her favorite of the four recently purchased horses, Gluestick, pulling the first cart. She was a beautiful mare with stunning white hair peppered with the occasional light golden spot. Against the contrast of the black carriage, onyx luggage, and the coachman’s ebony suit and top hat, Gluestick gleamed like a quadrupedal ghost.
“Whoa,” said the coachman.
Gluestick stopped. The driver jumped down from the rear of the coach and moved towards the door as two awaiting servants hurried over and began unloading the luggage. The coachman opened the door and offered his arm to Hawthorne Hall’s very first guest.
If Avi were in charge of the business side of things, she would have just booked the first batch of guests based solely on availability and demand. However, Corey was in charge, and she had spent weeks singlehandedly interviewing, choosing, and then schmoozing the most worthy customers. It didn’t matter if they had plans in mid-May and couldn’t make it until summer. If they were interested in the experience and had the right influence, face, or story to help get the business ball rolling, Corey was going to get them to Hawthorne Hall on opening day. She knew almost everything about each of the fourteen inaugural guests and relayed that information to her big sister. As such, Avi didn’t need Herb’s help identifying the vibrant old woman exiting the coach.
After a few steps, Ethel gratefully and gleefully patted the coachman’s arm to indicate the rest of her red carpet journey would be made alone. With seven groups of guests and only four horses and carriages, her driver withdrew his aid, hopped back up into the driver’s box, and directed Gluestick back to the main gate where more eager clients awaited their shuttle. Her feet seemed overwrought with excitement as they scampered with surprising speed over to Herb. She handed him the resplendent invitation that acted like a ticket to a theme park. Herb read it over, handed it back to her, shot the musicians a quick, readying glance, and made the announcement.
“Her Grace, The Most Noble Duchess of Alfriston, Ethel Lancaster!”
Her age-defying pace slowed in order to absorb as much of the experience as she could while the musicians accompanied her grand entrance with an enchanting suite.
Ethel Lancaster was an eighty-nine-year-old widow of fifty-two years. And while she had only been with her husband for fifteen years before his untimely passing, she never remarried. Ethel believed in true romance as well as true love, and Mr. Lancaster was her personification of both.
She had often dreamt of escaping to another time. So much so, that almost a decade before Hawthorne Hall was even imagined, she had hand-sewn the elaborately adorned lilac gown she was wearing with hopes that someday she’d have a legitimate reason to dawn it. Though she’d lived her entire life surrounded by the many English evidences of a more whimsical era, not even Alfriston could shield her from the encroaching chaos of modern life.
Still, in many ways, she was the quintessential modern woman. She was self-made; amassing her small fortune only after her husband’s passing. And even in her late eighties, she was exemplifying a woman’s strength by walking rather speedily in the occasional half-marathon.
“Your invitation, Lady Lancaster…” said Gracie.
Ethel held her head high and handed Gracie her invitation as May flashed Gracie a gaping smile of pleasant surprise at her decision to go with a British accent. Gracie noticed but tried not to.
“Thank you, and here you are,” Gracie said as she exchanged Ethel’s invitation with one of the wax-sealed envelopes on the table. “Inside, you will find your key, an itinerary, a map of the estate, and everything else you’ll need to magnify your stay here at Hawthorne Hall. You are not only invited but encouraged to wear your regency attire throughout the entirety of your stay. If you need additional wardrobes, your closet has been stocked with various outfits and accessories. Your room will be the Olive Room; left at the top of the stairs; first room on the left.”
“Oh, I love olive. Thank you, dear child,” said Ethel as she spotted Gracie’s naked ring finger. “You know, I too was once a spinster, so don’t you worry; your goodness and beauty will win out in the end.”
Confused, Gracie more asked than said, “Thank you..?”
Just as Mrs. Lancaster entered the house, the next guest was announced.
“The Most Honorable, The Marquess of Los Angeles, Lord Mick Morris.”
All at once, the staff came running to catch a glimpse of the former teen heartthrob. Even Josh managed to prevail over his quarrel with queasiness; at least long enough to sneak a peek from one of the first-story windows.
