Page 2 of Rumor Has It

Unfortunately, Rudy’s name fits.

I use the keypad to let myself in the front door. My shoulders sag as I push it closed using my back and I reset the alarm by the entryway. A table lamp is on the grand foyer, shining enough light to trudge up the stairs.

My older sister, Gracyn, who by a twist of fate is also Rhiannon’s older sister, sought permission to turn my grandparent’s Tudor mansion into a bed-and-breakfast. No one expected its popularity to soar and I wouldn’t have a job if the family hadn’t adapted to accommodate its growth.

A few months after accepting a default position as the cook, I moved into a shoe box room located off of the summer kitchen. Before me, it belonged to Bellamy, Grandaddy’s companion at the time, and before that, it was Benita’s, the original housekeeper my great-grandfather employed.

Not long after Grandaddy passed, Gracyn told me to box my belongings and bring them upstairs to the master bedroom. Like the problem that happened at the winery’s banquet hall, which everyone glosses over, there wasn’t much discussion. Nor did I argue. It was easier, once again, to take the crumbs they tossed me. After tonight, it appears I’ve made that a bad habit.

In my room, I wash my face and change into a cropped shirt that says “ho-ho-ho”. The matching pants have candy canes printed on them. I love the holidays and I can use a spark of joy in my life right about now.

I turn off my alarm and set my phone down. Snapping off the overhead light, I lift my paperback from the nightstand along with the clip-on book light. After reading the same paragraph multiple times, I give up and rest it on my chest. I made breakfast for the guests who departed this morning, but I’m also emotionally exhausted from embarrassment at the restaurant tonight. The day is catching up with me and I’m tired.

Sometimes lying alone in Gran and Grandad’s room in the middle of the night reminds me of sleepovers here. When I had a hard time falling asleep, I’d tiptoe in. Gran would lift her side of the covers and snuggle me to her.

The next morning at sunrise, my sister and my cousins would pig pile onto the bed to wake Granddaddy. He’d take us on a walk through the woods while the bats were still awake and we’d arrive home to delicious scents from the kitchen.

I know I’m not the only one who thinks that no matter how full the house gets, it is lonely without Ross and Rose here anymore.

Despite being in the hospitality business, one rule remains steadfast: This was once a home and no one in our family should feel put out during the holidays. The silence in the mansion tonight is a reminder of how much they loved each other.

Has reading all these books turned me into a hopeless romantic? Is Rhiannon correct and that kind of enduring love is out of reach?

Later, a trilling interrupts my lazy musings. It takes a moment to realize I’ve fallen asleep. My phone is buzzing.

When I roll to answer, pages from the book I was reading shuffle. It falls to the floor with a thump. Untangling my arms from the warm sheets, I pat my hand across the soft mattress until it hits hard wood. My knuckles graze on the corner of the nightstand. I wince at the scratch against my skin. I have to open my eyes or risk hanging up on whomever it is by accident.

The picture on the screen is of a wiry blond-headed boy. My cousin, Gatlin, when he was seven. He has on a too-small Longhorns jersey and boxer briefs printed with pineapples wearing sunglasses. He’s also dancing with unplugged wired headphones on. The professional kind with huge cushioned earpieces that dwarf his noggin.

I’m the girl who assigns pictures to each of my family members on my phone. Some of my cousins’ photos are weirder than others, and I love snapshots foreshadowing parts of their personality that have shined through to adulthood the best.

“Hello,” I mumble.

“Hey, Cass, I’m sorry to wake you,” Gatlin apologizes.

I roll onto my back, taking in the angles of the tray ceiling and the monotone shades of blue that blend with the garden lights and creep through the darkness into my room.

“It’s not a big deal,” I reply to Gatlin, surprised he’s awake.

Gatlin hosts a syndicated morning radio show with Bellamy, whom he married. They’re early risers like me. For him to call at nighttime means it is important.

“So, I know the B&B is closed—and I already ran it by Gracyn for her permission—so you’re not breaking family rules…”

“Yeah, no, what, whatever. What do you need?” I say, wanting him to get to the point.

Being too awake during this conversation will make it harder to fall back to sleep and I’ll lie here rehashing my horrible taste in men.

Plus, even though Gracyn lives a few miles away, my older sister is the actual innkeeper. Therefore, as the resident cook, I don’t have any reason to argue if Gatlin has spoken to my boss—a title I use loosely because, if you knew Gracyn before she was a wife and mother, being the boss of anyone would go straight to her head.

Though he has Gracyn’s blessing to do whatever he wants, Gatlin’s words rush out with a twinge of regret. “I’ve got someone from the show who I need to put up overnight. You won’t even notice he’s there. He’s finicky about his privacy.”

“That’s fine,” I remark.

Gatlin wouldn’t ask Gracyn to bend the rules if it weren’t important. I’m glad he’s had the courtesy to inform me there will be a man walking around the house.

“If your friend needs food, then you bring it to him.”

This is my vacation. I’m not giving it up and I’m not feeding anyone. Period. I made Gracyn put that in my employment contract when I took the position here.

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