Hearts Inn

by Lilly R. Mason

  Gran’s ashes sat in a wooden box on the table. At first, Rosalie had thought it was creepy to have the remains of her Gran sitting there, but she’d grown accustomed to them.

  When she’d first picked up the ashes from the cremation center, she’d set them on the table without thinking; she’d noticed later that she’d set them next to the framed photograph of herself Gran had kept by the door to show anyone who came to visit.

  Rosalie had put the photo away, trying to tamp down the swell of guilt she felt for not visiting in almost fifteen years.

  The ashes didn’t feel entirely dead yet, and Rosalie wasn’t sure what to do with them. She knew it would sound ridiculous if she said it out loud, but sometimes, she felt there was some spirit or energy around the ashes Rosalie couldn’t name. She didn’t think she was alone when she had the box in her sight. Or at least she wanted to believe she wasn’t. Gran’s presence had always been soothing.

  Through a small doorway to the left of the table was a closet and a large bathroom. Drooping off all the walls were small framed pictures of cats or faded still-life paintings that gave the room anything but life. Taking it all in, Rosalie wished she could go back to sleep and pretend she wasn’t stuck in New Mexico. But knowing things didn’t get done unless she did them, Rosalie took a shower, made coffee, and went outside to survey the building. Perhaps if she stared long enough, she’d figure out what to do with it.

  Thinking of her conversation with her mother, she walked over to examine the pool, long since dried out, tiles crumbling and laying on the bottom of the basin with a few empty beer cans in the faded blue basin some seven feet deep. It wasn’t a large pool in diameter, but it was deep enough for a slide. A metal fence enclosed the area, its gate locked in a halfhearted effort to prevent local teens from daring each other to jump into it with their skateboards. The fence was rusty and needed to be repainted.

  Rosalie decided she’d make a list of all the things needing repair to make the property more attractive to buyers. She finished her coffee and found a yellow legal pad, walking around as she surveyed the exterior. The list she made was long; everything needed to be painted, reinforced, cleaned, or replaced. After completing a preliminary list, she went back into the office, overwhelmed and dreading another hot day.

  After examining Gran’s financial records from previous years for the fifth time to calm herself and make sure she wasn’t missing anything, Rosalie began drafting a new operating budget. With the current occupancy, there wasn’t much to work with, but the situation wasn’t dire. She’d have to be strategic in what she worked on. Thinking a functioning pool would be a singular perk to having to live in Ashhawk, Rosalie decided to get a quote for its repair first.

  When the Internet failed her again in finding someone who could help her, she called Ralph. Ralph answered in his scruffy voice, sounding busy before she’d even said a word. When she inquired if Ralph knew anyone who could come look at her pool, he responded, “You call Alex? I bet she’d give you a good estimate.”

  “Oh, really?” Rosalie didn’t think air conditioner repair and pool repair were related, but apparently, Alex Ecker was a woman of many talents. “Can I get her number?”

  Cheerful but brief, Ralph gave Rosalie Alex’s number and hung up.

  Rosalie wrote the number in purple pen on a yellow Post-It. It wasn’t a pretty color combination. She wished she’d used black or blue ink. But her numbers were neat and looped, and there was something pleasing to the way the numbers were centered in the square. She pressed the Post-It on the wall of the counter beside her computer but didn’t pick up the phone. She wasn’t sure why. She only knew Alex made her feel like a useless city girl.

  Instead, she went to the diner for lunch, figuring it would be a nice change from a microwave meal. She brought her computer, intent on using the fast Wi-Fi to do some more work on the website and booking engine. The waitress from the day before was there, and Rosalie found herself watching her, admiring the efficient movement of her hips as she navigated tables and worked behind the counter. Her uniform was neat and pressed, the powder blue complementing her pale skin and straw-blond hair. Her ponytail was smooth and shiny, her eyebrows perfectly arched. Her skin had a few blemishes, which she’d covered with industrial-strength concealer. She smiled halfheartedly at diners, wearily revealing crooked teeth. She was pretty, and Rosalie hoped she wasn’t staring at her too much.

