The Inn at Hidden Run

by Olivia Newport

  “The cookie dough spot is empty.” The lament rose above the buzz.

  “I’m afraid so,” Kris said. She glanced at Nolan in reassurance. “We’ll have more on Monday.”

  “Come back on Monday and buy a gallon,” Nolan said to Jillian. “Forestall emergencies.”

  “If I do that, I’ll have to take up serious jogging.”

  “Or develop as much self-discipline about ice cream and coffee as you demonstrate in your work.”

  “I don’t always work on Saturday,” Jillian said. “If you knew what this woman is paying me …”

  They moved forward in the line.

  “We should do something tomorrow after church,” Nolan said. “A hike on the glacier, maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Look for fall foliage? Are the Aspens turning yet?”

  Jillian laughed. “Dad, I promise not to work tomorrow.”

  As they approached the counter, Kris slipped away and left the duties to her two employees. By the time it was Nolan’s turn to order, she smoothly handed Jillian two scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, dipped in hard-shell chocolate, and seated in a waffle cone as if she had just made up the order. It was the only flavor Jillian ever wanted. Nolan, on the other hand, rotated among his favorites—butter pecan, pralines and cream, and cherry chocolate chip chunk.

  Kris eyed him. “I predict pralines and cream today.”

  Nolan laughed. “Why not?”

  “Two scoops in a dish.”

  “Clearly Jillian and I need some new habits.”

  “The old ones serve you well.” Kris grabbed a to-go dish—they would want to wander down the street with their treats—and started filling it.

  Jillian had already bitten through a spot of the hard shell on her cone in exactly the way she always had since she was first old enough to be trusted not to drop a cone and was licking ice cream through the opening. She was nothing if not systematic in the way she consumed her chosen delicacies, just as she approached everything else she did. Waving at her friend, her face oozed pleasure and gratitude.

  Nolan slipped Kris more bills than needed to cover the cost, grabbed some napkins, and turned toward the door.

  They walked more slowly on the way home. The point now was not to race to the ice cream but to enjoy every freezing, tingling sensation of it on their tongues.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Jillian said between careful bites. “This was a good idea.”

  “Always happy to share my wisdom that the work will always be there later, but the moment is only here now.”

  “Should I be writing that down?”

  “You jest, but you know I’m right.”

  They paused in front of the Victorium Emporium. Jillian swiped her tongue around her cone to catch a drip. “Too bad Luke and Veronica don’t like people eating in their store.”

  “We could try sneaking in,” Nolan said.

  “Tried that once. Didn’t go well. No exceptions.”

  Nolan pointed in the window. “Look. Leo’s toy wooden cars. And that buggy he was working on.”

  “Help! Somebody help!”

  The cry came from behind them, and they both turned as the congestion on the block parted to reveal a mother with a toddler in her arms.

  “That’s the woman from the Cage,” Nolan said.

  “What woman from the Cage?”

  “I saw her there yesterday with her husband and another child.” Nolan tossed his half-eaten ice cream into a trash can and hustled across the street. It was Jillian’s turn to keep up with him.

  “It’s a seizure,” someone said. “Put her down and make her be still.”

  The young mother knelt on the sidewalk.

  “Stay calm,” another voice said. It was Meri. Nolan hadn’t even noticed she was on the street a few minutes ago, but she may have been in one of the shops. She gestured now for people to clear away and stepped into the scene. Nolan got as close as he could but respected the space Meri created as she took off her own jacket, folded it, and placed it under the child’s head. Jillian slipped a hand in his.

  “Is it a seizure?” the mother asked.

  Meri nodded tentatively. “It looks like it could be.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?” The woman reverted to trying to still her daughter’s trembling limbs.

  “Don’t try to hold her down,” Meri said. “She’ll start breathing again as soon as her muscles relax.”

  Nolan turned his head toward Jillian. “Make sure someone called 911.”

  “I already did.” Behind them, Veronica had wedged her way through the crowd. “They said they had several calls.”

  “Good.”

  “Can you believe Meri?” Jillian said.

  They inched closer.

  “I’m just going to take off her glasses,” Meri said, “so they don’t get broken or lost.” She eased them off the child’s moving face and handed them to the woman.

  The mother reached for the girl’s mouth. “We were just in Digger’s Delight. She was eating a piece of candy!” With a finger extended, she grasped her daughter’s jaw.

  Meri immediately pushed her hand away. “Don’t do that.”

  “But she could choke!”

  “There’s actually a greater risk of pushing anything in her mouth farther into her throat where we wouldn’t be able to get it out.”

  The woman put her hand over her own mouth. “Where’s my husband? He was supposed to change the baby and meet us at the Emporium. We promised she could have that buggy.”

  Meri put one hand under the girl’s back. “It’s good she’s not wearing anything tight around her neck. I’m going to turn her to one side. We want to keep the airway open.”

  By the time she finished the explanation, the task was done.

  “She knows what she’s doing,” Jillian whispered into Nolan’s ear.

