The Hotel

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “The field trip was horrible,” I croak out in anguish.

  “Honey, what happened?” she asks in her soft, grandmotherly voice.

  “Nothing,” I answer stupidly. Duh, who do I think I’m fooling? I’m crying like a little baby. Obviously, something is wrong.

  “Sweetheart, you can tell Gigi.” She looks at me with such a concerned look, but I can’t say anything. My mouth is frozen. “Darling, please talk to me.”

  All I can do is shake my head and cry harder. I can’t say anything to anyone. Otherwise, my parents might end up getting a divorce. Sarah said she kept her mouth shut about her daddy’s girlfriend. I’ll have to do the same. “Upset stomach,” I finally tell my grandmother. “I just need to lie down.”

  It wasn’t a lie. In fact, I was on the verge of throwing up. My daddy, whom I worship the ground he walks on, is cheating on my momma. My life is ruined. So yes, my stomach is terribly upset, and my heart feels even worse.

  “Well let’s get you back to the house.” The whole way I’m holding my stomach, thinking I’m going to hurl at any moment. Gigi drives faster than usual. I think she’s freaking out. As soon as we get to her home, she rummages through her medicine cabinet. “Shoot, I’m out of Pepto-Bismol,” she says with a deep frown. “The only thing I have are antacids ... they’re more for heartburn.” She reads on the label for a while and notices that I’m still holding my stomach. “Well, let’s give it a go. It might help.”

  It’s a chewable disc that she hands me. I give it a skeptical look. “It’s an ant acid?”

  “Yes, an antacid.”

  When I chew it up, it tastes awful. It’s like a combination of chalk, ants and acid. It will surely kill me. But right now, I want to die anyway so I swallow it down like it’s a delicious candy kiss.

  Unfortunately, it doesn’t help my stomach at all, which is now cramping and pitching to the point I end up throwing up the chalk, ants and especially the acid.

  “Oh Lordy,” Gigi says as she holds my head over the toilet until I can’t puke anymore. She steers me to my bed at her house where I lie down, and she places a wet rag on my forehead. “Just lie still,” she tells me.

  “I want my momma,” I whine, like I’m a little baby. How ridiculous, and I’m still crying like one too.

  “I’ll call her,” Gigi says. This literally scares me, because I thought she would probably just try to distract me with Piper. I suddenly realize that my grandmother looks scared too. I guess it’s been a while since she’s had to take care of my momma.

  “Emily, something’s wrong with Ava.” My grandmother is on the phone in the next room, but I still hear her. “I don’t know. She said her stomach was upset. But I think she’s really upset. I mean really upset. She mentioned the field trip being horrible. Something awful must’ve happened.”

  I don’t know what my momma said in response. But about thirty minutes later she shows up at Gigi’s, so she must’ve managed to get off work early. When I see her concerned face, it starts another wave of tears. She takes me to the car and buckles me in like I’m a two-year-old. Then again, I couldn’t do it.

  “Ava, what happened?”

  “Nothing. Nothing happened.” My momma must never know about my daddy. This horrible secret will go with me to my grave.

  By now I’m crying hard again. She doesn’t push me. She does just like Gigi and drives fast to our house. When I get home, I haul myself up the stairs as fast as I can and fly down the hallway to my room. Slamming the door shut, I run across the room and flail myself onto my bed. Now all I want is to die. The sooner, the better.

  ◆◆◆

  EMILY

  Following my daughter up to her room, I found her splayed out on her bed and sobbing her heart out. In a comforting gesture, I spread myself out next to her and gathered her in my arms. “What’s wrong, honey? You know you can tell me anything.”

  “Please ... I can’t talk about it right now.”

  “Okay, baby. But I’m here for you when you can.” I held Ava tightly in my arms and stared at her wallpaper. Tiny blue and pink butterflies sprinkled throughout daisy flowers and yellow daffodils. We were lying under a twin-sized, white canopy bed with a pink-ruffled bedspread. Her toys and stuffed animals were sprinkled here and there throughout her room. Mixed in was a little desk with a computer, a poster of some teenaged boy band, her iPad, and some Nancy Drew books. She was going through the stage in her life of wanting to be a little girl, yet wanting to be all grown up.

