Page 2 of Please Send Snow
But theWelcomemat is still in place. And even though theWhas faded completely away, I don’t feel any less welcome at the sight.
Pushing open the stout chestnut door feels like coming home. The warmth of the interior washes over me instantly and I drink in the sight of the wood paneled walls of the big lobby and the scent of the cracking fire in the stone fireplace. I offer a brief wave over my shoulder as the cab pulls away and the door shuts behind me.
Inside, the Christmas displays are as impressive as ever, if a bit faded. There’s a vignette by the desk of life-sized reindeer nuzzling each other. The center of the lobby is dedicated to a miniature Christmas village display, complete with a frozen lake covered in zipping and twirling magnetic skaters. I think maybe a few of the skaters are missing, but it’s still as magical as I remember.
And in the far corner, there’s Santa’s mailbox painted in candy cane stripes. When I was a kid, I was convinced that Santa really checked that box, so I always made sure to leave a letter during our stay.
The lobby isn’t as bustling as I expected, but it’s probably just a little late in the evening for that. I head right up to the counter and my heart aches when I notice the display of Foster’s Figurines. The little animals are so sweet in their Christmas finery, but if I let myself really look at them, all the memories will come rushing in and I need to stay focused.
“Welcome to the lodge,” a woman says, greeting me from behind the counter with a professional smile.
I swallow, wondering why she’s back there. Sidney is the manager, and he’s an elderly man.
Her eyes travel slowly down my coat and jeans to my wet sneakers and the out-of-place travel bag that’s probably worth more than the cab I came in on. I’m caught between the world I used to occupy and the one where I live now.
“Is Sidney around?” I ask her hopefully. I’ll need to talk to him if I want to get a job.
“Sidney retired a few years back,” the girl says. “I’m the manager now. My name is Margo, and I can help with anything you need.”
I stare at her for a moment, blinking stupidly as the panic begins to rise in my chest. This isn’t how I pictured it. The idea of Sidney retiring is unthinkable. Sure, he was an older guy even back when I used to come here, but he loved this place. I guess I just thought he would go down with the ship.
“You’re the new manager?” I ask.
Brilliant, Maddie. She just said she was.
“I sure am,” Margo reassures me with a patient smile.
“Great,” I tell her, trying my best to rally. “I’m hoping to find a job.”
“Oh,” she says, her smile fading. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any openings.”
That can’t be true. Sidney always used to tell my dad about how hard it was to find enough good workers up on the mountain. There seemed to constantly be a shortage, with one person always filling in for another.
Margo was eyeing my bag before. Maybe she’sassuming I’m not the type that’s willing to get her hands dirty, or that I’m just passing through.
“I’m not picky,” I tell her right away. “I’m happy to wash dishes or clean rooms, whatever needs doing. And I’ll stick around. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I really wish we had an opening,” Margo says, her gaze hardening. “But I barely have enough shifts for the staff we’ve already got.”
The phone rings before I can reply and she picks it up.
“Reception,” she chirps with false cheeriness.
I turn away from the desk, trying to hold it together. I’ve had myself convinced that things would work out if I made it back here, so this is honestly the first time since my life started unraveling that I’ve felt like I was really out of options.
“Miss Foster,” a friendly voice says from behind me.
I turn to see Michael, the doorman. He must be in his late seventies by now—he was even older than Sidney—but he looks as impressive as ever with his pressed suit, silver hair, and sparkling blue eyes.
I wonder for a moment if he just heard my conversation with Margo.
“May I take your bag for you?” he asks.
If he thinks I’m a guest, then he obviously didn’t overhear anything. I’m not sure what to say, so I just blink at him like I did at poor Margo. Is that normal? How much are people supposed to blink? I honestly can’t remember. However much it is, I am definitely overdoing it.
“Apologies, Miss Foster,” he says, clearly misunderstanding my hesitation. I’m kind of surprised that herecognized me, but that’s typical Michael. “We’ve had to do some downsizing. I’m no longer just the doorman, I’m also the bellhop now.”
And apparently that’s all it takes to break me. All the tears I’ve been holding back over my own situation suddenly prickle at my eyes at the thought of sweet Michael in his carefully pressed suit having to carry people’s bags, and it’s taking everything I’ve got to hold them back.
