“That’s the second time you haven’t responded to a page.”
Miss Crossley had paged me to her office first thing the next morning, to yell at me for not responding to her pages.
“The first time, I was in Newport and it was my day off,” I said in self-defense. “And this time . . . well . . .” Did she really want to know what I was up to with Hayden? I definitely didn’t want to tell her. Besides, I’d barely gotten used to admitting it to myself. “I didn’t hear it,” I said. “Honestly. It did not make a sound.”
At least, not a sound that I wanted to hear. What is the sound of one pager buzzing? If a pager buzzes in a backpack and no one hears it . . . did it really buzz?
My stomach made a loud grumbling noise, and I realized I needed to grab some breakfast soon—very soon. Hayden and I had never gotten around to picking up that takeout meal, and by the time we got back to the Inn, the Hull was shut down for the night. We’d snuck into the dorm, it was so late.
“Well, if you say so. Perhaps you were out of range.” She gave me a suspicious look.
I wasn’t about to volunteer any information about how I’d spent the evening. “Out of range” wasn’t a bad description, though. I thought about what Hayden had said: I think I’m falling in love with you.
“All right. Let’s move on.” Miss Crossley stacked a set of papers on her desk. “Today’s assignment.”
I loved the way she made it sound as if I were a secret agent. Secret agents didn’t do dishes or clean toilets, though. At least, not the cool ones.
“C. Q. Wallace. You’ve become acquaintances, yes?” Miss Crossley asked.
I shrugged. “You could say that.”
“You have a certain rapport. And he needs someone to help him with his manuscript,” Miss Crossley said. “We’ve selected you because he already knows you, for one, and because it says in your application that you’re a good typist.”
I loved the thought of this assignment, but the beach was calling me. I wanted to be on the beach, with Hayden, not cooped up inside doing office work. I didn’t care how many sand castles I had to help build, how many games of Wiffle ball I had to play. They could give me twenty kids to look after, just as long as I got to be near Hayden.
“But Miss Crossley. Is it really the Inn’s place to help him with his book?” I asked.
Miss Crossley looked completely stunned, as if I had suggested stoning the author with rocks from the beach. “Yes, Liza, it’s our place to help him, if it means he’ll stay here longer. Do you know what long-term guests mean to this place? Survival, Liza.”
I thought of the closed and shuttered hotel Hayden and I had visited the day before, which reminded me of why I hadn’t answered her page. I felt a blush creep up my entire body, from my toes to my torso to my face to my scalp under my Tides Inn ball cap (where thankfully, it was concealed).
No matter what Miss Crossley said? Even if she docked my paycheck? I wouldn’t regret ignoring that pager. I was still kind of in shock about it, though.
“So what would this involve?” I asked.
“I believe he has a handwritten rough draft he needs to have typed. Something about carpal tunnel. You’ll work side by side for today, and possibly more days in the future.”
“So . . . no outdoor time? At all?” I asked. I felt like a dog stuck in a kennel.
“We’ll see how it goes. You’d better go see him—he’ll meet you in the lobby at ten,” Miss Crossley said. “Oh, and Liza?” she asked as I stood up to leave. “That’s the second time I’ve tried to page you and you haven’t been around. Let’s not have a third, all right?”
She didn’t come right out and say that it was my last chance—that if I got a third strike, I’d be out—but I could tell that was what she meant. It wasn’t fair, because I was the only employee who was on call all the time. But I sensed now wasn’t the time to point that out to her. If she wanted me to be there for her—I’d be there.
“What’s the book about?” I asked as I turned on the notebook computer C. Q. had brought downstairs to the back porch. He’d already plugged it into an outlet, so there was no hope of the battery running out and my job finishing early.
“It’s about identity, love, American history, and . . . oh, you’ll find out soon enough. It’s a novel about a family that vacations at a large Rhode Island hotel.”
“Kind of like The Shining?” I asked.
He frowned at me. “No. Great book, but no. This isn’t a horror novel.”
“So this large inn—is it based on this place?” I said.
“No. Resemblance to anything or anyone is strictly coincidental. Or whatever they print at the beginning of the book that means I can’t be sued.” He coughed and put out his cigarette. “Anyhow, it’s not this place. It’s a composite, of many hotels I’ve stayed at.”
“In Rhode Island,” I said. “Uh huh. Fine, whatever you say. Except you should probably change my name,” I insisted as I typed in an exchange between the main character and an employee of the hotel. “And why did you make me short? I don’t want to be short.”
“It’s fiction. Let it go,” he advised.
“And speaking of names,” I went on. If he could use mine, then I had a question about his. “What does C. Q. stand for?”
“Don’t tell anyone. But nothing. I just liked the initials. My real name is Larry.”
“Larry?” I wanted to giggle, but resisted.
“I know, Larry Wallace doesn’t have quite the same cachet as a pair of pretentious initials.”
“You’re right. Larry Wallace sounds like someone who works at the car repair shop, or a phys ed teacher or something.”
“My point exactly. What were my parents thinking?” He laughed. “They scarred me for life.”
