Page 27 of Making New Plans

A reluctant smile lifted my lips. Maybe nonverbal training wouldn’t be so bad after all. We were much less likely to fight, and I wouldn’t have to deal with any hot-and-cold attraction between us. Win-win. And, if he did everything correctly, it’d be like having an assistant. A dream of mine after the third time falling asleep in my office.

This could work.

Writing quickly, I filled a couple of sticky notes with my responses to him. I could’ve given him my number, but it didn’t feel right.

Instead, I said: “Yes, there will be a test with multiple choice, an essay section, and a practical demonstration of what you’ve learned. I pick the time and place. Also, yes, you can throw away the snowshoes, but we need to think about what we’ll put in place of things we trash. And yes, you must be present for morning prep every day. Just kidding, I wouldn’t do that to Mable and George.”

I thought about adding in something about last night but decided against it. He hadn’t mentioned it, so I wouldn’t either.

I left the sticky notes on his door and went about my day. I saw him occasionally—in the kitchen, in the lobby, walking the halls. But he was either very good at pretending not to notice me or I was that good at hiding. Judging by my previous failures at hiding, I guessed the former, which stung. But whatever.

We carried on like that for the rest of the week.

He’d leave me notes in the morning like: “Went in to clean a room and nearly gave an eighty-year-old man a heart attack on the toilet. Now you owe me hazard pay and Mr. Coppicelli a new set of dentures, since his landed in the toilet.”

I’d slipped a dollar bill and the business card of our town dentist under his door.

His next note detailed his woes doing inventory in the kitchen with Mable: “Have you ever tried to count the same box of napkins ten times in a row? I have. All because Mable needed to tell me the intricate details of her daughter’s water birth. I need more than a dollar hazard pay.”

I’d laughed so hard coffee had shot out of my nose. And yes, it’d been as painful and disgusting as it sounded.

Then I’d stuffed two one-dollar bills under his door with a note that said: “Rookie mistake number one: Never do inventory with Mable in the vicinity. Good thing you’ll be chopping wood next. Flannel is essential.”

His response had been a comical sketch of an overly buff lumberjack, who I assumed was him, chucking his flannel shirt into the river. I’d smiled, thinking of when I’d threatened to toss him into the river, too.

Every morning, I looked forward to walking in and seeing his colorful notes waiting for me. I’d stashed them in my planner, which made me wonder what he did with mine. They were never on his door long.

No sticky notes awaited me Friday morning, however. I searched the front desk area and my office for them, even crawling under the desk. Nothing.

More disappointed than I cared to admit, I barged into the kitchen. Mable and George looked up from their stations and chorused a “good morning!”

I mumbled back to them and attacked the coffee machine.

“Did you see the forecast, Chloe?” Mable asked. “That big, big storm is finally coming.” She handed me a fresh biscuit with strawberry jam from the platter she was putting together for the morning breakfast crowd.

Using my fingers, I tore off bites of the biscuit to avoid smearing my lipstick. “I did. I helped out with the sandbagging last night, and I had Hunter check the sump pump, so we should be good to go if the river rises too much.”

Mable’s eyes sparkled at Hunter’s name. “Oh, he’s been such a big help around here, don’t you think? Not all that pleasant, mind you. But he listened to every word I said about food prepping and then helped us out. Even pops by once in a while to pitch in. Isn’t that right, George?”

George grunted from where he was frying bacon and sausage. But that was good enough for Mable, who continued to sing Hunter’s praises. I listened with half an ear until she said something about “those gorgeous eyes and fine ass!”

I choked then coughed, spraying biscuit crumbs. “Excuse me?”

She winked at me. “You know what I mean.” Then she went back to work, humming what sounded suspiciously like “Baby Got Back.”

Horrified, I escaped to my office and used my compact mirror to repair most of the biscuit damage.

The rest of the day passed somewhat normally apart from the torrential rainstorm that picked up in the afternoon. I also noticed Hunter prowling around more than usual. I caught him watching me a few times. I always glanced away quickly.

Did he want to talk to me? Did he need something? If so, why not just leave me a sticky note? Our system had been working.

By the time I left for the night, I was twisted up in a thousand different knots and forgot my umbrella. With only my thinly lined jacket to protect me, the storm drenched me to the bone. I ran home, peeled off my wet clothing, and wrapped myself in every towel and blanket Sarah and I owned before falling into a deep sleep on my bed.

* * *

An incessant buzzing penetrated the fog in my brain. I rolled over in my blanket-towel mummy wrap and cracked open one eye to see my phone lighting up on my nightstand. Both my eyes snapped open. Crap! I’d forgotten to turn it on loud in case of emergencies like I did every other night. I must’ve been too tired, too wet, and too distracted to remember.

Cursing myself, I extracted an arm from my straight jacket and accidentally swiped the stupid phone off my stupid nightstand. Grunting and growling like a bear out of hibernation, I freed myself entirely and picked up my phone. An unknown number scrolled across the screen, which usually meant a guest at the lodge was calling. And at two in the morning, that could only mean terrible things.

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