Three months later…
“Calm down. Everything will be fine,” Celeste’s friend, Abby said.
“You’re right. Once the wedding professionals who are handling the event arrive, they’ll have it all down pat. I just have so much riding on this, Abby, and I want it to be perfect.”
“The kitchen is as clean as it can get,” Henrietta, her part-time cook, said. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning. Try not to worry. It will all go like clockwork.”
“Fingers crossed,” Celeste said. “Have a good rest of the day.”
The heavyset woman departed through the outside exit. Henrietta had reached and passed retirement age but still held down two part-time jobs to supplement her social security. That’s going to be me if I don’t make a success of the Gran Vista.
Celeste stood up from the table and walked to the counter where the coffee maker kept a constant brew going. In the appliances’ stainless steel finish, she caught sight of her graying temples and slightly sagging jawline. She sighed. Thirty years ago, I gave birth to my youngest child. Now, I’m an old lady. She filled two cups and set one in front of her friend.
“I can’t remember if I dusted the light fixtures in the party room,” she said.
Abby’s fingers encircled Celeste’s wrist. “Sit down and relax for a minute. There’s plenty of time for you to make the light fixtures sparkle and shine.”
It seemed like a lifetime had passed since Abby Benson had been Celeste’s childhood friend in the small, Eastern North Carolina farming community where they’d grown up. They’d lost touch after going away to college and reconnected when Abby and her husband had sold their independent pharmacy and purchased a cabin near the Gran Vista. It didn’t seem to matter how their lives had taken different paths. The threads of friendship hadn’t frayed, and Celeste was glad for it. She’d needed Abby’s shoulder following Howard’s sudden death. Celeste eased herself into her chair and sipped from her cup.
“That marketing genius you hired must be doing a good job,” Abby said. “Weddings usually book six months to a year in advance. Yet, here you are hosting one only a few months after running your first promotion.”
“This couple wasn’t planning an elaborate wedding that would take a long time to pull together. It’s a small, family affair—less than fifty on the guest list. The groom is a prominent businessman in Charlotte. He’s a widower, and the bride’s a widow so I suppose they wanted to keep it simple for their second trip down the aisle.”
“I saw your ad on one of the social media sites. It was very eye-catching without looking like clickbait,” Abby said.
“I was pleased with it, too. There’s been an uptick in bookings over the last few weeks. According to Bill, a lot of hits have been coming to the hotel website through the ad you saw. They have some way of keeping track of it.” She paused and leaned across the table. “To realize a complete return on my investment with Bill’s PR firm, I need this wedding to be perfect. Good reviews from the Carlyles and their guests will help publicize the Gran Vista as much as any ad will.”
A lock of Abby’s red hair fell down across her face, and she pushed it behind her ear. I wonder if she dyes it. Abby never had children. That’s probably why she isn’t gray, yet or why she looks ten years younger than I do.
“This place is immaculate, Celeste, and the weather is supposed to be gorgeous through the weekend. What could go wrong?”
“Please don’t jinx me by posing that question.” She relaxed against the padded wooden chair. “I want the Gran Vista to be a success for Howard, even though he’s not here to see it.”
The four-story building could accommodate at least sixty guests. Four suites occupied the top floor. The second and third floors had eight rooms each—two king-sized, four doubles, and two standards. The Carlyle wedding party had reserved four king-sized rooms, two standard rooms, and the honeymoon suite. Celeste had spent most of the morning inspecting every square inch of those rooms and cleaning any spots that the housekeepers might have missed.
“What about for you, Celeste?” Abby leaned forward and cradled her coffee mug between her hands. “Don’t be angry with me for saying this but sometimes, I feel that you’re killing yourself to keep some part of Howard alive.”
“You don’t understand,” Celeste said.
She started to speak further but stopped and bit her tongue. Even though Abby had hit a sore spot, she was only trying to be a good friend.
“Then make me understand,” Abby said. “Tell me what you’re feeling, Celeste.”
Abby had missed her calling. She should’ve gone into psychology instead of pharmacology.