  Rosalie liked the waitress’ posture. It was an odd thing to find attractive, she knew, but Tara had told Rosalie a few months ago her posture was soothing. Rosalie had found it an unlikely compliment but had accepted it as it was meant to be: a gesture of grace and goodwill from someone she found attractive, as well. Their whole relationship had been small gestures of goodwill and companionship, but not once had fireworks gone off. Rosalie supposed it was childish to want such things; only teenage girls wanted the drama of grand gestures. She hadn’t earned a grand gesture, either, with the uncertain way she kept Tara at arm’s length.

  Feeling guilty, Rosalie pulled up Tara’s Facebook page. She was greeted by the same profile picture Tara had had of herself at the Grand Canyon since Rosalie had known her. Aside from a picture a friend had uploaded, there was nothing new on Tara’s page. Since Rosalie and Tara had never put their relationship on Facebook, there was no change in status to be concerned about.

  Rosalie felt the urge to text Tara. She needed Tara to be an option when she got home and started putting her life back together. She pulled out her phone, wondering what she might say to indicate she was thinking about her without seeming desperate for reassurance. She settled for snapping a picture of her sandwich, sending it to Tara with the caption, It’s nowhere near as good as Zippy’s, with a sad face emoji. She didn’t hear back, but Tara was probably busy at work.

  When Rosalie finished her sandwich, the waitress came over to give her the bill and clear her place. She hovered by the table as Rosalie concentrated on the website.

  “Hey, um, you said you’re running the Hearth Inn now, right?”

  Rosalie looked up, surprised the waitress had initiated conversation with her. “Yeah.”

  The waitress shifted on her feet, looking uncomfortable. “Do you need any help? Like, cleaning or working the desk or anything?”

  Rosalie thought of the dirty housekeeping closet Susan maintained and the sorry state of the rooms. She thought of the endless hours she spent cooped up in the too-big lobby with nothing but the drone of the air conditioner to listen to. She would have loved some company—especially such attractive company as the waitress—but knew she couldn’t afford a full-time salary on what Hearth was bringing in.

  “Actually, yeah. I could use someone at the desk here and there. I have some meetings in the next few weeks, and I need someone to cover for me.”

  The waitress’ face lit up. She was even prettier when she smiled genuinely.

  “Come by when you get off,” Rosalie said. “I’m there…almost always.”

  The waitress nodded, extending a shaky hand. “I’m Shelley, by the way.”

  “Rosalie.”

  Rosalie took Shelley’s hand before Shelley reached for Rosalie’s plate, doing an awkward shuffle before moving to take it behind the counter. Rosalie watched her. It would be nice to have Shelley around a few hours a week.

  When Rosalie grew restless in the almost-empty diner, she headed back to the hotel. She pulled into her parking spot, and the pool caught her eye again. Telling herself it was foolish not to fix things, she found Alex’s number and called her. The exchange was brief, and before she knew it, Alex’s truck rattled into the parking lot.

  Alex frowned into the dry blue pit and nodded. “Four hundred,” Alex said, then walked off behind the building. Rosalie didn’t know what she was doing until Alex reappeared with a ladder. Rosalie took a few steps toward her, offering to help lower the ladder into the pit as a way of accepting Alex’s bid, but Alex glanced at her as though to say her offer was appreciated but ultim
ately unhelpful.

  Rosalie felt her presence was annoying to Alex. She had no brawn or practical knowledge Alex would find useful, so she retreated into the office, moving her chair so she could see the pool through the glass doors. She wondered why Alex was so quiet. Was it because Rosalie was an outsider? Or was she this way with everyone? Whatever the reason, Rosalie felt awkward around her.

  As she plodded her way through finishing up the homepage of the website, she watched as Alex disappeared around the building again, reappearing with a large, dark bundle she began unfolding. Rosalie frowned until she realized Alex had retrieved a collapsible canopy from the storage shed. She recalled Alex saying she’d done work at the hotel before and wondered if perhaps Alex was better acquainted with the property than Rosalie herself.

  Having secured some flimsy shade, Alex lowered herself into the empty pool, disappearing from sight. Rosalie craned her neck over the desk, curious what Alex was doing but not wanting to be a nuisance.