Mick, like most former child actors, transitioned to his twenties with little resistance, but his thirties were a very different story. His hairline started shying away from the spotlight, his wrinkles began perplexing his makeup artists, and even though he had no wife nor children, his dad-bod had a way of keeping the casting directors from calling.
For a brief moment, he considered pulling a Jonathan Taylor Thomas and Olsen twinning himself right on out of Hollywood altogether. But a close friend reminded him of what Pirates did for Johnny Depp and what The Whale had done for Brenden Fraser. His career wasn’t over; not by a long shot! All he needed was one big role; not one that relied on the physique and dimples that had for so long carried his career, but one that showcased his raw, untapped acting ability.
He believed he had found that redefining his role as the title character and lead actor in the film Wilberforce. Based on the life of William Wilberforce - the British champion of slave trade abolitionism - the film aimed to capitalize on the recent success of nineteenth-century period pieces like Napoleon while resonating with contemporary calls for social justice.
Though Mick knew very little about William Wilberforce, and the greatest contribution he’d ever made to social justice was the purchase of a strongly worded bumper sticker, he was thrilled with the opportunity to brandish a British accent as the lead in a historical drama. Corey, who had helped Mick secure several investment properties in the Valley, was also thrilled to hear of his new project but for other reasons. When she offered Hawthorne Hall as the perfect locale for his first foray into method acting, Mick jumped at the opportunity to immerse himself in the same English culture of the historical figure he’d soon be portraying. He even offered to endorse her sister’s business during the film’s promotional tour, if Corey could promise that his location would not be leaked to the press during his stay. So Corey and her family agreed; hoping the resurrection of his career would result in more free publicity than any of them could have ever hoped for.
As he walked the forecourt’s red carpet, he imagined walking a similar carpet at a future Oscars ceremony. After manifesting to the universe his desire for the Academy Award for Best Actor, he decided it best to focus on the now and not get too far ahead of himself. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes as Mick Morris and opened them as William Wilberforce. His steps carried the exhausted determination of a man who had spent the last forty years of his life fighting for The Slavery Abolition Act, only to have it pass in parliament a month after losing his battle and life to the aftereffects of influenza. With production-quality makeup, and his wardrobe on loan from Paramount, he had the potential to immerse the grounds in Regency times more than even Hawthorne Hall itself. However, the potential did not come to fruition. His elaborate disguise did little to hide the fame of Mick Morris.
He stopped at Gracie’s table, gave her the slightest smile, and with the vocal depth of a mesmerizing Welsh baritone, said, “Good morning, Madam.”
Gracie’s hazel eyes crossed as her gratified heart forgot to send any more blood to her brain. She collapsed, banging her face against the table before falling out the side of her chair. Half expecting her response, Mick dove forward and caught the fainted woman before her head could hit the stone steps below. May rose to her feet as Josh and several staffers ran to offer their support.
“It’s quite alright,” Mick said with genuine calmness. “This sort of thing happens quite regularly, actually.” Then, turning to one of the servants, he said, “Sir, if you don’t mind, would you just cradle her head while I lift the legs?”
As if nothing had happened, Gracie shot up to her feet, sat back down at her station, handed Mr. Morris his wax-sealed envelope, and without making any eye contact, said “Navy room; left at the top of the stairs; second room on the left.”
“Thank you, Madam,” he said as Gracie noticeably tried to avert her attention from the smoothness of his timbre that had already stolen her sentience once before.
As Mick disappeared into the house, Herb announced, “The Right Honourable Lord Dane MacKinnon, Baron of Berwickshire and…” Herb paused, not knowing if what was written next on the card was appropriate for such a century as theirs,“...and his trusty wench, Her Excellency, Bonnie Aitken, Queen of Scots!”
“Whit? Did ye really write in ‘trusty wench’ on our invitation?” whispered Bonnie through the clenched teeth of her forced smile.
“Aye…t’was a compliment back in th’ day…”
“Dane…sae help me…if ye embarrass me on this trip…ah’ll skelp ye in th’ banger!”
“Och…come on…ye already embarrassed yerself by goin’ with Queen o’ Scots as yer title.”
“Sae whit if ah went with Queen o’ Scots?”