“If I hadn’t been tied to that damned television station,” Celeste said. “He could’ve had his dream a long time ago. He could’ve had years to enjoy it instead of the short time that he did. But no, I had to put my job first and look at what happened. The station was sold, and I was kicked out on my ass, replaced by a computer app, with nothing to show for all the time I gave up.” She paused to take a deep breath and release it through pursed lips. “Yes, I want this to honor Howard’s memory, but I want it for me, as well. I’m sixty-two. I did the same job for twenty-five years—a job that’s now been made obsolete by technology. Who is going to hire me if I have to go to work again?”
“Didn’t you tell me that you and Howard took hotel management courses at the community college before you opened this place?”
Celeste laughed. “So when I go for an interview, I can say, ‘I bankrupted my hotel, but please give me a chance to manage yours’.”
Abby’s smile spoke volumes. There was no need for her friend to say aloud what she was thinking. Celeste slumped in her chair.
“You don’t have to tell me that I’m getting a little crazy,” she said.
“A little?”
A knock on the outside door interrupted their laughter. Celeste peeked through the window and saw a petite, younger woman standing outside. Parked behind her, Celeste saw a white van emblazoned with the logo, Renee’s Catering. Celeste had met Renee Jenkins earlier in the week when the caterer had come by to make her plans for how to arrange the party room and staging area for both the rehearsal dinner and wedding luncheon. She’d seemed confident and capable at that meeting. Now, she looked frazzled and out-of-breath.
“I wasn’t expecting you this early in the day,” Celeste said.
“I know,” Renee said. “But I need a favor, and I hope you’ll help me out.”
Celeste ushered her inside.
“A water main broke downtown,” Renee continued. “They had to turn off the electricity to the side of the street where my shop is located and won’t have it switched on until late this afternoon.”
Celeste looked around the kitchen at the outdated but still functioning appliances. Howard had estimated that it hadn’t seen a remodel since the 1980s. The former Harvest Moon Lodge had operated a full-service restaurant. With the exception of a breakfast buffet for guests only, Howard hadn’t wanted the responsibility or expense of running a restaurant.
“These aren’t the most up-to-date appliances, but they all work,” Celeste said. “And you’re welcome to use them.”
Renee’s expression changed to relief and joy rolled into one. She slipped a red band off of her wrist and used it to style her thick, dark hair into a bun atop her head.
“Thank you, Mrs. Adams. There’s no way I could’ve prepared appetizers, dinner, and baked a cake for fifteen people in my apartment kitchen.”
“Please, call me Celeste and this is the hotel’s first wedding so I’m a bit nervous, too.”
Abby stood up. “Do you need help getting the food out of your van?”
“I can handle it,” Renee said. “I have my helpers with me.”
Renee went to the van, and Celeste saw two men attired in the same blue polo shirts and khaki pants that Renee wore. On her previous visit, Renee had told her that she’d been a recent graduate of the local community college’s culinary arts program. Starting her catering business had been a dream come true.
“I’m glad that I could help her,” Celeste said. “If we had a water main break here, I might take it as a bad omen.”
“Don’t mention omens,” Abby said. “Every wedding has some little glitch, and it looks as if this one is solved.”
“I’d better dust those light fixtures now,” Celeste said. “Surprising things can show up in photographs, and I wouldn’t want dingy bulbs to ruin Mrs. Carlyle’s wedding pictures.”
Celeste stood in front of her closet contemplating her choices. The aquamarine, a-line dress is best. She laid it across the bed and removed the jeans and floral tunic top she’d worn earlier in the day. She’d bought the dress for the twenty-fifth-anniversary cruise that she and Howard had taken to Bermuda. At once, a bad memory overshadowed the good one. Halfway through the cruise, she’d taken a spill on deck and sprained her ankle—not to mention her pride. Touring Bermuda on crutches had been difficult, and they’d missed some of the points of interest they’d wanted to see. Don’t worry. We’ll take this trip again for our thirty-fifth, Howard had said. Why can’t memories come with an editing function?