  The people of Ashhawk were a mystery to Rosalie. They seemed content to stay in their depressed town, their bodies sluggish and their faces tired. Without office jobs to attend or concerts to go to or trendy bars to frequent, Rosalie wondered what they did all day and night while she was stuck in the Freon-chilled lobby or curled on her uncomfortable bed reading or watching reruns of The Office.

  She wondered what Alex did when she wasn’t working odd jobs. Did she go to bars? Watch TV? Spend time with family? Despite having been to Ashhawk many times as a child, Rosalie had no idea what small-town life was like.

  After half an hour, Rosalie realized Alex didn’t have access to the cooler down in the pool. She filled a cup with chilled water that sweated through the glass. She ventured into the heat, feeling Alex needed water more than anyone else in Ashhawk.

  Down in the pool, Alex was filling several large cracks with some type of plaster or putty. She scraped it on with a tool, smoothing it so once it dried, the pool could be painted and filled and look like new. Despite the weak shade covering the section of the pool where Alex was working, Rosalie could see Alex was sweating. She felt guilty for not calling Alex first thing in the morning before the heat got too bad.

  Rosalie cleared her throat, alerting Alex to her presence. Alex looked up, squinting at the bright light where Rosalie stood before her, straightening up to reach for the glass with a weary “thank you.”

  Rosalie had to crouch to hand it to her. As she did, she felt heat radiate up from the painted plaster of the pool walls.

  “If it gets too hot, you can take a break,” Rosalie encouraged. “You’re welcome to work on it in the evenings or early mornings when it’s cooler. As long as it gets done in the next week or two.”

  Alex gave a stiff nod, looking back at her work.

  “Should take me three days, long as I can find tiles like these.” She pointed to the crumbling row of decorative tiles around the edge, and Rosalie wondered where someone might find such tiles in a town like this.

  Not having any knowledge or other conversation topics, Rosalie stood there awkwardly. She didn’t want to sit alone in the office any longer than she had to. She hoped Alex would say something or initiate conversation to help pass some time or at least make her feel welcome, but Alex was focused on her work. Rosalie gave up and slunk back to the office.

  At the end of the day, Alex packed up the canopy and returned the ladder to the shed. Rosalie thought she would come into the lobby to say goodbye, but she got into her truck and started the engine. Rosalie walked to the door, watching as Alex pulled out of the parking lot.

  Ten minutes later, Shelley came in, looking around. Rosalie welcomed her and explained how she might be able to help her. She asked Shelley about her work experience and was stunned to hear Shelley had been working at the diner since she was sixteen and had never had another job. Shelley had to be at least twenty-five now. Rosalie couldn’t imagine doing the same mundane jobs she’d had as a teen into her twenties.

  Rosalie went over the check-in process and showed Shelley where all the keys were kept.

  “As you can see, we’re still in the Dark Ages and use actual keys.” Rosalie had been surprised Gran hadn’t updated to keycard entry, but the entire town felt like it was lagging twenty years behind the rest of the country, so it wasn’t too shocking.

  “Have you ever seen one of the rooms?” Rosalie asked.

  “Yeah, my boyfriend and I sometimes came here for a night or two before he moved in with me.”

  Rosalie tried not to deflate at the mention of Shelley’s boyfriend. She hadn’t been hoping for anything romantic with Shelley; she was still dating Tara, and she didn’t plan to stay in Ashhawk longer than necessary. But it would have been nice to meet one other girl who liked girls. She was beginning to wonder if she was the only lesbian in New Mexico.

  Rosalie had never hired anyone before, and the whole exchange felt unorganized and informal. But knowing Shelley was there to help if Rosalie needed to meet with a real estate agent or go searching for pool tiles was a relief.

  When she’d exhausted every possible business matter Shelley might need to know, Rosalie felt the urge to keep her there. She didn’t have any friends in town, so she extended an invitation.

  “Do you want a hard cider or something?”

  “Oh, no, thanks. I don’t drink,” Shelley said.

  Rosalie was surprised. Shelley would have fit in at pretty much any sorority at Rosalie’s college, with her bright blond hair and exact makeup. Rosalie had pegged her as a party girl.

