The Stars at Night

by Gerri Hill

  “You think so? I don’t use it much. A lot of our guests are repeats and they usually request a particular room.”

  “Aren’t the rooms all the same?”

  “Different views. Some prefer upstairs, some down. Some have king beds, others have two doubles, things like that. We have four rooms that are larger and have a refrigerator and a small microwave. Those are the most popular rooms.”

  “If those are your most popular, why not upgrade more rooms like that? I’m assuming you charge more for them.”

  “Yes, we do. But really, your father wanted to keep it rustic. It was all I could do to get those upgraded.” She sat down again. “Now, if this works out and we start traveling, then I’m sure he’ll be receptive to any changes you want to make. Within reason,” she added quickly.

  “What about the cleaning crew?”

  “Oh, we have four ladies. I need to introduce you to them.”

  “Only four?”

  “That’s one of the benefits of being as remote as we are. People usually stay three, four nights, at least. We don’t change sheets or clean the rooms during their stay. We switch out towels and take their trash, and that’s only if they request it,” she explained. “We have these cute little signs for them to put out if they want service.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” She opened the online reservation listing, finding Maggie Seymore now at the top of the list. “Okay, so I now add her manually to room twelve on these dates?”

  “Yes. And should there be a conflict with rooms, I always email them and offer the closest room or, of course, give them the choice to choose another.”

  “So a really smart online system would check room availability before the person books.”

  “Yes, but we couldn’t see paying that much more for a system like that when we only have thirty rooms. It’s not that difficult to sort through. And most of our repeat customers make reservations months in advance. It’s rare for an issue to come up.”

  “I’m not complaining about how much manual entry and maintenance you have to do. I’m simply used to programs that run themselves.”

  “Like I said, tinker with it if you want.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “What’s the occupancy rate? I mean, on average.”

  “Oh, it depends on the season. We’re full over Thanksgiving and the two weeks around Christmas and New Year’s. April and May are pretty much full too. The Spring Break weeks in March are full. In the summer, we run about sixty to seventy percent, I’d guess. August is pretty quiet. It’s hot and school has started. October picks up again for people wanting cooler weather after the summer heat.”

  “So January and February are the dead months?”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve gone a week before without a single guest. A couple of years ago we had a brutal winter. The last two weeks in January and the first week of February, not a single guest showed up.”

  She motioned to the laptop. “So this doesn’t take a whole lot of your time. What do you do all day?”

  “I’m certainly not tied to the computer, that’s for sure. But running the lodge isn’t all bookings. There’s payroll. There’s quarterly taxes to do. There’s inventory and ordering supplies.” Her mother motioned to the front desk. “I make sure all the brochures are stocked. I fill in with maid service if one of the girls can’t make it. In the spring and summer, I plant flowers out front and around the lodge. There’s always something to do. I certainly don’t get bored if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “What about the restaurant? Is that separate?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. Mark handles everything over there. I’m not sure that your father and I could have managed it all if Mark hadn’t come up here with us. Your father is a one-man show when it comes to maintenance and with thirty rooms and a lodge this old, there’s always something that needs his attention.” She went to refill her coffee cup again. “We’ll have to see about having someone on call, of course, if you take over. Once we get our RV—if we get it—we plan to be gone months at a time. If something should break, I doubt you and Mark could fix it like your father does.”

  “Surely there’s someone in town who you could call if, say, a hot water heater went out.”

  “Not in Ft. Davis, no. At least not for that. Alpine, yes. But their solution would be to install a new unit. Your father may tinker with it all day and get it going again. That’s the difference.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Some of them do need to be replaced, I know, but we can’t afford it right now. When we bought this place, all the rooms had window AC units and ancient furnaces for heat. It was a major, major expense—including some remodeling—to upgrade the HVAC in all of that.”

  “I remember you telling me about it. You had to close off several rooms at a time while you had the new ventilation system installed.”

  “Yes. It was nearly a yearlong project. Needless to say, there was a lot more money going out than was coming in.” She smiled almost reassuringly. “That’s not to say we aren’t profitable. We are. I don’t want you to worry about that. But that project took a huge chunk out of our savings that we’re just now catching up on.”

  “Mom, I feel bad taking a salary then. I mean—”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s money in our operating budget. We try to keep that constant and now that we’ve nearly gotten our money back, I won’t have to be so frugal on some things. When I show you the books, you’ll get an idea.”

  “So I shouldn’t worry?”

  “You shouldn’t worry. This little lodge has already paid for itself and we’re only in year seven. It was a wonderful investment for us and we’re both happy here. Of course, having Mark with us helped at the beginning. Now that you’re here, everything feels complete.”

  “No pressure there, Mom,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, I know, honey. Trial run. I haven’t ordered you a nameplate yet,” she teased. “But I so hope you’ll stay. It’s such a wonderful life up here. A slow, peaceful life. You have time to breathe. Time to smell the roses, as they say.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, Mom. And maybe for you at your age. But I’m only thirty. I still enjoy going out to dinner, grabbing lunch with friends. Hitting Sixth Street on Saturday nights.” She let her shoulders slump. “Going to the gym. Getting a green smoothie. Eating at a taco truck vendor. Starbucks,” she said wistfully. She leaned her head on the desk. Four days. She’d been here four days. Was she homesick already?