“A bit over th’ top, dinnae ye think? Everybody else is choosin’ things like duchess ‘n’ marquess…”n” ye decide tae go with the highest title imaginable?”
“Bah!”
“Bah yerself. ”Twas all in fun,” he said as they neared Gracie’s table.
Dane MacKinnon was Corey’s social media contest winner, and it wasn’t a difficult choice. First, he was one of the only men who entered the contest. Second, he was from Scotland which meant less travel expenses for the business to pay out. And third, he, like most of the guests, was unbelievably andunfairly good-looking.
More pretty than handsome, Dane’s glacier-blue eyes and endless lashes were a marketing dream come true. Despite his fair face, his firm build and raw Scottish masculinity made him the perfect candidate to convince potential male customers that they need not be feminine to desire a Regency experience at Hawthorne Hall.
Bonnie was every bit his sultry equal. Like an alluring Amazonian, she would inspire the menfolk to click “Book Now” before they even knew what the business was about.
“Your invitation, please.”
Bonnie presented the unfolded piece of paper as she geared up to speak like English royalty, “But of course, my dear lady. I hereby presenteth you with our esteemed and most appreciated invitation.”
“How come th” Queen o” Scots doesn”t have a Scots accent?” Dane teased.
“Oh, clam up ye eejit,” she said. “A”m juist trying tae git into character. Dinnae stand there pretending like ye dinnae change th” way ye talk whin ye get around English fowk.”
“Sure ah dae, bit ah dinnae sound like Burt from Mary Poppins.”
“One mair word ”n” yer gettin’ it.”
“Calm down, Eliza Doolittle. Ah wis only makin’ fun,” he said while scanning over the mansion house.
As Bonnie apologized for her boyfriend’s uncomely behavior, Dane’s gaze rose until it reached the upstairs window of the yellow room. He was almost as startled as Avi when he caught her staring at them. She quickly averted her eyes.
“Ye”ve got a glaistig, do ye?” He asked Gracie without looking away from Avi.
“A what?”
“Ah’m sorry. Ah mean ye’ve got a ghost, do ye?” He said, gesturing towards the upstairs window.
“Oh, no. That’s…”
“...Oh, how fun!” Bonnie interrupted. “Th’ lady on th’ phone told me there may be some surprises along th’ way. Ah wasn’t expectin’ ghosts, though.”
Seeing their excitement, Gracie played along. “Yes, well we have quite an adventure planned for you over the next nine days. You’ll find everything you need in this packet including your room key. Yours is the mint room; right at the top of the stairs; first room on the right.”
Bonnie grabbed Dane’s arm and led him inside. All she could think about was seeing their room and the rest of the interior majesty of Hawthorne Hall, but all Dane could think about was the story behind the lonely ghost woman watching from the window.
“I don’t know about this, Jack.”
“What is there to know, Thomas? We’re merely going on holiday.”
Thomas’s knees bounced to the rhythm of nervousness as they sat in the carriage waiting for the coachman to open the door.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” said Thomas.
“Oh no. I’m sorry, Thomas. Is it because you’re black?”
Stupefied, Thomas replied, “What? No, it’s not because I’m black! What are you even on about, mate?”
“I don’t know! I’m not a mind reader! I was just thinking maybe you were thinking, ‘Gee…a bunch of adults playing dress up and make believe for nine days…sounds like something a lot of bored, rich, white people would do,’ and I was worried you were worried about feeling out of place.”
“But Jack, you’re a bored, rich, white person, and I’m right at home around you.”
Jack looked physically pained as he responded, “How could you say that to me?”
“Oh, not this again…”
“I’m not white, Thomas. I’m Italian.”
“Same thing!”
“Do you know how naive you sound right now, grouping in my people with…”
“…Your people?” Thomas interrupted.
“Yes. My people.”
“Jack, the DNA test said you were approximately point seven percent Italian.”
“Yeah…so? Point seven percent is only like six or seven generations back. What if my great to the 20th degree grandfather was Hector of Troy? Would you tell Hector of Troy’s living descendant that he wasn’t Italian?”
“I bet Paris of Troy was your great to the 20th degree grandfather.”
Jack’s pained expression morphed into enraged queasiness.
