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I don’t want to ask, but the words slip out, anyway. “What did you say?”
“I told him I’m not my sister’s keeper and then he called me a liar.”
Her lips purse and I can tell she’s holding back the worst of it. When she doesn’t speak, I do. “Bastard.” I hate how Palmer continues to find ways to inflict pain years after we were through.
Adrienne laughs. “He was right. I was lying. And now he has video evidence with our welcome home dance routine already up to ten thousand views.” She flips the phone toward me, and I can’t believe how many likes and comments have been posted.
I take the phone for a second and scroll. The laughter of my parents causes me to smile as I see the well wishes from old neighbors, classmates, and complete strangers. The camera pans to me and Adrienne, spinning as my fingers continue to scroll. They stop and hover over the familiar name. One that once brought joy to me but now only delivers pain.
PalmerE - I thought I felt a disturbance in the force – a cold darkness that I haven’t felt in a while. Now I know why.
I feel the sting of his words. It was never supposed to be like this between us. Men and women break up every day. I steal a glance in Adrienne’s direction. She has her back to me, folding the shorts. I scroll back to the top of the post, hoping she never sees his comment. I close out the app and hand her back the phone.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with Palmer. Hopefully after this visit he’ll finally be able to let go whatever has been bothering him and move on with his life.”
I say the words without much conviction. It’s been three years since I left Palmer and he appears to be trapped in a time warp. This trip I had hoped he had grown up and would act like an adult. But if he’s harassing my little sister at her job and posting mean comments for the world to see, I can no longer ignore him.
I’m going to have to confront the beast head on.
* * *
Sometimes the truthright in front of your face makes you question if the past you once believed ever was real. I pull up to the Legendary Hall parking lot in my sister’s borrowed car anxious to understand the truth behind the warnings. I sit for thirty stunned seconds staring at the decaying monument in utter disbelief that this is the same venue I spent so many hours visiting and working.
With Mr. Franklin retired, I had no reason to visit and wanted to preserve my happy memories, so I avoided this place. Much like confronting Palmer, I can no longer put it off.
How is it possible that all this has happened in three short years? Overflowing commercial garbage bins, which look as if they are a week past pickup, greet me on my walk to the entrance. The sound of buzzing flies causing me to take the long way around. I wish I had followed my sister’s advice and worn sneakers so I could sprint. I’ve been on the property less than a minute and I already know if anything, Ava had downplayed her concerns.
What the hell happened here? It’s only been three years since I’ve worked here. Palmer was not the only thing I left behind in Mesa. I step through the glass door, which doesn’t swing cleanly on its hinge. I wonder if any maintenance has been done since I last visited.
My shoe sinks into the carpet runner that looks as if it hasn’t been vacuumed since the time Randy Johnson pitched for the Diamondbacks. It’s Thursday and I don’t expect the hall to be hopping, but the lobby is stone silent. I step toward the podium, which normally lists the events in the facility for the day and am met with an empty easel.
“This is looking promising,” I mutter to myself and stare up at the glass chandelier which Mr. Franklin had cleaned weekly. From twenty feet away, I spot the dust and wonder if they retired the cleaning service along with Mr. Franklin. If the lobby is this neglected, my concern for what may be going on in the kitchen only intensifies.
Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. A man in a worker’s jumpsuit. “Excuse me.”
He’s carrying a toolbox of some sort. He stops and turns. He’s African American, just under six feet, his hair cut low with a full flush dark goatee. He places the toolbox on the floor and paints a smile that is easily the brightest thing in this place. “Good day. Welcome to Legendary Hall. How can I help you?” His gaze locks with mine and he quickly closes the gap between us. I’ve greeted over a thousand guests in my time and am impressed that he hits every proper beat - the relaxed approachable body language, smile that comes across as if they are thrilled to have you, eye contact and, of course, a strong handshake. Someone’s been trained well.
“I’m Hunter. Hunter Farro.” His name rolls off his lips with the confidence of Bond, James Bond. “Do you have an appointment or would you like a tour?” His touch, like the man, is warm and strong. He tilts his head and offers a welcoming smile that relaxes me. Everything about this man is warm, comforting, and a welcome surprise to an otherwise depressing experience thus far.
“Pleasure to meet you, Hunter. I’m Catherine. I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment, but a good friend of mine is having her wedding reception here this weekend, and she’s asked me to swing by to check on how the preparations are coming along.” I watch his facial expression for any telltale signs, but he’s good. His face a mirror of mine during moments of crisis, not a flicker of emotion, a fake smile and here comes the don’t you worry about a thing line.
“Ah, the Winston wedding. Are you friends with Ava or Carlos?”
I take a step back, impressed. Why would a maintenance worker know not only the event but recall the names of the wedding party off the top of his head? “That would be Ava. Do you know her?”
He shakes his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure. I just started working here this week. Let me take you to the office. Mr. McConnell is here today. He might be able to provide the answers you are looking for.”
A week? Hunter has only been working here a week, yet knows how to greet guests, has memorized the bookings, and is following every protocol that takes my staff in Indiana months to master. Frankie must have outsourced hirings to a qualified agency, or he tripped over a diamond in the muck of this place.
I turn and begin to stride down the familiar corridors. “I see you know the way. Are you a returning customer?” His voice fills with a mix of surprise and curiosity. I add observant to the growing list of things Hunter does right. The ease with which he engages can’t be taught.
“I worked here a long time ago,” the truth slips out and I glance over my shoulder to take in his reaction. A sparkle bounces off his hazel eyes, a twinkle of something I can’t yet place. When the left side of his lips arch up, I know my answer provides some level of joy to him. It’s an intoxicating look, and I remind myself that regardless of what Palmer says, I can still make a man happy.
“Well then, welcome back. Apologies for our appearance, I’m sure it must be different from when you last visited. Please tell your friend Ava that if she gives us the opportunity that her first anniversary party here will be unforgettable.”
My feet pause and turn. Hunter nearly stumbles into me. His arm reaches out and touches me at the elbow to steady himself. A spark of electricity shoots up my arm as his momentum carries him forward. He catches himself, our noses a mere two inches from one another. I expect a scent of alcohol and cleaning fluid and am surprised to catch a whiff of a woodsy aftershave. For some reason, I don’t back away and neither does he. Our gaze locks and this close I should be able to read his reaction properly. “First anniversary? Things won’t be right until then? How bad is it right now?”
His earnest gaze lowers, combing down my face and settling on my lips for a moment before returning to my eyes. “I’ve said too much. I’m new here. What do I know? Let me get you set up with Mr. McConnell.”
