Page 3 of Please Send Snow
Don’t you dare start sobbing,I admonish myself inwardly.You’ll give this lovely man a heart attack.
“Oh dear,” Michael says, taking my arm. “Come, let’s get you comfortable.”
We make it out of the lobby and into the corridor where a set of stairs leads up to the second floor rooms in the lodge, and a big door opens to the path that leads to the outdoor cabins.
He’s about to ask which way we’re going. The jig is up, as my dad used to say. I’ll have to explain myself. I decide that I’ll do it in the elegant way I’ve practiced a hundred times, with a light reference to the loss of my dad and a self-deprecating quip about the direction my life has taken that won’t make him feel too sorry for me.
“I… I don’t have a room,” I blurt out too loudly, stopping in my tracks.
So much for my elegant explanation.
“Well don’t you worry,” Michael tells me. “We’ve got plenty of empty rooms. I can reserve one for you now, if you’d like.”
I’m really not sure how to tell him I can’t afford a room, so I just blink at him some more, hoping for divineinspiration and wondering if it’s possible to hurt your eyes by over-blinking.
Come on, Maddie. You’re supposed to be a writer. Coming up with the right words is literally your entire job.
“We were very sad to hear about your father,” Michael offers. “He was a great man.”
It’s funny to think of my dad as agreat man. To me, he was an absentminded, warmhearted artist, prone to wandering the house in a clay-encrusted t-shirt and jeans with his hair sticking up at odd angles.
But he would gladly give you that t-shirt off his back, that much was true. And Michael’s kind eyes remind me that he would probably do the same.
Even though I remember everything about this place, I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone here to remember me or my family. But just a few minutes with Michael is enough to remind me that it was always the people that made this place so special.
“Thank you,” I tell him, giving up on finding the right words and settling for the truth. “The thing is, I can’t really reserve a room right now. I don’t have any money.”
“Oh, Miss Foster,” he says softly.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, plastering on a brave smile. “I’ll figure something out. You don’t have to worry about me.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl like a cat in an alley fight.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” he suggests. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”
“Thank you,” I tell him meekly. I want to argue, but I just can’t.
He leads me outside and the chance to see thegrounds of the lodge in the pale moonlight lifts my spirits, even if it’s just for a moment.
The back lawn stretches out past the cabins and the pavilion to a big cedar shake barn where the horses wait for guests to take them on trail rides. There’s even a carriage, which was always my favorite—I have so many happy memories riding in there, tucked between my parents under a warm blanket, the horses’ bells jingling as we travelled the paths that cut through the snowy woods.
“This way, Miss Foster,” Michael says.
He opens a back door with a little hand-painted sign over it that saysStaff Only,and gestures for me to go in.
I step into the kitchen and look around. It’s even warmer than the lobby and it smells amazing. The space isn’t large but it’s strikingly neat with all the stainless steel polished and shining. My dad would have called it as clean as a nun’s conscience. It’s kind of funny how thinking of him can either be the happiest or the saddest thing. This time, it makes me smile in spite of everything else going on.
“No guests in the kitchen,” a tall, thin man in a chef’s hat announces loudly.
“This isn’t a guest, Bronson,” Michael tells him. He’s not wrong about that. “Miss Foster is an old friend. Can you fix her a plate, please?”
Bronson frowns, his nose wrinkling a little like the mere thought of charity smells bad to him.
“Consider it a favor to me,” Michael adds.
“Fine, I’ll make her a sandwich,” Bronson says dramatically, turning to me and gesturing like he’sshooing a fly. “You. Go sit over there. And don’t touch anything.”
“Thank you,” I tell him meekly, scurrying over to a wooden chair in the corner as Michael steps out.