“…Thomas…I haven’t bit you since primary school, but I am this close.”
“Are you? Well, if I were you I’d remember how that bite turned out for you, mate. Because as I recall, you ran to the sanitarium crying with two black eyes.”
Jack looked up at the invisible light bulb forming over his head. Thomas was no stranger to the spontaneity of his best mate’s thought processes, and before Jack could say anything, Thomas knew that his reference to Jack’s childhood black eyes had reminded him of their original conversation.
“Well, if it’s not because you’re black, what is it? Why doesn’t this feel right?”
“It’s just…don’t you ever feel like there’s got to be more to life than all…this?”
“All what?”
“You know…chasing women?” Thomas said as Jack smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, what about exploration? What about self-betterment? What about art?”
“Mate…chasing women is an art. An art, I might add, that you and I have perfected through the same aforementioned self-betterment and exploration.”
“But aren’t you tired of all the pubs, and all the parties, and all the…”
“Yes! And that’s why we’re here! The final frontier of meeting the most…unique of women has to be found in a different time and place.”
“And then what, Jack? After we’ve checked every unfulfilling box on this purposeless conquest, what will we do with our empty, meaningless, and pathetic lives?” Thomas asked with desperate sincerity.
A question had never before hit Jack so square to the temple. It stung, and it lingered. He searched for an answer, but the answer remained hidden. The solemn mood followed them out through the carriage door and onto the red carpet as the two best friends stared with a melancholy blankness into the confines of their minds. With an exaggerated ”ahem,” Herb snapped them out of it and motioned them over just as Bonnie and Dane disappeared into the house.
“His Grace, the Most Noble Duke of Canterbury, Thomas Burke, and The Right Honourable, The Earl of Canterbury, Lord Jack Adamson!”
Avi hadn’t heard much about these two young men other than they were both in their early thirties, single, and raised in English wealth. She expected boisterous playboys, but due to their somber demeanor, Avi wondered if she had misjudged them by Corey”s description. They walked the red carpet in contemplative silence, handed Gracie their invitation in contemplative silence, and accepted their wax-sealed envelope in contemplative silence.
Gracie said, “Yours is the yellow room; right at the top of the stairs; second room on the right.”
Realizing she was watching from Jack and Thomas’ bedroom, Avi scurried out into the long hallway, darted into the library, pulled Irene Iddesleigh to unlatch the secret door,and slammed it closed behind her. Panting to the edge of hyperventilation, she knew her response may have been a slight overreaction, but she trusted her instincts in moments of abrupt panic. Still, she couldn”t help but wonder if living amongst strangers for nine days at a time wasn’t such a good idea.
Outside, Thomas and Jack were on the verge of entering the front doors when Jack stopped.
“Fine, Thomas. No women on this entire trip.”
“What? You mean…”
“You’re right, I want…I want more, too! I say we take the next nine days to clear our heads, reexamine our trajectories, and enjoy some of the more simple things in life.”
“Like drawing and painting?”
“And reading and horseback riding, and proper dancing…”
“And no women?” asked Thomas skeptically.
“No women…not even a snog,” said Jack as he patted his best mate on the back.
Just then, Herb announced, “Their Graces, the Most Noble Countesses of Yale University, Ladies Jada Jones, Jennifer Montgomery, Min Lee, Clara Frederick, and Kate Skeen!”
Thomas and Jack looked over the women and then back to each other before fleeing temptation into the mansion house.
The Jane gang, as they came to be called around Sigma Alpha Sigma due to their shared obsession with everything Jane Austen, was a group of sorority sisters who had a week earlier graduated with honors from Yale’s prestigious English program. Hawthorne Hall was their graduation present to themselves as well as their final hurrah together before entering life after college. However, this was as much a vacation to them as surgery to a surgeon. They were all prepared to approach the next nine days with noble earnestness, and as literal regency experts, they entered the estate with all the necessary knowledge to spot any anachronism in their surroundings or flaw in their itineraries. Their red carpet walks, their facial expressions…even the way they blinked seemed more historically accurate than anything on the grounds. It was just a shame that Avi was not there to witness their grand entry. And theirs was not the only entrance she missed while hiding out in the library’s hidden room.
