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She looks like a Queen: regal, confident, ready to don a crown.
Can I have that?
Can I feel worthy of the good things in life?
Right now, it doesn’t feel like my life will ever, ever be happy again. And yet, my grandmother’s smiling face, rendered in black-and-white, seems to give me a message: Go for it. Follow your heart.
And so, despite all my doubts, I follow the inkling. “Could I borrow eight hundred bucks just until Friday when I get paid?” I ask Lizzy.
“Are you kidding me? I’ll give you my house if you want it. My car.”
I give her a half smile. “The loan is enough.”
“You got it, sister.”
When I lift the phone to my ear, more doubts weigh my shoulders. This feels foolish, and I’ve already done so many foolish things this week.
I keep my eyes on the photograph of my grandmother for courage. “Danielle? I do want you to refund Brock. Every penny, please. But I’d like to keep the reservation if that’s okay. I’ll pay for it myself. I can come up to the front desk in a few hours to settle the bill.”
Now that I’m unemployed, the day stretches before me.
“That works,” Danielle says. “I’ll make a note here in your reservation, and we’ll see you soon.”
I hang up and add my phone to the already stuffed box.
My grandmother said her stay in the Queen’s Room changed her life for the better.
Maybe the overnight will do the same for me. I sure could use a change for the better about now. I messed up with Brock, and now I’m paying for it—big time.
Chapter 20
Gwen
I stare up at the canopy bed above and wonder why my grandmother thought a night on this mattress would magically fix my life.
It didn’t.
The pillows were too firm, and I have a crick in my neck.
The blankets, especially that velvet-covered quilt, were too heavy.
The mattress, too soft.
My discomfort in the bed wasn’t the only thing that kept me up. The armor positioned in the far corner of the room creeped me out, as did the shadow it cast on the wall. Then there was the strange creaking noises the French doors made each time a wind slammed against them.
Once or twice, I imagined some spooky castle ghost was trying to barge into my room and kill me in this too-big bed while I tried but failed to sleep.
Mostly, though, I was haunted by ghosts of a different kind. Wispy memories, not as faded and faint as I’d like them to be.
Brock.
I kept thinking about him, even though I don’t want to.
I remembered the sweet things he said to me. The way he looked in the golden evening light at the edge of the pond just before he kissed me for the first time. I remembered the sound of his laugh and how he savored sitting out under the stars with me and roasting marshmallows. I remembered how much he dreaded his time with the dogs and how he grew to love their presence in his home. It was fun listening to him perfect his dog voice. He could be such a goof, when he let himself relax.
But… our time together didn’t mean anything to him.
Only two days have passed since I was fired, so of course, the memories that haunt me are still fresh.
