Crescent Hill
Page 4
“I'll call them right away. And I'll go wake up Langston,” Mercy said, a determined set to her jaws. “Just relax while I get my things in order.”
“Perfect. See you in a bit, Mercy. And chin up, old girl. Everything’s going to be sorted in no time.”
Chapter 7
“I own two hotels in the UK and consult for ten more. Never in my ten years in the business have I seen such shocking practices.” I trained my gaze on Langston, who looked like he was still half-asleep. “Closed for the weekends? No breakfast? Frozen garbage and filthy rooms? Do you honestly not know why guests avoid this place?”
Langston looked down at his feet and shrugged. His wiry hair glistened with sweat, and his thin upper lip quivered.
“Mercy, the front door was frozen shut when I got here. The steps were iced over and outright dangerous. The first thing we need to do is clear them, yeah? Have you got some salt?”
Mercy nodded. “I’ll take care of that right away, Roman.”
“Good.”
I saw Jesse and Caitlyn wandering toward me, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Jesse had his arms hooked around Caitlyn’s shoulders. He whispered something to his girlfriend, and she let out a high-pitched giggle. Both were tall, fit, and skinny, and Caitlyn looked like she belonged on the runway, not on an island. She was dressed to the nines, with pearls around her throat and matching studs on her earlobes. While everyone else was underdressed, Caitlyn was overdressed.
“Where did Maggie go?” I asked them. “We need all hands on board.”
“She goes to see Grandma Rita every morning, and then she goes home,” Jesse informed me. “No one works on weekends.”
“Well, that’s about to change, my friend. Crescent Hill Lodge will now start serving breakfast and it will be open all year round, yeah? Short of a hurricane or earthquake hitting his place, it will stay open. I’m going to whip up an easy breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu and teach the staff how to make it.”
“We’re barely staying afloat as it is,” Caitlyn said, tying her platinum blond hair up into a messy bun, “all this breakfast food will go to waste because no one will eat it.”
“It’s that kind of attitude that will sink this ship. More optimism, less negativity from you, Caitlyn,” I said. “Now Langston, Jesse, go help Mercy with the front steps. Caitlyn, please show me the kitchen.”
After Langston and Jesse were out of earshot, I asked Caitlyn, “So, what’s your story? What’s a young woman like yourself doing in a place like this?”
“We’re trying to save up,” Caitlyn said. “Move to Northbridge next year.”
“You and Jesse been together a long time?”
“Five years now. Known each other since high school.”
“What do you make of Jesse’s managerial skills? Is he fit to run a lodge restaurant?”
Caitlyn shrugged, unlocking the dining room and making a beeline for the kitchen. “He’s more qualified than anyone else here. He used to own a Fish n’ Chips food truck in Northbridge.”
“What happened to it?”
“Went bankrupt,” Caitlyn admitted. “That’s why we moved back here. Besides, Langston and Mercy needed our help.”
“But you sound like you’ve got one foot out the door already. Are you really giving this place your best effort?”
“You’re just like the rest of them,” Caitlyn said. “All you see is a blond bimbo, and you never look past that. I’m not just a pretty face, you know.” She pointed to her forehead. “I’ve got a brain, and gasp, I actually like to use it.”
“Well, how about you use some of those smarts and sass to get this place out of the shit hole it’s in?”
“I have no say in anything,” Caitlyn said. “I’m the outsider. Nobody trusts me. Mercy and Langston micro-manage everything, and they have a hard time letting go of the reins.”
“Well, hopefully not for much longer,” I said.
Our shoes slapped against the sticky linoleum as we entered the greasy kitchen. The air was thick and stale, almost unbreathable. I pointed to the crusty fryer and the blackened gas cooktop. “You call this clean?”
“It looked like that when we started here,” Caitlyn said, shrugging. “It’s always had that gunk on it.”
“It shouldn’t. I want this kitchen to be spotless come Monday,” I said, gesturing to the crusty residue gathered along the knobs. It looked like earwax from an ogre. “It takes serious elbow grease to get this crap off. You can’t expect to just rub it a little and hope it comes off.”