  Everyone around them seemed to recognize this as well. No one interfered with conflicting advice or frantic shouting.

  “She’s been trained,” Nolan said.

  “First aid?”

  “Maybe. But I think it’s more than that. She’s seen this done, or done it herself—like it’s been drilled into her.”

  “See, she’s doing better now,” Meri said.

  “You’re the young woman from the coffee shop yesterday,” the mother said.

  Meri nodded.

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Amelda!” A man with a stroller pushed through into the clearing and knelt on the sidewalk.

  “Dustin, where were you?”

  Sirens parted the street traffic as the EMTs arrived. Two uniformed EMTs squatted to provide assistance while a third stepped aside for a quiet conversation with Meri.

  “I can’t hear,” Jillian said.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to,” Nolan said.

  Meri gestured a few times, looked at her watch, shrugged, pointed, answered questions. Once she’d given her account and was freed up, Veronica broke away and touched her shoulder.

  “You look awfully young to be a doctor,” Veronica said. Nolan could hear clearly now.

  “I’m not a doctor.”

  “An EMT?”

  “No.”

  “A medical student?”

  A beat passed. “No.”

  “Well, you should be. No telling what would have happened if you weren’t here.”

  “The seizure—if that’s what it was—would have passed and the EMTs would have arrived,” Meri said. “The episode was short and the response time was fast.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You were calm in a crisis. Not everyone can do that. You should think about a medical career.”

  Meri pivoted and pushed her way through the gawking crowd still watching the EMTs administer care and prepare to transport the child to a hospital.

  “There she goes,” Nolan said. “I’m not going to lose her this time.”

  “What do you mean, this time?” Veronica said. “Jillian, what
’s he talking about?”

  “Just let him go,” Jillian said.

  Nolan didn’t jog the way he used to in years past, but he still hiked at high altitudes, and even on the days he worked in Denver he tried to get out of the office for power walks rather than accept a string of power lunches. He would keep up with Meri Davies.

  And he would be a friend.

  She didn’t head straight back to the Inn, which didn’t surprise him. Her pace and route said Get me out of here. Without a car though, there was only so far she could go. As long as he didn’t lose her in the immediate crowd on Main Street or miss seeing her duck into a shop that may have a rear exit, eventually he could give her some space and follow her.

  None of his business? One could certainly make a case.

  Creepy? Maybe.

  Something a friend would do to help? Yes.

  Meri trotted the opposite direction from the Inn—if Nia had sent her into town on an errand, she might be wondering what happened—before detouring off Main Street a few blocks down, circling around a few blocks in a manner that suggested that she didn’t know what she wanted to do, turning down Placer Street, and finally settling on the cement back steps of the old historic brick school building that now served as a visitors center. If she stayed there too long, an employee would come out the back door and chase her off.

  But not if Nolan was sitting beside her.

  So he took his spot, wordless for a long time.

  “I saw,” he said. “I hardly know you, but I was proud that you could do that.”

  She buzzed her lips. “In my family, that’s like getting a participation certificate for being in the first grade.”

  “Sorry to hear that, because most of the population would find it remarkable.”

  She said nothing.

  “Here’s what I think,” Nolan said. “I think you’ve been to Canyon Mines before, and it was a happy time. I think your relationship with your brother distresses you. And I think talk about medicine really distresses you.”

  Meri leaned her head against the painted metal railing alongside the steps. “You and your daughter have been comparing notes.”

  Nolan nodded. “We do that, especially about things—or people—we care about.”

  “Like you said, you barely know me.”

  “That doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

  “Well, that’s just swell for your family. That’s not the way mine works. So let’s just leave it alone.”

  “We could. But I also think that ‘back East’ means Tennessee, and I figure that means you’re a good twelve hundred miles away from your family, so it’s probably safe to tell me just a little bit more about why they make you so unhappy.”

  Meri sighed heavily. “They have a thing about doctors, and I wish they would just let it go.”

  “What kind of ‘thing’?”

  “Everybody has to be one.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows? It’s just always been that way—at least after our people weren’t slaves anymore. Forever and ever, amen.”

  “Mmm. You know Jillian is a genealogist.”

  “Right.”

  “Most people think that means she just looks up birth and death dates in some mysterious place the rest of us can’t find, but there’s really a lot more to it. She’s pretty good at interpreting the information she finds, and when she shares it with me, between us we’re pretty good at piecing together stories from the past.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Let us help you—not just by being kind, but by being good at what we do. Jillian would just need some basic information about your family to get started.”

  “Nia is keeping me pretty busy.” Meri jumped up and slapped her forehead. “She’s going to kill me. I was supposed to be back ages ago, and I haven’t even done the errand she sent me out to do.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” Nolan said.

  Meri waved a noncommittal hand at him and raced back toward downtown.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We can’t let the grass grow under our feet on this one.”

  Jillian didn’t have to ask what her father was talking about as she buttered her whole-wheat toast and imagined it was one of Ben’s buttery, flaky, fruit-filled pastries.

  Meri.

  “It’s Sunday, Dad.”