  “I have ginger ale,” Rosalie offered.

  When Shelley looked uncertain, Rosalie explained herself. “I haven’t talked to anyone our age since I got here two weeks ago, but I understand if you need to get home.”

  Shelley smiled. “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-nine.”

  Shelley’s smile grew. “I’m twenty-five. Ginger ale sounds good.”

  Rosalie smiled in relief and ducked into the back room to retrieve two ginger ales.

  “You’re welcome to have hard cider,” Shelley said. “I don’t mind.”

  “I’m fine with this,” Rosalie said, examining the ginger ale can. “Probably better for me anyway.”

  Shelley nodded, and there was an awkward silence. Rosalie gestured toward the couch. They walked across the lobby and sat down, the silence following them.

  “I’m fine with people drinking around me. I choose not to drink because of my dad,” Shelley said. “I figure if he’s got a problem, I’m probably wired for it, too, so I’d rather not risk anything, you know?”

  Rosalie nodded, surprised at how forthcoming Shelley was. People in Ashhawk were strikingly honest. Rosalie had discovered her complexion and affiliation with Gran went far; people were willing to talk to her.

  “Sounds smart.”

  Shelley shrugged, as though to refute Rosalie’s assertion. “I just want a better life for me and Bobby.”

  Rosalie tried to make polite conversation. “How long have you been together?”

  “Since sophomore year.”

  “Where’d you go to college?”

  There was a loaded pause during which Rosalie realized Shelley had meant sophomore year of high school.

  Rosalie didn’t know anyone who had stayed with a high school sweetheart. She hadn’t even had a high school sweetheart; her straight best friend whom she hadn’t spoken to in a few years didn’t count.

  “I don’t know anyone our age who’s been with someone that long.”

  Shelley smiled. “He’s pretty great. I want to get married, but he’s been out of work for a while, so not anytime soon. He might have to move to Albuquerque if he doesn’t find something here soon.”

  Rosalie nodded, not knowing what to say.

  “Most of the young people around here move away for work anyway.” Shelley sounded sad, as though she’d slowly been deserted by all her friends.

  “Would you go with him?”

  Shelley
gave an uncomfortable shrug. “Someone has to take care of my dad,” she said after a moment. “We live with him.”

  Rosalie felt herself sink. She felt bad for Shelley. No twenty-five-year-old deserved to be stuck at home taking care of her parent.

  “What does your dad do?”

  “Drink,” Shelley said. “He’s been out of work for a while, too.”

  Rosalie felt herself sink lower. Driving through the rundown town and seeing how depressed the buildings were was hard enough. Hearing how the people in the town Gran loved so much were suffering too was worse.

  “I wish there was something I could do,” Rosalie said.

  Shelley shrugged, sitting up straighter, as though realizing she was being a downer. “Letting me work here once in a while is plenty.”

  Thinking of how much responsibility Shelley had compared to the responsibilities Rosalie had had at her age, Rosalie felt generous.

  “Would you like to do some cleaning here, too?”

  Shelley’s face lit up but backed down with hesitation. “I could use the money,” she said. “But don’t feel like you have to offer me work because I told you my sad story. Plenty of people have it worse.”

  “I know,” Rosalie said, realizing she’d turned her pity into money. “But I could use the help.”

  “Okay.” Shelley took a sip of her ginger ale. “So do you have a boyfriend back home?”

  Rosalie gave an amused half-laugh. She usually corrected people’s assumption she liked men in certain contexts, but here in Ashhawk where people probably believed they had never met a gay person, Rosalie was out of her element.

  “Eh…my relationship is kind of up in the air right now.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not totally single. Most guys our age here are unemployed or drink too much.”

  Rosalie bit her lip and lifted her eyebrows as she nodded in amused agreement. She realized being the loneliest lesbian in the Southwest had its drawbacks, but being a single straight girl wouldn’t be much better.

  Shelley left a few minutes later after expressing appreciation for whatever work Rosalie had for her. Despite her initial friendliness, Rosalie could tell she was eager to go home to her boyfriend. Rosalie was sad her efforts to make a friend hadn’t worked.