  As she cried in my arms and I held her next to me, my heart bled for her anguish. I wanted to make it go away ... whatever it was. My daughter was supposed to have had a fun day and now she was a basket case, refusing to tell me what happened.

  I tried pulling out every trick in the book. Now I was down to distractions. “Ava, there’s some of your favorite strawberry yogurt in the fridge. Would you like some?”

  “No,” she muttered through continued tears.

  I brought up her interesting rock she found last Sunday, which only seemed to make her cry harder. I asked if she had any ideas on our upcoming family vacation, which also didn’t help matters. I reminded her that her favorite show came on tonight, the one she loved watching with Daddy. More crying. I offered to take her clothes shopping with her bingo money and promised to double her winnings. Nothing. Honestly, my daughter was so devastated that I didn’t think anything would get through to her. Maybe Greg could when he arrived home. They had close bonds and she might open up to him.

  Greg sent me a text to let me know he was on his way home. It seemed he was getting home early again tonight. He’d been home early every night this week, except, of course, last night when he was supposedly working.

  “Daddy’s home,” I said when I heard the garage door close.

  “I don’t want to see him,” she said. Shock spread across my face like wildfire. “Why not?” It seemed unlikely for a field trip to have resulted in her not wanting to see her daddy.

  “Uh ... I just don’t want him to see me like this. I’m sure I look a mess.”

  Why didn’t I believe my daughter? And what happened today?

  Greg came up the stairs, hunting for us. “There are my two beautiful girls,” he said poking his head in the room.

  “Get out,” Ava hissed. Greg gave me a stunned look and I shooed him away with my hand.

  “Let me go talk to Daddy,” I told her. “I’ll let him know that you’re not feeling well.”

  When I pulled away from her, Ava’s blue eyes were not only filled with a deep sadness, but I also saw an overwhelming amount of fear and uncertainty behind her gaze. “I love you Momma.”

  “Honey, I love you too.”

  When I reached the door, she called, “I love you more than Daddy. I love you with all my heart.”

  My heart cracked open, and I ran back and hugged the breath out of my daughter. “Would you like for me to bring you something upstairs to eat? You and I can have a picnic here in your room.”

  “Just you and me, okay,” she said.

  “Just us girls,” I agreed.

  Was it possible something happened today that had to do with Greg? Ava seemed to be down on him right now.

  ◆◆◆

  “What’s with Ava,” Greg asked, adding a guilty look when I caught him drinking milk straight from the gallon.

  “I don’t know. She won’t talk about it. She had that field trip today to the Science Museum. Something must’ve happened that’s destroyed her.”

  Greg yanked the jug away from his mouth and coughed out a handful of milk. “Sorry, it went down the wrong pipe.” He ran to the sink and washed his hand and grabbed a paper towel to wipe some spillage from the floor. “I’ll go up and talk to her.”

  “She said she doesn’t want you to see her like this.”

  He grunted. “No, I want to talk to her.”

  Before I could protest any further, Greg was up the stairs and knocking on Ava’s door. “Ava, honey, it’s Daddy. I’m
coming in.”

  “Go away. I’m not up for company,” I heard her yell back.

  The next noise was Ava’s door opening and closing. For a few minutes I waited for the sound of screaming, yelling or even loud crying. Nothing. Silence went on for so long, I reasoned he must be making headway. If Ava was letting Greg stay in her room, then whatever happened, it must not have been about him. A feeling of relief washed over me and, believing things were okay, I began cooking dinner. Fried shrimp, baked potatoes and a salad.

  Time wore on and, just as I was dishing up our meal, Greg and Ava appeared in the doorway. Greg gave me a comforting nod, indicating everything was worked out. Ava smiled, but it was thin.

  “Oh good, you’re just in time for dinner.”

  “Where’d the chairs come from?” Greg asked as we seated ourselves.

  “Twice Blessed. Can you believe all six of these were only fifty dollars?”