  Her mother pulled her chair closer and sat down beside her. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way when we moved up here? I think it was the second week. I was tired. I missed my friends and I was lonely. All I wanted to do was order a dang pizza, curl up on the couch, and watch an old movie that I’d seen a hundred times.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I cried. There was no pizza delivery and my favorite DVDs that I’d brought with me were still packed in a box somewhere and there was no online streaming. Your father and Mark didn’t quite know what to do with me.” She smiled and patted her leg. “Mark drove all the way to Alpine where there was a Pizza Hut and your father found a movie on the satellite. Pretty Woman. So the three of us sat on the floor and ate pizza and drank beer and watched a movie.”

  Lexie smiled, picturing the scene. She had a pang of sadness, though. She should have been there too.

  “The next morning, I called Debra. You remember Debra, don’t you? I worked with her for years.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, we chatted, and I got caught up on all the office gossip and when I hung up, I realized I didn’t really miss it as much as I thought I did.”

  “You’re saying I need to give it time?”

  “Yes. And you need to keep things in perspective. It’s different here than there. You can’t really duplicate things, but you can replace them with something else. I’ve made new friends, I have new hobbies and interests, and frankly, my marriage is as strong and fulfilling as it’s
ever been.”

  Lexie held her hand up quickly. “We’re not going to talk about sex, are we?”

  Her mother laughed. “I’ll draw the line there.” Then she winked. “I never knew the stress of our jobs back then was such a downer on our sex life. We’re like brand-new people up here.”

  “Okay. I get it,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to spell it out.” She was certain she was blushing, and she was also certain this was the very first time her mother had mentioned having a sex life. She also hoped it would be the last.

  “We don’t girl talk much, do we?”

  “No, we don’t. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

  Her mother stood, still smiling. “Oh, Lexie, you always were so embarrassed about things like that. In high school you would never talk to me about your personal life.”

  “Because I was gay, and I was afraid to tell you.”

  “And I’ll tell you now like I told you then. I already knew.” She bent down and kissed her cheek. “And I loved you then and I will always love you. No matter how many Crazy Cathies come into your life.”

  “God, let’s hope that was my one and only.”

  “Yes, let’s hope. Now, don’t forget to add in Maggie’s reservation. When you’re done, call Kyler and go get you a bike.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mom. I love you too.”

  Her mother went down the short hallway to the back and she watched her go, amazed how her mother could cheer her up with only a few words. Yes, she would miss getting a green smoothie after her workout, but that was only because it was a habit. Her routine. So, she’d have to find something different, as her mother suggested.

  A bike ride would be different. With Kyler.

  That would be different.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kyler looked at her cell, not recognizing the number. As a rule—mostly to avoid telemarketers—she rarely answered a call she didn’t know. But this was an Austin number. She smiled.

  “Kyler here.”

  “Hey. It’s me. Lexie. What are you doing?”

  Well, “Waiting on you to call” didn’t seem like the appropriate response. However, saying she was sitting on her little porch watching the house finches seemed almost worse. She could make up something, she supposed. Chopping wood? Training for a marathon? Finishing her Christmas decorations? Working on her six-pack abs? Right. Maybe she could—

  “Kyler?”

  “Yeah. I’m—nothing, really. Just relaxing. What’s up?”

  A quiet laugh. “Are you watching birds at your bird feeder?”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes. Guilty.”

  Another laugh. “Why were you afraid to tell me?”

  “Because it makes me seem perfectly boring.”

  “Kyler, that’s your thing. That doesn’t make you boring. What if my thing was something like paint by numbers? How boring does that sound if you’re not into that?”

  “Do they still sell that?”

  “I have no idea. So, what birds are at your feeder right now?”

  “House finches.”

  “What do they look like?”

  She slid her gaze to the feeder, smiling as she tried to think of a way to describe them. “They are kinda brown with streaks on their wings and back. The males have pinkish red color on their heads and throat and on their rump. The females don’t have any red on them.”

  “I saw them! Yesterday when I was walking to Mark’s. They were at the feeders there in Mom’s bird garden.”

  “Yeah. They’re common up here.”

  “There was some sort of a woodpecker there too. Black and white. Had a red spot on his head.”

  “Probably a ladder-backed woodpecker. They have white, horizontal stripes on their backs.”

  “Where do you live anyway?”

  “Oh, the park provides cabins for us. It’s over on the north side, away from the campgrounds.”

  “So you’re close.”

  “I am. You want to go shopping for a bike?”

  “Can we?”

  “Sure. Now?”

  “My mother has dismissed me, yes. If you haven’t had lunch, maybe we could stop somewhere?” She paused. “I’m having Mexican food withdrawals.”

  “Then I know just the place. I’ll be right over.”