She pulled the dress over her head and yanked the zipper up the back. Considering her weight loss since Howard’s death, the garment hung looser than it had the last time she’d worn it. Still, it made a better impression than her usual—dress for comfort like someone’s grandma’s clothing. She accessorized it with the smoky quartz jewelry she’d purchased at a local craft fair and took a gander at herself in the full-length mirror.
“You’re looking good, Ceecee,” she said in her best impression of Howard’s voice.
At three p.m., she opened the lobby doors and greeted the first members of the Carlyle wedding party. Three couples introduced themselves as the groom’s sons, Roger, Alan, Tom, and their respective wives, Jessica, Kylie, and Missy. All three young men were of average height, build, similar brown hair color, and appeared to be around the same age as Celeste’s two children—early to mid-thirties.
Alan, the only one of the three brothers with brown eyes, seemed to exhibit curiosity about the hotel’s construction. He ran his hand along the doorframe and let his gaze wander overhead to the lobby’s knotty pine ceiling. When his eyes settled on her face again, he showed her a charismatic smile.
“Is that reclaimed wood on the ceiling?” he asked.
“Yes,” Celeste said. “My husband bought it as salvage from an old church that was being demolished. He cleaned and refinished every board. I couldn’t tell you how many hours he put into the job.”
“Nice work,” Alan said. “I manage a building supply center in Charlotte. I’m aware of how much it costs to buy that material new.”
Her eyes shifted downward from his face, and she noticed a company logo embroidered over the pocket of his green polo shirt. He must have come here direct from work.
“When we priced it,” she said. “We almost went with a cheaper product. Howard couldn’t believe his luck when he found just enough salvaged material to cover this ceiling.”
“I can imagine,” he said. He removed a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “If you ever need anything in the way of building supplies, give me a call.”
The kid’s a natural-born salesman. “I will, and I hope this won’t be your only visit to the Gran Vista.”
Alan joined his brothers at the reception counter. His wife, Kylie stood on the other side of the lobby. She held her phone close to her face and the movement of her thumbs indicated that she might have been sending a text message. Jessica and Missy stood behind their husbands and chatted with each other. Celeste didn’t intentionally eavesdrop on their conversation, but the women’s voices carried across the lobby. She heard the bride’s name mentioned in the same sentence with the words tacky wedding dress. Some snickering ensued, and Celeste moved closer to the door and out of earshot. Why do weddings sometimes bring out the worst in people?
From her vantage point, she spotted two more cars arriving. She recognized the bride emerging from a red sports car. At their initial meeting, the attractive brunette, Emma Olson had impressed her as a go-getter. Her enthusiasm and energy had been apparent during their walk-through of the facilities. Even though she’d brought along a woman she introduced as her wedding planner, it had been apparent that Emma had full charge of every detail.
Emma waited by her car until the other vehicle, a small SUV used by the local, private airport’s taxi service came to a stop. A tall man with a slightly heavy build and graying hair disembarked from the rear door. The way Emma grabbed his hand and walked close to him Celeste guessed that he must be the groom, Wesley Carlyle. She held the door for them to enter along with the driver who wheeled in their luggage.
“Mrs. Adams, it’s good to see you again,” Emma said.
Celeste nodded. “Likewise.”
“This is my fiancé, Wes.”
Seeing him close-up, he appeared to be sixty or thereabouts. Then again, people didn’t age at the same pace. Celeste liked to believe that she looked younger than her age, but the mirror and lighting often killed that fantasy. He extended his hand, and she placed her right hand in it. His firm grip and easy smile told her that, like his son, Alan, he was a gifted salesman.
The taxi driver placed their luggage at the end of the counter and departed. Celeste watched him leave the parking lot. Mr. Carlyle must’ve flown in from Charlotte.
“We’re looking forward to having our wedding festivities in your establishment,” he said while turning his head to scan the lobby. “I love the charm of this place. That mural of Grandview Overlook is exceptional.” He paused and leaned close to Emma. “We should take a few wedding photos in front of it.”
Celeste smiled. She enjoyed Mr. Carlyle’s observation. It would’ve made Howard immensely happy.
“My late husband commissioned it from a local artist,” she said. “We purchased several pieces of artwork from different high country galleries to use in the hotel.”
