Page 1 of In Your Wake

1

What Doesn’t Kill You…

Max

“I mean, at some point, something’s gotta give, right?” Zayne looks at me, his light hazel eyes so round and hopeful, I hate having to disagree and burst his bubble.

“Sorry, Zee. Check the bookings,” I say, pointing to the computer screen. “We’re in August and we barely have any reservations.”

He lets out a heavy sigh that touches me deep in my heart.

“I’m not sure how much more we can handle,” I admit. “Honestly, if you weren’t going back to school full-time in September, I might have to fire you.”

He’s too quiet.

I look over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. “Relax, Zee. I’m kidding. Things aren’t that bad.”

“Not funny,” he replies, his deep voice low.

Zayne’s my best friend, and I hate lying to him. He’s built his life around this inn nearly as much as I have. His mother, Carina, is the cook, so he practically grew up here, which is why he’s the perfect fit during the summer. But anything more than the twenty-hour weeks he does now, and I’d likely have to cut him loose.

Or cut my salary even more than I already have. And with the recent addition of Celia as our bookkeeper, things are tight. Tighter than I’d like. Too tight for a struggling old hotel like the Adams Inn.

“Maybe Celia’s right,” Zayne says.

“About?”

“Asking your brother for help—”

“Nope,” I say, emphasizing the p. “Like I’ve told you and Celia, that’s not happening.”

“But Max, we need to do something. We can’t—”

The phone rings, interrupting him.

“Ah, saved by the bell.” I wink at him, lifting the receiver to my ear. “Front desk,” I answer.

“Maxine, I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“No apologies needed, Mabel. What seems to be the problem?”

Mrs. Mabel Gardner is our one and only recurring guest at the inn. Over the last five years, for one weekend each month, sometimes even longer, she stays in the room that her late husband Neville and she spent their honeymoon in way back in 1962. She keeps up the tradition to preserve the memories of Neville in her aging mind, which is possibly one of the saddest, yet loveliest things I’ve ever heard.

“Well, you see,” she begins, clearly uncomfortable. “The toilet’s clogged again.”

Of course, it is. I squeeze my eyes together. “I’ll be right up.”

I hang up the phone and glance at Zayne.

“Toilet acting up?” he asks, reading my mind perfectly. I nod, then offer him my best puppy-dog eyes. “No way. I did it last time,” he contests.

“Ugh. Rock, paper, scissors, then?” I fist one hand over the other.

Annoyed, Zayne stares blankly at me before giving in and doing the same with his hands. We shoot, but I lose two out of three.

“Dammit.” I shove my chair back, grab the toilet snake and plunger from the supply cabinet in the back office, then head upstairs to Mabel’s room, finding her waiting at the door, a kind smile on her wrinkled face.

“I’m so sorry to bother you again about this, Maxine.”