Hell's Hotel

by Lesley Choyce

  “So what’s the big deal?” Jenn wanted to know. “You were about to dump him. He saved you the trouble.”

  Tara wished she could explain exactly why it didn’t feel like a happy ending.

  “Find another guy. No big deal.” Typical thing for Jenn to say. Guys came in and out of her life like the tide in the harbour.

  Tara was feeling better just being around her friend, just having said what needed to be said. “Tell me about Rob.”

  “What’s to tell? It’s not the romance movie of the week, but you got to remember whose life we’re talking about here. Unlike you, I don’t usually end up with the smartest, best-looking guy in the school.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that you know I worry about you. I don’t want to see you get messed up.”

  Jenn looked up just then, off towards the ferry terminal. “Oh shoot,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There he is. He must have seen me with you.” Jenn got up and pulled Tara along, away from the terminal and towards Privateer’s Wharf. As they walked, Tara asked, “What’s going on? What are we doing? Why don’t you introduce me to Prince Charming?”

  They had turned the corner of a building now and were standing in an old courtyard with cobblestones. In the middle of the courtyard was a pillory once used to punish criminals. Jenn looked like she didn’t really want to answer the question. She sucked in her breath and scanned the harbour again. So did Tara, but they saw nothing but soaring gulls.

  “Well?”

  “Well, it’s like this. Rob doesn’t want me talking to you.”

  “Why not?” Tara said. She didn’t know Rob at all, but suddenly she felt very hostile towards him.

  “He thinks you try to put too many ideas into my head.”

  Tara had to laugh out loud. It was a laugh of outrage more than anything else. “Jenn, you’re not going to listen to him, are you?”

  Jenn looked a little embarrassed. She shook her head no. “It’s just that this guy feels very protective. He says that, if I want to live with him, he doesn’t want me out hanging around, you know, doing my own things. He says he doesn’t trust the kids back on Grafton Street. He wants to know what I’m up to all the time. He says school is just a bunch of nonsense. I mean, look at what I have to put up with — people staring at me, talking about me, everybody knowing my problems.”

  “He wants you to quit school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jenn, don’t be crazy! Don’t throw it all away.” Tara was almost screaming at her. People were looking at them.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Jenn had that frantic look in her eyes, like a wounded animal.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara said. “Jenn, this guy is trying to control you. That’s not right. He can’t tell you what to do. Nobody has the right to take you over. Is there more? He doesn’t, like, hit you or threaten you, does he?”

  Jenn looked at the stones in the wall, then back at her friend. “He doesn’t really hit me or anything like that. But he says stuff that really hurts. He makes me feel that, if I don’t stay with him, then nobody is gonna want me. I’ll be all alone.” And then she began to cry.

  “Jenn, you’re not alone. I talked to your mother yesterday. She’s still mad at you, but you can go home if you want.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then come stay at my place.”

  “It would be the end of our friendship. We’d end up hating each other.”

  “If you stay with Rob, we may never have a chance to stay friends. There is another option. Let’s go check out this place called Phoenix House. They take in kids who can’t go home.”

  Jenn was shaking her head no. “I can’t. I’d hate it.” She was trying to stop crying.

  Tara saw him first. Rob turned the corner of the building and spotted them. He was walking their way. He pretended to not even see Tara.

  “I wondered what happened to ya,” he said to Jenn.

  Jenn was trying to pretend she hadn’t been crying, but Rob could see what was going on.

  He looked at Tara and could figure out easily enough who she was. “I thought I asked you to stay away from her,” he said to Jenn. “What’d she say that made you so unhappy?” When he turned to Tara again, he glared at her.

  “You have no right to control her life,” Tara lashed out at him.

  “You stay out of it!” Rob snarled, then turning to Jenn, said, “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home.”

  “Jenn, you don’t have to go with him. Come on, I’ll take you someplace safe.”

  Rob had his hand on Jenn’s arm, but when he saw the fire in Tara’s eyes, he let go. He put his hands up in the air. “Okay, sorry,” he said. “Jenn, you decide. It’s up to you.”

  Tara wished just then she could reach into Jenn’s mind and give her strength; she wished so hard she could do something more. Jenn looked scared, and shaken. It was the victim’s role that Jenn was all too familiar with.

  Jenn pulled herself together. “It’s okay,” she told Tara. “It’s okay now,” and she walked off with Rob, towards the ferry terminal.

  Tara wanted to scream. She wanted to stop this from happening, but she didn’t know how to break the control that Rob had over her friend. She wanted to catch up to them and say that, if anything happened to Jenn, she would make him regret it. As they walked away, Rob’s attitude towards Jenn appeared gentle, almost fatherly. Tara knew, though, that things would be different once they were in his apartment. She stood with her fists clenched and pounded them against the stone wall. She felt like there was nothing she could do and maybe she was losing her only true friend. For good.