“Good choice,” he said. “I’ll have to tour the place later. I’d like to rest for a little while before the rehearsal.”
“You’ll be staying in the honeymoon suite,” she said.
He grinned. “Emma will be staying there tonight, and I’ll join her tomorrow night after the wedding.”
“Oh, of course.” Her cheeks tingled, and she hoped she wasn’t blushing with embarrassment. “If you’ll step over to the reception desk, Maddie will take care of checking you in.”
Wes greeted his sons with back pats and handshakes. They’re not a hugging family. Celeste’s family had never been huggers, but Howard’s family could be fanatics about it. She’d had to get used to it in the early days of their marriage.
“We have two more family members coming who’ll be staying for the weekend,” Emma said. “The other members of the wedding party live in Lenoir so they can drive in for the rehearsal tonight and return for the wedding tomorrow. It’s only twenty miles.”
Without the concealing make-up that Emma had worn on her initial visit, Celeste could see that she was older than she’d originally thought. At least, forty—possibly forty-five, I’d say.
“The other two who are staying with us will be my sister, Beverly, and my brother, Nathan,” Emma continued.
Renee had mentioned that she’d planned the rehearsal dinner for fifteen people. I wonder if Lenoir is Emma’s hometown. Emma answered her question as if she’d read Celeste’s mind.
“I grew up in Lenoir. My parents and most of my family still live there,” she said. “When I was a child, we came here many times to go camping and fishing so this area is like a home away from home. I went to college in Boone—Appalachian class of 2000.” She paused and leaned closer to Celeste. “I have a confession to make. When I was in school at ASU, I worked here as a waitress in the restaurant. After I’d heard that The Harvest Moon had been remodeled and reopened, I didn’t look anywhere else. It reminded me of a wonderful time in my life, and I hope this marriage will be the start of another such time.”
“I’m glad our renovations impressed you, and I hope all of your guests will be comfortable here and will want to make a return visit in the future.”
Oh, good grief, I sounded like the recording on our automated phone system. She pulled the line from one of her hotel management course books. Maybe, I’ll skip it for now.
“I can’t believe the difference you’ve made,” Emma said. “There used to be a gold-colored carpet in here, and you could see the trail guests had blazed from the check-in desk to the elevators.”
Celeste chuckled at her own memory of that carpet. “The first time my husband and I toured the place with the real estate agent, I cringed when I saw the carpeting. We wasted no time taking it out of here and good riddance to it.”
She stopped speaking when she felt her voice quake. Upon first laying eyes on the hotel, she’d felt as if she’d been transported forty years into the past. She’d expressed her concerns to Howard. Bringing this old building into the present-day is going to be a monumental task, she’d told him. But his confident attitude and contagious enthusiasm could always win her over. We can do it, Ceecee. We’ve always dreamed of this and now, it’s ours.
“The hardwood you replaced it with is a hundred times better,” Emma said.
As much as she wanted the opportunity to brag on her achievements, Emma had little time to waste.
“You’d better check in,” Celeste said. “You have a big evening ahead of you.”
Emma smiled and joined her husband at the reception desk. Celeste saw that the Carlyle sisters-in-law had gathered next to the elevator while their husbands chatted with Wes. Jessica and Missy resembled one another enough to be sisters. Both were the same height and blonde with similar short haircuts, but Missy was thin while Jessica had a curvy figure. Kylie, on the other hand, was tall, a brunette, and could have been a little older than the other two. As her husband had earlier, she seemed to be admiring the lobby’s woodwork. Howard had used two-by-sixes with a chestnut stain to trim the opening for the elevator doors so that even that necessary mechanism didn’t take away from the mountain lodge ambiance.
Jessica tapped her sandal-clad foot on the burgundy, vinyl mat placed in front of the elevator doors to protect the hardwood floor from the traffic. She kept tossing glances at her husband. If Roger is anything like Howard, it will do her no good to rush him when he’s in the middle of what seems to be a serious discussion.
“I’d rather be at Hilton Head,” Missy said. Her hand shook while she touched up her lipstick. “This whole affair makes me nervous. I hope Papa Wes knows what he’s doing.”