Avi missed Kelly Thatcher’s red carpet entrance. Kelly, one of the most followed and subscribed travel influencers on Instagram, set a world record a decade earlier for being the youngest person to visit every single country. Her purpose at Hawthorne Hall was much different than that of the Jane Gang. While they were seeking the most unerring experience, Kelly was holding her stay to more modern standards. She thought the back-in-time motif was fun and an interesting idea, but her review depended much more on the quality of the food, the charm of the locale, and the enjoyability of the entertainment.
Avi also did not get a chance to see the arrival of the last two guests. There, celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Kensington found themselves at a new stage in life. They had spent the past twenty-four years fawning over their three amazing children, and while parenting was the most difficult experience of their lives it was also the most rewarding.
So much so that when their youngest daughter left home for Oxford, she took their meaning and purpose in life with her. Seeing the need to re-establish and rekindle their relationship and romance, Mr. and Mrs. Kensington chose Hawthorne Hall as the perfect trigger, and it was already paying off. That morning in the hotel room, before the hackney shuttled them over to the estate, Mr. Kensington saw his wife in makeup and with her hair done for the first time in years.
Not to be out-wooed, Mrs. Kensington was captivated by her husband”s tailcoat, trousers, and nervous smile. Before even stepping onto the grounds, they were already being transported through time. It was as if they were twenty-five years younger. They enjoyed feelings they’d felt so often when they first met. For the entirety of the hackney ride, the carriage ride, and the red carpet walk, Mr. and Mrs. Kensington couldn”t bear to take their eyes off one another.
The tables were set; literally and figuratively, as the guests spent the next two hours unpacking their luggage and exploring the grounds before the evening’s dinner service. Avi gained enough composure to manage sneaking back out of the secret room undetected, but she still felt a little uneasy about conversing with the guests around the dining table. As such, she notified Helena that she’d be taking her dinner at the puzzle table in the downstairs drawing room. From there, she would still be able to see most of her guests and listen in on their conversations without having to be an active participant.
By the time six o’clock rolled around, the dining room was bustling with activity and conversation. Mick picked the Ivy League brains of Jada, Min, and Clara for anything that would help him muster a more accurate portrayal of Wilberforce. The other two sorority sisters, Kate and Jennifer, tried to get more than a one-word response out of Jack and Thomas, who were struggling to avoid eye contact with the pair of sorority temptresses. Ethel and Mr. and Mrs. Kensington took turns sharing advice with Kelly upon finding out she and her husband were expecting their first child at the beginning of December. Avi hated to admit it, but she was envious. How did it come so easy to them? How could they interact with complete strangers and within minutes, suddenly cease to be strangers?
Just as Avi finished her thought, May came into the drawing room dressed as a server as Kai and Devin followed.
“Avi, would you mind watching them for a minute?” She asked. “Josh is somewhere with Bree, and service is about to start. We’re a little short-staffed, and…”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
Her nephews were just the people she could talk to. As May left, the twins climbed up into Avi”s chair and began helping their aunt with the puzzle. She felt like the only adult at the kid’s table, but that was fine by her. With the awareness of a toddler, Devin ran his elbow across the top border, and without meaning to, knocked a pile of pieces to the floor.
“Sowwie.” he said. “S’accident.”
“It’s okay, buddy.”
In a way she was relieved. Avi had promised herself that as soon as she finished the puzzle she would try a little harder to step out of her comfort zone and try interacting with the guests. Her nephew’s foible simply bought her more time. As she knelt and helped the boys gather up the scattered pieces, she heard the dining room conversations die down. She looked up and saw fourteen servers, including Gracie, and May, standing at the side of each guest, ready to present the evening’s first course.
Helena mouthed the words, “One…two…three,” as each server in unison placed a plate full of food on the table in front of their assigned guest. As the servers headed back into the kitchen, Avi watched her sister stop and take inventory of the guests.
“I apologize for the interruption, but has anyone seen Bonnie or Dane?” she asked the diners.
Avi leaned to see around the corner of the threshold connecting their attached rooms and found the last two chairs at the end of the dining table empty.