Caroline came out onto the back porch. She was watching us, but pretending not to watch us. “Checking the surf again?” I asked her.
“What?” she said in an innocent tone.
“Nothing.” I kept typing.
“Wow. Liza, I didn’t know you were a secretary,” Caroline said.
“She’s my creative assistant today,” C. Q. said. “Now, could you get us some coffee?”
“I’m sorry?” Caroline looked highly offended.
“Don’t be sorry. Just get us the coffee,” C. Q. said.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
“I’ll try to—to—find your, uh, server,” she said.
“Or you could do it,” C. Q. said.
“I can go do it,” I offered, standing up. “If I’m your assistant, then—”
“No, you’re not going for coffee, you’re going for a land-speed record, typing this manuscript for me. Carry on. I take mine black,” he said to Caroline. She made a tsking noise and walked away.
“You need to stay right here. The fewer distractions, the better.” He stared at the beach for a second. “Oh, great. Here comes distraction number one.”
What was he talking about? I looked up and saw Hayden walking toward the Inn. He must be on break. Just seeing him, I felt this magnetic pull.
“Keep your mind on your work.”
“Sir, yes sir,” I replied. “But anyway. Why do you say that?”
“I saw you two. I’ve seen you two.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” he said.
I glanced over at C. Q. (Larry), a new cigarette dangling from his lip, writing in a notebook. While I typed, maybe he could use up some more pens, I thought, or notebooks. Then Hayden and I would have the perfect excuse to escape together.
Maybe he could run out of his famous Turkish cigarettes. And maybe Hayden and I would have to go to Turkey—or at the very least Providence—to buy some more. If Miss Crossley wanted me to keep a long-term guest happy, I was willing to do my part. As long as Hayden went with me.
I had to work so late that night that by the time I got back to the dorm, it was nearly eleven. I’d missed the party at Crandall’s Point—sitting on the porch and then after dark in the lobby typing, I’d heard everyone go rushing by. I’d missed everything. My back was killing me. But Mr. Wallace had his pages ready to send off, so tomorrow I’d have a break. I was more than ready to try something else.
I couldn’t wait to see Hayden—being away from him for the entire day had been pure torture. Even though it was late, I decided to stop by his room to say hi before I turned in for the night.
I was about to knock on the door when I heard Hayden’s voice. “I don’t want to hurt her, but I have to tell her before tomorrow,” he was saying.
Was he talking about me?
“So tell her,” Richard said.
“I can’t. She likes me now. She won’t like me after I tell her,” Hayden said.
I stepped back from the door. I was feeling really scared. I’d totally fallen for him. I’d slept with him. What did he have to tell me that was so horrible?
I definitely didn’t feel like barging in right that second and finding out. Not without checking in with Claire first. I’d go upstairs—maybe he’d left me a note, saying he needed to talk. When he was ready, he’d come find me—probably he’d been waiting all night for me to show up.
I went up to our room. There was no note and no Claire. Where could she be this late? I kicked off my sandals and sat on the edge of my bed, letting out a big, tense sigh. What was Hayden talking about? I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself.
You’ve got to go back downstairs right now, I told myself. You have to find out what this is about.
And I would—in just a few more minutes. I lay back on the bed, completely exhausted by the last forty-eight hours.
I never went back down to talk to Hayden. I fell asleep and slept so hard that the next day I slept right through breakfast, then got woken up by Miss Crossley pounding on the door, telling me to meet her at the Inn’s main doors, at the shuttle pickup. I had vague hopes of seeing Hayden, but instead it was an Inn kids’ trip to play miniature golf, race in go-karts, and hit in batting cages.
(They tried to do all that stuff without me, but I wouldn’t let them. No way was I spending the entire day observing.)
Miss Crossley dropped us off at the amusement park at ten and came back for us at four. By the time she fetched us, almost all of us had sunburns and were completely exhausted from the intense heat and activity.
I had just enough time to rush to the dorm, shower, heavily apply aloe lotion, throw on my catering clothes, run back to the kitchen, and take my tray of champagne and sparkling water out to the dining room.
When I walked in, I looked around for the bride, knowing it was Zoe’s sister, Anneke. I wanted to see how much she and Zoe looked alike. I couldn’t find Anneke at first, because she and the groom were mingling, but I did spot them across the dining room.
I spotted Zoe next.
And then I saw Hayden.
There, sitting at the head table beside Zoe, was Hayden, wearing a dark-blue suit and looking extremely handsome.
What was he doing there? He didn’t tell me he was going to the wedding.
They’re old family friends, I tried to tell myself. They go way back.
Don’t they?
Okay, so they were from the same town, so why wouldn’t he be at her sister’s wedding? It made sense. It was all extremely innocent and platonic.
Then I saw the wedding photographer stop at the table to take a photo, just as I was walking in that direction to say hi to both of them.
“Come on, everyone, say cheese. Kiss for the camera!” the photographer urged, and somebody in the crowd started to ring their glass with a knife, so the married couple would kiss.
Hayden put his arms around Zoe’s shoulder, and then he pressed his lips against Zoe’s cheek. She turned her head and he kissed her right on the mouth.