I pulled open the walk-in freezer door next. Mountains of food haphazardly wrapped in cling wrap and tossed in buckets greeted me. Nothing was labeled. Nothing was organized. Did I honestly expect anything better? “This is disgusting.” I picked up a frozen brick of meat that was covered in ice. “You can’t even tell what this is. Or when it was put in here.”
“Langston knows. He keeps track…in his head,” Caitlyn said, rolling her eyes.
“And what happens when Langston leaves the kitchen? We toss all this food away? He passes down the knowledge to the next cook, so they can perpetuate the cycle of ignorance?”
Caitlyn looked like she was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t ask for any of this. You think I wanted to waste my twenties slaving away at a run-down lodge in the middle of nowhere? All my friends think I’m crazy. We’re all overworked here. Sleep-deprived. Barely scraping by.”
“You are crazy,” I said, “if you think any of you deserve my sympathy. Anyone with half a brain can see that this kitchen and restaurant is a bloody disaster zone. Disorganized workspace, low-quality food, no ambiance to speak of, zero trained or even qualified chefs and servers. But no one has had the common sense to do anything about it. Except complain. You lot are good at that, whining. A bunch of complainers, not doers. That needs to change. Today.”
“You should be telling Langston and Jesse this, not me,” Caitlyn said. “I’m just part-time help.”
“Enough with the pouting and the excuses. You’re a grown woman, Caitlyn. Start taking responsibility for once in your life.” With that, I turned to leave.
“What the fuck do you know about responsibility?” Caitlyn exploded. “You’re just some pretentious British prick who comes here acting like you own the place, verbally abusing all of us when we just wanted you to help us earn a living,” Caitlyn’s breath fogged up the still air. “Get off your high horse already, asshole.”
I shot Caitlyn my steeliest glare and clenched my teeth. “Have some respect, young lady, and don’t you ever run your mouth off at me like that again.”
Caitlyn slammed the freezer door shut and stormed off, flipping the bird at me before disappearing.
“We’ve cleared the steps,” Mercy said, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief. “What’s next?”
I handed her a to-do list I’d written down the night before. “Try to tick off as many boxes as you can today.”
Mercy read the list, her eyes growing wider by the second. “Remove all the taxidermy animals off the walls? You can’t be serious, Roman, our guests love those. They add to the rustic charm of this place. We’ve received many compliments over—”
“They are hideous dust magnets,” I replied. “They frighten guests, not welcome them. Especially that falcon over there. You can keep one or two centerpieces, but the rest have to go.”
“But—What will I do with them all?”
“That’s your job to figure it out.”
Mercy ran her index finger down the list further. “Wash all the linens again? But I just did that two weeks ago!”
“Two weeks ago? Are you running a lodge or a brothel?” I ran my hand through my hair. These people were fucking delusional. “Have some standards, Mercy, for God’s sake!”
“Do you know how hard it is to wash them all by hand?” Mercy’s face grew redder by the second. “Takes three or four days of non-stop work. All on my own. I’m not getting younger, you know.”
“By hand? Ar
e you living in the thirteenth century? That’s what industrial washers are for,” I said. “The Industrial Revolution happened, remember? We’re in the age of machines now.”
“We don’t have one. Too expensive,” Mercy said, biting her lower lip. She perched a hand on her hip. “And before you go prattling off about how we need to spend money to make money, I’ll have you know, that it’s easier said than done. You try to walk a mile in our shoes, Roman Finnegan.”
“Mercy…Oh, dear Lord. You poor thing,” I hung my head low, shaking it from side to side. “You’re close to retirement age now. You should be going on cruises and napping by the telly, not washing dirty linens night and day. I’m here to make your life better in the long run, trust me. Listen to me. Take my advice.”
Mercy’s entire body rose and fell. Her lower lip quivered, and her eyes squeezed shut, as if she was at war with herself.