  Losing Emma

  When her parents came home from their weekend at White Point Lodge, Tara had an instinct that something was wrong. First, they both hugged her. They hadn’t done that for a long time. They had brought her presents, too — a silver bracelet and matching necklace. What was this? Did they feel guilty for leaving her alone for the weekend? She was sixteen. She was dependable. The pizza boxes were still sitting out on the kitchen table, but Tara’s mom looked at the mess and said nothing. Tara was hoping her parents would yell at her, but they didn’t. So she thanked them for the jewellery and asked if they’d had a fun time.

  “I don’t exactly know if you could call it fun,” her father said.

  “We have to talk,” her mother said to her. They all sat down in the living room. Her father clicked the TV on, but put it on mute. Ugly images of the result of a suicide bomber somewhere in the Middle East filled the big-screen TV.

  “Just listen to your mother, Tara, before you say anything.” Her father was talking in that very calm, professional way that he did when he was working at the hospital or talking on the phone to his colleagues.

  “I’m going to be moving out,” Tara’s mom said. “I want you to know that there’s nobody to blame. Your father and I don’t hate each other. We’re still good friends.”

  “And we both still love you very much,” he added.

  “What are you talking about?” How could her mother be moving out? Her parents were separating? They never argued, they never fought; they were never together long enough to fight or argue.

  “I shoulder most of the responsibility,” her mother continued, trying to sound calm and rational. “I feel like I’m just beginning to grow. It’s partly the photography, but it’s other things, too. I feel like I’ve never had the chance to have my own life. And I want that now.”

  “I can understand that,” Tara said. “But why do you have to live somewhere else?”

  “It’s hard to explain. I guess part of it is that I just need my independence.That’s why we went to the lodge, to try and figure this out. But we came to the conclusion that I have to try this, for me. I’m going to move to Vancouver.
I’ve been admitted into a new photography school. The teachers are some of the best photographers from around the world. I’ve got an old girlfriend out there who says there are lots of new galleries opening up. She’ll help me get established. It’s what I always wanted. It’s my chance to do something. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  A grey, deadening fog was settling into Tara’s brain. “Sure,” she heard herself say sarcastically, “I can handle it. I can handle anything.” But it was a gigantic lie.

  Her father was just looking at the TV screen, the images of devastation. “I don’t know what to do, Tara. I love your mother, but she wants very badly to do this. I guess it’s partly my fault. I’m not around that much. I haven’t been paying attention to what she needs.”

  “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long while. But it’s been so hard to make this decision,” Tara’s mother said.

  There was that word again coming back to haunt her. Decision. “Are you going to get a divorce?”

  “I don’t know,” her mom said. “Right now it’s just a separation.”

  “We’ll still be your parents,” her father said.

  “But what about me?” Tara demanded. “You’ve figured out what you want to do, Mom. But what about me? Where do I fit in?”

  Her mom was looking at the floor now. “Oh, Tara. You know I love you more than anything else in the world,” she said, holding back her tears.

  Her father cleared his throat. “We’ve decided it’s up to you. You can go to Vancouver with your mother if you like or you can stay here with me. Either way, you’ll get to visit back and forth.”

  Tara said nothing. She felt like they hadn’t really considered what she would want at all.

  “Look, your mother thought at first we should all just move to Vancouver. There she could get into her photography and I could, well, find a new job. She thought that would be enough for her. But I can’t do that. I can’t just give up my job, my friends, just give up my career. I can’t do that.”

  “So you decided to split up?”

  “Maybe it will just be temporary,” her mother said. “I really need to try this and it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Let me have my try at it and then see. Please try to understand. This is so hard for me.”

  Tara could not understand why this was happening, why her mother had to go and do this. “I’m staying here with Dad,” Tara said. “And that’s final.”

  Tara started for her room, but suddenly the whole house seemed alien to her. She didn’t want to be around her parents. She hated them. She turned around, and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” her mother asked.

  “Out!” was all she said and slammed the door.

  Where was she going? She didn’t know. She just started walking. She desperately needed someone to talk to. But who? Josh was out of her life. Jenn was living with some gorilla who probably wouldn’t even let her in the door. She walked faster.

  All her life, Tara had been the one who had it all together — the good grades, the cool parents, the right answers. People were always coming to her for advice. She’d been lucky. Nothing bad had ever really happened to her. She often felt so strong, as if she didn’t need anyone.

  Tonight was different. She kicked at a bottle lying on the sidewalk. She had always been there when Jenn needed her. How come no one was there for her tonight?

  She decided she had to talk to Emma. It wasn’t that late. She’d go to the nursing home, and Emma would help her sort things out.

  A nurse at the nurse’s station who had seemingly just come on duty told Tara that she could go down the hall and visit with whomever she wanted to. “Just knock on the door first.”

  When she came to Emma’s room, she knocked, but got no answer. She knocked again, but nothing. She turned the door handle and went in. The bed was empty. Was Emma in the sitting room watching TV? She always said that she hated television. Maybe she was still visiting with her son. That was it.