  * * *

  “I don’t come here much, no.” She loaded up a chip with red salsa. “I feel like I’m cheating on Mark if I do.”

  “So you live off of that stuff at the bar? How do you stay fit with all that fried food?”

  “I’m very active. If I didn’t have the kind of job I do, I could never eat like that.” She took another chip. “You’ll need to revamp his menu. To be honest, I only alternate through four or five things and I’m pretty sick of them.”

  “I’m sure you are. Right now, my options are baked potatoes and steamed veggies. I think I’m going to see if he’ll do some sort of pasta dish with veggies.” Lexie leaned her elbows on the table. “Will anyone order it?”

  “Not sure. People go on vacation to splurge, normally. You probably won’t have people searching for the healthiest items on a menu in a place like that. The locals don’t even look at the menu when they come. They know what they want.” She dipped another chip into the salsa. “He’s mentioned getting one of those indoor grills so he can grill steaks and chicken instead of frying everything. I’m pushing him hard for that.”

  “It’s called a bar and grill. You mean there isn’t a grill?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. Then I’m definitely on board with him getting an indoor grill.”

  She grinned. “I have ulterior motives. Grilled fish. God, I miss grilled fish. When I lived in Rockport, there was this little fish market, about a block from the harbor. My favorite was snapper, but you’d have to get there early, or they’d sell out. Grouper was my second favorite. Or flounder.” She spread her hands out. “They had these two huge coolers on each side of the room, filled with crushed ice. They’d lay the fish fillets on top of the ice on one side and shrimp would be on the other side. And the place smelled something awful,” she said, wrinkling up her nose. “They had this glass window where you could see in the back. The guys would be back there sorting through stuff they’d just bought off the boat. If you wanted to order shrimp with the heads on, she’d go back there and grab some. Oh, and oyster season? They had this pile of oyster shells outside. It grew and grew and grew as the season went on. It was huge. As tall as the building.” She smiled at Lexie. “I hate oysters, by the way. Now shrimp? Fried shrimp—I could eat my weight in them. Grilled too. But fish? I liked grilled fish best.”

  “You sound like you miss it there.”

  “Oh, just memories. Like anything, your memory is grander than the real thing. If I went back to visit, I’d hit up my old favorite spots and order my old favorites, but I doubt it would taste as good as I remember.”

  Lexie nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “If you went to your favorite Mexican food place, what would you order?”

  “Hmmm. Brunch would be cheesy migas and fried potatoes. This one place—Jalisco’s—makes a spinach and mushroom quesadilla with grilled onions and peppers and they have a creamy potato cheese sauce to dip it in.” Lexie closed her eyes and moaned. “It was to die for.”

  “Potato cheese sauce?”

  “Yes. It’s not real cheese. No dairy. They actually spell it with a ‘z’ instead of ‘s’ and yes, it is made with potatoes.”

  “Sounds yummy. Not.”

  Lexie laughed. “I’d bet you ten bucks you couldn’t tell it wasn’t real cheese.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I have the recipe.”

  “For this potato cheese stuff?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll bring it to one of our next football parties.”

  “Can’t wait,” she said dryly.

  Lexie snapped a chip in half before dipping it into the salsa. “Why your boss’s wife?”


  Kyler raised her eyebrows, wondering at the question.

  “Were you in love with her?”

  “God, no. It wasn’t like that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It was a stupid thing to do, yeah. Obviously. She initiated it, not me. Of course, I could have said no.” She sighed. “She was cute and flirty and one rainy afternoon I found myself alone with her in the office. She was relentless in her flirting and…and I gave in.”

  “You must be easy,” Lexie said with a smile. “Or very weak.”

  “Or crazy.” Actually, she had still been sulking after her breakup with Britney. So yeah, maybe she had been weak. She wasn’t going to tell Lexie all that, though. Instead, she smiled back at her. “Speaking of crazy—tell me about Cathy.”

  Lexie groaned. “Do I have to?”

  “Was she really crazy?”

  “In the clinical sense? No. At first, she was infatuated with me to the point of being neurotic about it. She was…very possessive.”

  “Abusive?”

  “Physically, no. Verbally, yes. Certainly emotionally.” Lexie took another chip, pausing before dipping it into the salsa. “Mom was right. I ended it two years too late.”

  “Still loved her?”

  Lexie met her gaze. “No. It was one of those situations where you’re dating and the next thing you know, you’re living together. And it wasn’t like it was a horrible relationship or anything. At least, not at first. She was always jealous of anyone who talked to me. Always. And where I thought it was kinda cute at the beginning, it got annoying very quickly. We got into so many arguments about it—it was exhausting.”

  “So why didn’t you end it?”

  She sighed heavily. “Because I think I knew she really would do something crazy, so it was easier to tolerate her.” She leaned her elbows on the table again. “Honestly, I tried to be such a bitch to her, hoping she’d get tired of me and leave.”

  “Were you still having sex with her?” As Lexie’s eyebrows shot up, she smiled. “What? Too personal?”