“I’ll start taking down the taxidermy heads,” Langston volunteered behind her.
I was surprised. I’d expected more resistance from him, especially given our conversation the night before. “Thank you, Langston.”
Langston turned to Mercy. “Mr. Finnegan here is the expert. If he says the stuffed animals need to go, they need to go, love.”
Mercy didn’t say another word. She took the list and made her way upstairs.
We spent the rest of the day tidying up the place and making it more attractive to potential guests. I contacted my PR team, and we began planning a grand re-opening party. By the end of the day, we were all tuckered out. Langston offered to cook me dinner, but I politely declined. After all, the last thing I needed was food poisoning. There was still too much to do to get bogged down by illness.
As I lay in bed, looking at the fearsome stag head above me, I found myself wondering what Maggie was up to. It’d only been about twelve hours since I last saw her, but for some reason, I felt a tiny void in my chest that I didn’t think I’d feel. No one wanted to tell me what she was up to, which only made me more curious. I wanted to know more about her. Hear her angelic voice again. And I also resolved to meet this ‘Grandma Rita’ everyone spoke about, as she had yet to make an appearance.
But for now, I needed some well-earned shut-eye.
Chapter 8
12 Days Left
“I want to meet Grandma Rita,” I announced to Mercy over morning coffee. The brew was so bitter I could hardly swallow more than two sips.
Mercy looked up from her morning paper. “Why? She isn’t involved in running the lodge. She’s eighty-one and senile.”
“Just thought it’d be nice to meet her, since I’ll be here for two weeks.” I took a final swig of the coffee and decided I’d had enough. “Is that all right?”
Mercy hesitated. “She’s a very private person. I—”
“I’ll take him.”
I turned around and saw Maggie at the door, her face flushed from the cold. She brushed snow off her jacket sleeves. “I’ve got to bring Grammy some breakfast anyway. I’ll take him.”
Mercy clicked her teeth and fidgeted with her paper. “Maggie, are you sure?”
“Grammy won’t mind. She loves company,” Maggie reassured her mother. “C’mon, Roman, get dressed and meet me outside Daisy’s Café.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Maggie.”
After I got dressed, I walked over to Daisy’s Café, where Maggie stood, holding a brown paper bag. Oil was already seeping through it. “I missed you,” I said, leaning in to give her a kiss on each cheek.
Maggie grinned. “I was only gone for the day.”
“Where did you go? No one wants to tell me.”
“For good reason. I like to keep my private life private.”
I tucked a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “You’re a puzzle, Magnolia Summers. Why all the secrets?”
“You’re a Nosy Nelly, Roman Finnegan. Everyone has their secrets.” Maggie started walking around the side of the lodge, down a set of crooked wooden steps.
“Where does your grandmother live?” I called after her.
“In the forest.”
“Why?”
“She prefers the peace and quiet. We bring her whatever she needs.”
“Wouldn’t it be more—”
“It was her choice, not ours.”
“So, you bring her breakfast every morning?” I asked.
“Whenever I’m able, yes. She loves me best.” Maggie looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Then she added, “Grammy hates everyone else in the family. Can’t stand them, and basically stopped talking to them after Grandpa died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was a long time ago. We’ve got a nice routine going on now. I bring her breakfast every morning and chat with her. Sometimes I’m also the errand girl or messenger. I don’t mind. Grammy practically raised me, especially when my parents were too busy running the business.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. She was sexy, and she had a big heart. Qualities that made me more attracted to her, not less. I thought about my own grandparents, whom I hadn’t seen for almost eight years. I was a shitty grandson if there ever was one. Maybe I’d give them a ring when I got back to the UK.
Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, Maggie led me through a series of twisted, overgrown trails until we came to a clearing with a log cabin in the center. It looked like a waterlogged box, one gust away from caving in.
“Leave your shoes outside,” Maggie instructed. “Don’t speak unless spoken to. And don’t look at her fake eye, she’s really self-conscious about it.”
I arched my brow. “I can’t tell if you're serious or not.”
