Page 80 of The Hotel Nantucket
Kimber settles between Richie’s legs and leans her head back against his chest. Doug the dog lies on the floor at their feet. He lifts his head when Grace hovers over him and starts to whine. He’s still not used to her.
“Why don’t you come to New York after Columbus Day,” Kimber says. “Live with us.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? There are plenty of jobs in the city. My divorce will be final, or nearly.”
“You wanted asummerromance,” Richie says.
“Well, maybe now I want aromance-romance,” Kimber says. She wraps Richie’s arms around her. “I don’t want this to end.”
Grace sighs. So sweet! She would like to think of Kimber and Richie ending up together when they leave here. She wants to believe that the hotel is more than just cedar and salt. It’s a place that can create at least one happily-ever-after.
On the morning of the twenty-fourth, Chad gets to work early at Ms. English’s request. He figures this is because of Mr. Darling’s arrival. The hotel has to be even more immaculate than its usual immaculate self.
When he gets to the housekeeping office, he sees an unfamiliar older woman in uniform—khakis and hydrangea-blue polo shirt—running through the hundred-point checklist with Ms. English. This woman has bright red hair that looks spun over her scalp like cotton candy. Her face is plump and wrinkled and kind-seeming. She must be a reinforcement for Mr. Darling’s visit.
“Chadwick,” Ms. English says. “Please meet Doris Mulvaney, your new cleaning partner.”
“My…”
“You’ll be showing Doris the ropes today. I told her you were one of our best cleaners!”
One of the best on a staff of four isn’t much of an accomplishment but Chad feels a swell of pride nonetheless. He offers Doris a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mulvaney.”
She giggles and her blue eyes twinkle. “Call me Doris, please, lad.” She has an Irish accent, which is cool, Chad thinks.
Chad looks at Ms. English. “Where’s Bibi?”
“You and Doris will start with third-floor checkouts. We need to get the entire third floor cleaned before Mr. Darling arrives.”
“No problem, but—”
“Thank you, Chadwick. If you stop by here at the end of the day, we can chat then. But not now—we have too much work in front of us.”
Chad and Doris take the service elevator to the third floor.
“How old are you, lad?” Doris asks.
“Twenty-two,” he says flatly. Bibi was fired, he thinks.Ms. English gave her the ax.But she didn’t steal the Gucci belt! That was a ruse cooked up by the fake Shelly Carpenter! Bibi probably didn’t take Mrs. Daley’s Fendi scarf either. Mrs. Daley must have left it at Ventuno.
“In university?” Doris asks.
“I graduated in May,” he says. “From Bucknell University in central Pennsylvania.”
“And now you’re working here?”
“Uh-huh,” Chad says. He wants to be polite, but he also doesn’t want to encourage chatting. “My parents have a home here and this is my summer job.” He wonders if maybe something else is going on. Maybe Bibi’s daughter, Smoky, was diagnosed with some kind of awful cancer or maybe there was a domestic issue with the baby-daddy, Johnny Quarter. Maybe Bibi and Smoky got in the car and went looking for Johnny Quarter or maybe Octavia and Neves were mean to Bibi on the ferry and that made her quit.
“My son is the plumber for the hotel,” Doris says. “And when I heard you were shorthanded in the housekeeping department, I offered to jump in and help. I cleaned rooms at the Balsams resort in Colebrook, New Hampshire, for years and at Ballyseede Castle back in Ireland when I was your age.” She pats his arm. “So I know what I’m doing.”
“When did you hear we were shorthanded?” Chad asks.
Doris shrugs. “Top of last week, I believe.”
Top of last week? But Bibi has been at work every day. Just yesterday she informed Chad that they were tripling the floral arrangements in every suite because of Xavier Darling’s arrival. There would be bouquets in the living room and both bedrooms. Chad and Bibi had groaned about this together—triple the lily stamens to trim, triple the hydrangea dust!—but there had been no indication that Bibi wouldn’t be around to pluck the wilting snapdragon blossoms. When they’d parted ways the day before, Bibi had slung her backpack over her shoulder and said, “See ya, Long Shot.” Just like usual.
He wants to text and ask her what happened. Is she okay? But Chad doesn’t have Bibi’s number. There were times when he’d wanted to ask for it, but he’d always stopped himself because…why? He obviously thought about Bibi when he wasn’t at work—never in a sexual way, just in a friendship way. There were TikToks he’d wanted to send her and news bulletins about fin sightings on the south shore (Bibi was a devoted fan of Shark Week), stuff they could talk about the next day at work. But he never wanted to seem weird or eager and he certainly didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. Now, however, he has no way to reach her.