  “Seriously ... wow!”

  “I bought a rug for the living room, a bunch of designer clothes, several handbags and a few pieces of jewelry. I think they’re high-dollar items and I barely paid anything for them, especially compared to what they retail for.”

  “Well, good deal then.” He gave me an approving nod.

  “My mom, Kay, Brenda and Jordan went over and fought each other for the remaining items. My mom bought so much stuff, she hired a moving van.”

  “No kidding? It must’ve been some good stuff.”

  “It was. Apparently, some rich lady was getting a divorce and wanted to start completely over.” I paused for a moment. “Margaret Winslow ... I think that was her name.”

  “Margaret Winslow. Hmm. You know, I think I’ve heard that name before. I believe she’s one of Paul Jensen’s clients.”

  I grunted. “I guess he made her rich.” It irritated the crap out of me that Paul constantly nagged us about investing through his firm. He was always going to make us rich. Greg had very much wanted to take the chance, but I had firmly put my foot down. It felt like Margaret Winslow was another fine example of what Paul could do to help our financial situation. I sat silently for a moment, just waiting for Greg to suggest an investment.

  “Well, she, or her ex, may have come from old money. I don’t think Paul’s the miracle worker he claims to be.”

  His response shocked me, but certainly came as a relief.

  ◆◆◆

  “Everything okay, honey?” I asked as I tucked Ava in bed for the night.

  “Yes. I just let myself get worked up over nothing. Sarah was a pain in the behind all day. She thought everything was lame. She complained about her shirt, and, overall, she didn’t want to be there. She even tossed her class picture away. Anyway, she had me thinking stupid thoughts. Daddy assured me they were ridiculous and that I needed to stop listening to Sarah.”

  “That’s probably good advice,” I agreed. Reflecting on Sarah’s purchase of the white shirt from Twice Blessed and her not wanting to go, it was surprising that Sarah hadn’t played hooky. Undoubtedly her appearance had been at the behest of Molly. If Sarah said, or did, something to hurt Ava, it was no wonder my daughter was so upset.

  “Where’s your picture?” I asked.

  “Oh, in my jeans,” she gestured to the pile of clothes on her chair.

  I dug the picture from her back pocket and looked at the smiling face of my beautiful daughter. “You look like you were having fun.”

  “The time of my life, Momma.”

  ◆◆◆

  Taking a few minutes, I called my mother to let her know everything was fine with Ava. Then I found Greg, already getting ready for bed.

  “Good job with Ava,” I congratulated him.

  “Sarah’s not good for Ava,” he said shocking me. “I don’t think her parents are good either. Maybe we need to encourage Ava to seek a new friend.”

  I nodded. “I’ve been of that mindset for a long time. Nothing would please me more.”

  His agreeing head moved up and down. “Yes, I know you’ve never been fond of them. I think it would be best if we cut ties altogether with the Jensens.”

  Crossing the room, he gathered me in his arms and cradled me next to his chest. “I love you Emily.” Swooping me into his arms, he carried me to bed.

  And tonight, we romped again. Luckily tomorrow was my alternating Saturday off at the bank and we could all sleep in.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  (Saturday - Three Days Before)

  A noise caused me to blink awake and I found Ava looking down her tiny button nose at me. She smiled and my heart exploded. For a drowsy moment I couldn’t remember what day it was or even how long I’d slept. A glimpse of the room let me know it was late in the morning. The morning sun was already well above shining directly in the window and the room was bathed in full bright light. Greg stirred in the bed beside me.

  “Your door was open,” Ava prefaced.

  Looking in that direction, I realized Greg must’ve gone for a drink of water in the middle of the night. “Okay, baby,” I acknowledged.

  I’ve thought of something I want to do today,” Ava said, crawling on the bed between us.

  “Anything, sweetheart,” Greg said.

  I frowned at Greg. “I guess it depends on what it is,” I suggested before I caved in.

  “I want to redo my room. Can we, Daddy?”

  Funny how the question went to Greg. It almost made me suspicious of what they talked about last night.