“Why would I joke about something like this?” Maggie said.
I kicked off my shoes and left them on the doormat, as instructed. “Okay then. Let’s go in.”
Maggie knocked twice before I heard shuffling footsteps. A ragged pink curtain parted to reveal furrowed skin and dry, cracked lips. Rita sported dark, drawn-in eyebrows that didn’t match her shock of white hair. Her eyes (or eye, I should say) lit up when she saw Maggie on the other side of the door. Her left eye was blank and filmy. So Maggie wasn’t joking.
“Maggie, darling. How nice to see you. What brings you here?” Rita gestured to me. “And you brought Carl, how nice.”
I didn’t dare look Rita in the eye, and turned to Maggie for guidance.
“Grammy, this is Roman,” Maggie introduced. “Roman, Grandma Rita.”
Rita held out a wrinkled hand covered with dark age spots. Her knuckles protruded through saggy flesh, and a faded wedding band hung loosely on her ring finger. I took the hand and shook it. Her palms were cold. “I’m—It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rita.”
“Are you Maggie’s new boyfriend? What happened to Carl?”
Maggie set down her paper bag and began taking out Rita’s breakfast. “Carl and I broke up nine years ago, Grammy, remember?”
Rita’s lips curled inward and her jaws clenched. “I liked Carl. He was so handsome.”
Maggie rolled her eyes and whispered to me, “She goes on about Carl at least once a week.”
“How’s my little sweetheart?” Rita asked, toddling over to the kitchen. “Is he doing all his homework?”
“Yes, Grammy.”
“Have you met Jason?” Rita asked me, toying with her hooped earrings.
I shook my head. “No, who’s Jason?”
“Jason is my son,” Maggie announced. “He’s six.”
My jaw dropped. “Oh. Well, he’s probably a fine young man, because he has such a wonderful mother.” I couldn’t hide my surprise very well. Maggie looked like she was in her mid-twenties. Which meant that she must’ve had Jason at a very young age. Was that the secret she was trying to hide from me? The fact that she was a single mother? I had nothing but respect for working single mothers; I was raised by one, and loved my mother more than anyone in the whole world.
“How’s little Gregory?” Rita a
sked, rubbing her eyes with a bony knuckle.
Maggie unwrapped a breakfast sandwich and handed it to Rita. “Gregory is doing great. He got an ‘A’ in Math.”
Rita let out a chortle. “Oh, I love that boy. Brilliant, just like his daddy.”
Who was his daddy? Was Maggie married? If so, why didn’t she tell me?
I waited for Maggie to explain her story. She didn’t elaborate, except to say, “Gregory is eleven.”
Not one son, but two? No wonder she was so exhausted.
Rita poured some hot water into a mug. “And of course, I haven’t forgotten about little Adam. How old is he now, ten?”
Maggie bit her lip, her nostrils flaring. “Yes, he’s ten.” She didn’t look at me this time.
Three sons? We definitely needed to have a talk afterward.
“Does Carl still come visit every weekend?”
Maggie looked uncomfortable with Rita’s barrage of questions, but the older woman was relentless.
“Listen, if me being here is awkward, I can go,” I said, gesturing to the door. “I’ll wait outside.”
“No, it’s okay, Roman, I just came to drop off some food. Then I had better get to work at the hotel,” Maggie said.
“Leaving so soon, sweetheart? You haven’t even had any tea yet,” Rita said, frowning. “When are you going to bring the boys over to visit?”
“Sorry, Grammy. I’ve got lots to do today. Mom and Dad need my help. Maybe next time,” Maggie said.
Rita shoved her hand into a cylindrical cookie tin and pulled out some herbs. Then she lined them up on a rectangular strip of paper and began rolling it up. When she was done, she sealed it with a lick and patted her woolen vest pockets. A few moments later, she triumphantly pulled out a lighter and flicked it over the tip of her roll.
“Grammy!” Maggie cried, her face growing beet red. “Not in front of Roman!”
“Is…that what I think it is?” I asked.