  Just then another one of the nurses walked in. She gave Tara a puzzled look and then recognized her. “Emma had some problems with her breathing,” the nurse said. “I think they said it was a collapsed lung. She was taken to intensive care at the hospital yesterday.”

  “How bad is it?” Tara suddenly forgot all about her own worries.

  “They say it’s pretty bad.”

  Tara ran out of the nursing home and down the street. She was not used to running. Her own lungs felt like they were burning after she had run for four blocks. Then she came to the hospital, the same one where her father worked. This was the place, she knew, that was the centre of his life — not his home, not his family, but the hospital.

  Inside was Emma. She had to see Emma.

  The woman at the information desk was not too friendly at first. It was after normal visiting hours and intensive care was off-limits to everyone but immediate family members. Tara explained who she was. She was the daughter of Mr. Johnson.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Rules are rules.”

  Tara wanted to say something nasty, something cruel, but she said nothing. She went back outside and paced back and forth. Through the wide window she could see the receptionist’s desk, and soon she discovered that, about every five minutes, the woman went into an office behind her to retrieve files that she was working on. When Tara saw the receptionist get up for the third time, she made her move. She went through the doors, ducked low beneath the desk, and soon she was walking down the corridor towards intensive care.

  Emma’s son, Tim, the one who had the money problems, was there sitting beside Emma. Tara had met Tim on a couple of occasions. Emma was unconscious, lying on her back, a tube in her nose and a monitor tracking her breathing and pulse.

  “She’s in very bad shape,” Tim said softly. “They don’t know if she’s going to live.”

  The words were like hot knives in Tara’s heart. “Can I talk to her for a little while?”

  Tim smiled. “Sure. I’m going to take a little walk around.”

  When the door closed, Tara sat down beside Emma in the bed. She studied the soft wrinkles in the old woman’s face, the long grey hair, the overall gentleness that surrounded her. And she talked. She told Emma everything.

  Tara kept expecting Emma to open her eyes, to give her that soft, considerate smile that she had seen so many mornings for so many months. They had grown close, very close. Emma had been her link to another time, another generation, when life seemed much simpler. Emma had sought Tara’s advice, taken it, and made her feel that she was wise and important.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Tara said to the unconscious woman. “I wish you were awake to help me. My life is falling apart.” Tara remembered how she had shared her dreams with Emma, how Emma had made her feel so brave and confident that she could do anything she wanted. Tonight Tara felt alone and scared. “Emma, wake up, please?”

  But Emma didn’t wake up. When Tim returned, Tara left the room. But she didn’t want to go home.

  She wandered down to the waiting room and curled up on a chair. There were some worried-looking adults in there, but she didn’t speak to any of them. She started to cry but tried to force back the tears. Her eyes burned. She wanted it all to go away. It had to be just a bad dream. The hours ticked by so slowly, or so it felt to Tara. Each time she tried to go back to Emma’s room, the attending doctor, who she recognized as a friend of her father’s, told her that she couldn’t go in. “You really should go home, Tara,” Dr. Mallory, said. “There’s nothing you can do here.” When it was finally morning, she felt like she had spent the night in hell. She saw Dr. Mallory walking out of Emma’s room.

  Tara stood up and stopped him. “How is she?”

  Dr. Mallory looked her straight in the eye. “She died in her sleep. It was very peaceful. I’m
sorry. Come on, let’s figure out how to get you home. Does your father even know that you are here?”

  “No,” Tara said, pushing past him. She ran straight to Emma’s room and burst in. The doctor had lied to her. That was her first reaction. Emma was still in the bed. Tim wasn’t there, but two nurses in white were standing beside her. One was removing the tube from Emma’s nose. Another was disconnecting the monitor. In a brief, golden, split second, Tara believed that Emma was all better. She was leaving the hospital and going back to the nursing home. She rushed to the bed, which made the nurses jump in surprise.

  She leaned over. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She focused on the gentle, wrinkled face. Dr. Mallory had not lied. Emma was not breathing.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” one of the nurses said.

  Tara started to back out of the room. She felt a cold wave of nausea sweep over her, a profound sense of loss.

  Dr. Mallory was there again. “Let’s get you home. Please?”

  “No,” Tara said. She walked past him.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, trying to keep up with her as she walked away.

  “I don’t know,” she snapped back. Tara was feeling angry at everyone right then. Even Emma. Everyone had let her down. She felt abandoned.

  The Upper Hand

  Tara walked off down the street. The big question was where to go now. No one close to her had ever died before. How could this be happening to her?

  It was a warm day, but the fog reached up from the harbour into the heart of the city. Tara usually liked the fog; it gave a soft, fuzzy edge to everything. But today was different. Walking in the fog made her feel more isolated, more alone than ever. She didn’t even know where she was going.

  She checked her watch and realized it was 8:45. School was about to start. If she couldn’t get on a plane and make a getaway, right now, right at this moment, then she decided she would do something completely normal, completely routine, something that would show everyone, or at least herself, that she could handle anything — separation of parents, death, anything. She would simply go to school. She didn’t have her homework or her books, but what did that matter now?