“I have a couple of sellers on the hook who are almost ready to close on a deal I’ve been putting together,” Kylie responded. “This is the last place I need to be.”
“You really have it rough,” Jessica said. “Wes is not only your father-in-law—he’s your boss, too. I don’t think I could stand working for him. He’s always thought that Roger could’ve chosen a better wife than me.”
“That’s your imagination, Jessica,” Kylie said. “I’ve never heard him say anything against you.”
The entry doors bumped Celeste from behind, and she jumped. The burst of adrenaline caused her heartbeat to race. That’s what I get for listening to a private conversation instead of paying attention to my job. She moved aside to allow a middle-aged woman to enter. The lady wore jeans, sporty sandals, and a silk shirt, but Celeste didn’t have a chance to greet her. She made a beeline for Emma and the two women hugged. Emma’s sister, I presume. Her suspicion was confirmed when she heard Emma address the woman as Beverly. They didn’t resemble one another. Beverly had a lighter shade of hair, more height, and a more voluptuous figure than Emma’s. Celeste also guessed that Beverly was the senior of the two.
“Ryan didn’t come with you?” Emma asked.
“He had too much work today to take off early,” Beverly said. “He’ll drive in with the girls this evening, but I told him that my sister needed me here as soon as possible for moral support.”
Emma’s glance in the direction of her soon-to-be step-daughters-in-law didn’t escape Celeste’s notice.
“Your intuition is always spot on,” Emma said.
“When is Nathan coming?” Beverly asked.
“He’s driving down from Pittsburgh so he might run in just in time for the rehearsal.”
“Same old Nathan,” Beverly said. “I hope you told him that the rehearsal is an hour earlier than the actual time it starts.”
Celeste smiled at the exchange. Her son, Cameron’s lack of punctuality could drive Howard crazy. Her husband had never been late for anything in his life, but Cam’s sense of timing was always at least ten minutes off.
After greeting and forming a general impression of the Carlyle clan, Celeste retired to her cottage behind the hotel to get some rest. The cottage hadn’t been part of the original hotel. Howard had the modular home moved onto the grounds so that they could be near the hotel during every phase of the renovation.
They’d realized its convenience during the first heavy snowfall following their grand opening. Nineteen inches had accumulated in the overnight hours, making the road by the Gran Vista impassable. With their staff unable to reach the hotel, the two of them had to take care of their snowbound guests. She and Howard had breathed a sigh of relief when the snowplows arrived several hours later.
Recently, she’d thought of moving into one of the four suites on the top floor of the hotel and offering the two-bedroom cottage as an accommodation for guests who might want more privacy. If she did decide to make the move, downsizing wouldn’t be a problem. She’d already accomplished that feat once before when they’d sold their three-bedroom, two-and-one-half-bath home in Raleigh to move to the mountains.
She walked into the combination kitchen/dining room to brew a cup of coffee in her single-cup coffee maker. She’d never been one to hold on to too much. Howard, on the other hand, couldn’t part with anything. When they’d cleaned out the garage before moving, she’d found a box of old hunting, fishing, and tool catalogs that he’d been keeping for years. Howard, why do you still have these? She’d asked him. I might need them someday, he’d answered. From the dates on the catalogs, she was sure the prices were no longer effective and one or two of the stores had gone out of business.
Celeste took her coffee to the oversized loveseat in her living room and grabbed the remote. She switched on the classic television station to the four o’clock episode of Perry Mason. My childhood is classic. I really am old. She held the ceramic cup between her hands and savored the warm liquid as it rolled around on her tongue and slid down her throat. She loved her afternoon coffee, but it didn’t keep her eyelids from drooping.
Worrying over hosting the Gran Vista’s first wedding had interfered with her sleep the previous night. Come on, coffee do your stuff. She took a few more sips. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of a nap. Someone might need her, but her eyes began to cross. She might as well have had a bowling ball atop her shoulders. What happened to the days when I could stay awake all night with a sick child and still keep going through a busy day at work? Her eyes closed again when a mattress commercial appeared on the screen. Her head fell to one side. Age is just a number—a sleep number.