  “Absolutely,” he quickly agreed, which multiplied my suspicions. “But it’ll have to be after I fix us all French toast.”

  Hmm. Greg was cooking breakfast this morning. Was I dreaming? No, this was more like a nightmare ... one where my daughter was making impossible demands, to which my husband was all too eager to comply with.

  “Take a seat, honey,” Greg said, searching around for a frying pan. “I’ve got this handled.”

  “Try the drawer next to the stove,” I suggested. Yeah, Greg cooked often.

  “Oh, there it is,” he said, producing the pan and a griddle plate. “You just relax.”

  Ava popped in the room and took her seat at the table. “Dad, I want to take the wallpaper off the wall across from the bed and paint it yellow.”

  “No Ava,” I interjected. “There won’t be any texture behind the paper. It’ll be a big deal to do that.”

  “Oh, honey, I think we can handle it,” Greg assured me. “As soon as breakfast is over, we’ll go pick up some supplies.”

  My eyes shifted from one of them to the other. It felt like Ava was stooping to bribery in order to get something she wanted from her daddy, like she had something she could hold over his head. Greg looked like he’d reign in the sun, the moon and the stars to make Ava keep her mouth shut. Something seemed amiss.

  After enjoying the nice breakfast Greg had prepared, we were now at Lowe’s picking out paint samples. With the promise of buying new bed linens in the bright sunflower yellow Ava wanted her wall painted, I managed to steer her in the direction of a muted yellow.

  The rest of the day was spent moving Ava’s furniture away from the wall, spritzing on a chemical to loosen the wallpaper, removing it and then rolling out a texture. By the time we were done for the day, my muscles ached, and my arms were overly tired.

  That night, we ordered in a pizza and vegged out in front of the boob tube watching a movie Ava picked out. We were a family today, just like we used to be. Even though I still had my suspicions, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had developed some form of paranoia. Greg had been home early every night since last Sunday. We had made love every night. Things were going great. Surely there was nothing to worry about.

  ◆◆◆

  That night when we went to bed, Greg was all over me. I couldn’t believe it. I was so exhausted. But since I’d promised myself not to be lazy ever again, I enthusiastically put myself in the game.

  During our foreplay, Greg did something he’d never, EVER, done before. I was a very modest person a
nd couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. It was something I don’t want to put into words.

  “Greg! What are you doing?” I yelped out, completely taken by surprise.

  “Shh. We’ve had fun all week making love. I just thought we might try something different. Just relax.”

  Relax. No freaking way. I wanted to push him off and make him stop. Where did he learn this move? Let me rephrase ... who was he using this move on? Let me rephrase again ... how many was he using this move on? I was right back to thinking he was cheating on me.

  “Greg...” Through the moonlight shining in the window, I gazed into my husband’s eyes, wondering if he was thinking only of me, or if his thoughts were on his lover, make that lovers, whichever flavor of the day it happened to be.

  “Baby, please. Just go with it. If you hate it, this will be the last time.”

  Was he cheating on me because I wasn’t giving him everything he needed? Didn’t I also promise myself I was going to fight for my man? And when it came down to it, shouldn’t I want to fulfill my husband’s desires? It wasn’t like this move was that terrible. Well, he most definitely needed to wash his hands afterward. There were sex toys to help with this maneuver. We just didn’t have any. Maybe we should. I might even consider role-playing. Maybe spicing up our sex life was a healthy thing. It was certainly better than divorce and, frankly, I didn’t want to put my daughter through the emotional turmoil of her parents splitting up.

  So, I went with the flow. I felt ashamed to admit it, but it turned out be to quite enjoyable. I just hoped no one found out. It would be far too embarrassing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  (Sunday - Two Days Before)

  Greg was up first and back in the kitchen cooking breakfast again. “I could get used to this,” I told him when I trudged over to the stove and brewed a cup of tea.

  He grinned. “Well, you’re the best wife in the whole world and you deserve for me to pamper you every now and then.” He pulled me into a hug. “Besides, I love being at home with my two favorite girls ... especially you.”