  “I know! Perfect, isn’t it?”

  “Now you’ve lost me.” She chomped into the toast and picked up her coffee. Today’s plain gray mug had a sturdy handle that fit her hand perfectly. She wasn’t sure about the weight of the cup though.

  Nolan straightened the purple-and-silver-striped tie that Jillian had never liked.

  “We go to church,” he said, “and Meri will be there. She has the afternoon off. You promised you won’t work today. I’m not working. I casually invite Meri over for Sunday after-church dinner. I whip up something the three of us can eat and voilà, we’re having a nice easy conversation.”

  “You read too many novels, Dad. It doesn’t work that way. You don’t know Meri will want to go to any church, much less ours. And Nia might need Meri this afternoon. Weekends are busy at the Inn. We don’t know what time-off arrangement they came to. Anyway, what’s to say Meri would accept your invitation?”

  “I see that when you read fiction, you fixate on the plot complications.”

  “Just being realistic.”

  “Well, I’m being possibilistic.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “Think what the world could be like if it were.” Nolan winked at Jillian over his raised coffee mug, the same green one he used every morning. Somewhere in the cabinets was another just like it. “Plan B is we come home from church by way of the Inn and nab her there.”

  “Nab her?” Jillian swallowed more coffee. “Okay, let’s say you wrangle Meri into coming home with us. Then what?”

  “You do your thing, of course. Be a genealogist.”

  “Dad.”

  “Are you finished?” He picked up her plate, whether or not she was finished, and put it in the sink. “We don’t want to be late for church.”

  Three hours later, Jillian smiled across the living room at Meri, unsure which of them felt more unsettled.

  It wasn’t her father. That much was clear. His tenor tone floated from the kitchen. “Che bella cosa na jurnata ’e sole, n’aria serena doppo na tempest-a!”

  “Does he always do this?” Meri asked.

  “Cook Sunday dinner?” Jillian said. “No.”

  Meri cocked her head to the left, pushing her chin out. “Sing in Italian!”

  Nolan stepped out of the kitchen in a white apron and chef’s hat, spread his arms wide, and belted out, “’O sole, ’o sole mio sta ’nfronte a te, sta ’nfronte a te!”

  Then he withdrew.

  “I guarantee you that your childhood was very different than mine,” Meri said, her mouth not quite closing between sentences. “I don’t even know what those words mean.”

  “Something about a beautiful sunny day that shines in your face,” Jillian said. “My mother was from an Italian family. He took up singing in Italian because it made her laugh.”

  “Is it my ears, or is it possible he does it with an Irish accent?”

  Jillian chuckled. “That’s what made Mom laugh even harder.”

  “Sounds sweet.”

  “It was. He stopped singing for a long time after we lost her. When he started again, I thought it was to embarrass me. I was a teenager, after all. But I finally realized he had found himself again, and he could remember her without cracking into pieces.”

  “I shouldn’t be here.” Meri lurched to her feet.

  Jillian matched Meri’s posture. “Why would you say that?”

  “You’d give anything to see your mom again, and I’m running away from mine. I don’t belong here.”

  Jillian closed the few feet between them to put her hands on Meri’s shoulders and eased her back into her seat.

  “In my line of work,
one thing is clear. Families are complicated, but that doesn’t mean you don’t belong.”

  Nolan launched into another song. “La forza che tu dai, e’il desiderio che ognuno trovi amore intorno e dentro se.”

  “Puccini,” Meri muttered.

  “You know this one?”

  “It’s an actual opera. My mother used to drag me. Culture, you know. She’s big on it.”

  “It’s a prayer of sorts,” Jillian said, “asking that life be kind and we find another soul to love.”

  Meri looked up at her. “I guess that part never stuck. I just know my mother loved to hear Pavarotti sing it.”

  “My dad’s favorite too! See, something in common.”

  “What would poor Luciano think about the Irish spin?” Meri dared a smile.

  “I think it would please him to hear someone delighting in the music.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  They settled back into their chairs, with Nolan’s kitchen sounds a backdrop to a period of wordlessness. Jillian was out of her depth. Nothing she thought to say seemed right.

  “I know your father brought me here because he wants me to talk to you about my family,” Meri said, “but to be honest, I don’t see the point.”

  “I meant what I said,” Jillian said. “Families are complicated.”

  “Don’t I know it. Look, your dad seems like a really nice man, and he’s in there cooking up who knows what, and I don’t want to be rude, but we can just have a nice lunch. We really don’t have to do this other stuff.”

  “Sometimes in order to understand ourselves, we have to understand our families.”

  “I understand my family plenty.”

  Jillian nodded. “Of course. We all understand our own experiences of our families in ways no one else can. What I’ve discovered in my work is that we don’t always understand what makes our families function—or not function—the way they do. Sometimes we have to look to the past to find out.”

  Meri tilted her head again, this time her chin quivering for a second or two. “And you can figure that out?”

  “We can try—together. I’m willing if you’re willing.”

  “I don’t know how much I can tell you that is any help.”

  “Probably more than you realize.”