Page 15 of Happy After All

Everyone is nice enough in town, but it’s just the way with small towns. People are new for years and years. I’m lucky I’m being accepted into the fold this quickly.

Maybe they started believing I’d stay at around the time I started believing it.

The trouble with Nathan being in residence is that when he’s here it seems like the entire motel sits up and takes notice. For all that the man keeps to himself, he can’t reach out the door to grab his takeout without earning sly comments from my older ladies or wide-eyed looks of fascination from Emma and her friends.

Albert pretends not to notice the shenanigans, and yet I note that he does. I’m quite certain Jonathan and his husband are running a bet on something to do with Nathan, though I haven’t figured outwhatyet.

I sit in my room and go over expense reports and tell myself I’ll open my manuscript revisions at any moment.

At least, that’s what’s supposed to be happening, when I hear what might be anactual ruckusoutside my door.

“Heavens above.”

I open the door to see Wilma standing there with a hand dramatically pressed to her bosom. Today she’s wearing a gold lamé top with angled shoulder pads and a large piece of costume jewelry around her neck that glints with every movement. I don’t expect restraint from her, but this is more dramatic than a typical Tuesday.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“I’m having issues with the washing machine, but I expected you to be at the front desk.” She clasps her fingers beneath her chin and stares at me too intently.

“I wasn’t,” I say. “Because Elise is working today.”

“It’s very difficult to get used to,” Wilma says, shifting her body and looking at me out of the corner of her eye, and I really can’t say why she cares so much.

“It’s hard to get used to after a year?”

“Darlin’,” she says, planting a hand on her hip. “I am eighty-four years old. One year isnothing.”

“What exactly is happening?”

“I’ve caused a flood,” she says. “It’s just a big ol’ mess.”

As soon as the wordfloodexits her mouth, I’m halfway out the door, because I’m iffy on whether my insurance will cover water damage. That’s one of those things I know gets contentious.

“How did you cause a flood?” I’m following her quickly to the laundry room.

“I don’t know. I’m not a mechanic or a washer person.”

“Awasher person?”

“I’m being gender inclusive.”

“Right.”

Grandly, she opens the door to the laundry room, and it hits Nathan in his broad right shoulder.

“Sorry,” I say.

He turns around, and his green eyes crash into mine.

I wasn’t prepared for him. I like to tell myself I’ve gotten used to him. The impact of him. The perfect arrangement of his features.

That’s a lie, and I know how much of a lie it is when my heart jumps up my throat and makes a play to escape through my mouth.

“He just happened to be walking by,” Wilma says, “when the washing machine started to flood.”

“Oh?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.

“Yes,” Wilma says.

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