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“Don’t worry about it, I can go find him and get them from him, then,” I tell her with a smile, “Thanks.”
“If you can’t find him, come back and let me know, I’ll see if I can get someone down here with one of the master keys or something,” she says as I start to walk away.
I head down the hall towards the Ahearns’ office, shared by all three owners. As I’m walking, I remember the alert on my phone and decide to multitask. It’s a text from an unknown number, but that isn’t exactly an unusual occurrence since it’s the one on my business card.
It’s a tiny bit unusual to get one from my old area code, but considering the size of New York, it’s certainly not unheard of. Especially these days, when most cell phone providers let you pick a phone number from any area code you want.
But when I read the actual message, I immediately know it’s not from a random client having picked up my business card.
Is this Charles Bailey?The message reads.
My brow immediately furrows in confusion, and I pause in my tracks for a moment. I hadn’t used my full first name since I was eighteen years old. I think it’s on some paperwork here at the resort for legal purposes or something, but I’d been introducing myself as “Chip” since I was old enough to talk.
Charles was my dad’s name, and I’d never been thrilled about being a “junior,” and once I’d had the opportunity to leave the name in the dust, I had. I’d never gone about legally changing it, although sometimes I still think I should.
So my immediate thought is that whoever this is, they’re associated with my family, and part of me just wants to ignore it. For all I know, my dad’s the one on the other end.
But there are a number of other potential possibilities, too, and I figure at worst, I can block the number or change mine, so after taking a deep breath, I text back:Junior, but yes, this is Chip. And who is this?
Swallowing hard, I hit “send” and wait a moment, hoping maybe I’ll get a quick response. But after lingering and staring at the screen for a while, I decide I’m being silly and that the phone’s coming with me anyway, so I may as well get back to what I was doing.
The door to their office is ajar, but I still rap on it lightly with my knuckles before I push it open further. Lila’s the only one inside, and she looks up. “Oh, hey, Chip, what can I do for you?”
“I’m actually looking for your husband.”
“Which one?” she snorts.
I laugh. “Rasmus. Or, more specifically, I’m looking for a set of keys he supposedly has.”
“Shoot, you just missed him,” she says, “But hang on, let me see if they keys are around here.”
While I hover in the doorway, she goes to Rasmus’ desk and searches the surface before rummaging through several drawers. My mind keeps fixating on my phone, waiting for another buzz to satisfy the curious itch nagging at my brain.
I force myself to focus on something, anything else, and my gaze lands on a large, framed wedding photo of the owners hanging on the wall. Lila stands in the middle, with Brian and Rasmus on either side of her and their hands clasped in front of her waist.
I’ve probably seen it a million times since they hung it up. Hell, I remember the moment when they posed for it, since all of the resort staff was invited to the wedding. The three of them look so blissfully happy, so natural together, that it seems impossible to think that anyone could look at them and not think they’re all soulmates.
I find myself wondering yet again what that feels like. I’d dated, sure. I’d even fallen in love, once upon a time. But even then, I’d never felt anything close to that kind of connection. It was so effortless, and every time I see it, I’m just reminded of how hard I’ve been faking it my whole life.
It makes me think of Hazel and Brendon again, too. Like my bosses, the two of them just click in a way that’s indescribable, like they’re made to fit together somehow.
I’ll admit that part of me is a little jealous. Not enough to open that door back up, but enough to make me look at it a little wistfully.
Because for every happy ending like the Ahearns, there’s a dozen other people shattered by divorce or left lost after a relationship ends. So trying for that brass ring feels a lot like playing the lottery; a few lucky few hit the jackpot, but the rest of us just muddle through.
“Sorry, Chip, it doesn’t look like they’re here,” Lila says apologetically, “Ras was headed for the supply closet if you wanna try and catch him, I think he was doing some inventory.”
“No problem, Lila, I appreciate you looking, thanks,” I told her.
“I keep telling them we need to get more copies of the master key made,” she sighs.
I bid her goodbye and head down the hall to the supply closet in search of her husband.
Once I’ve found him and gotten the keys, I head down to the event room and open it up, and I’m glad all over again that I’d opted to come down early to get the room set up for Hazel and Brendon’s lesson this afternoon.
Fortunately, I don’t have too much to do, there’s a single table and some chairs in the room left over from the last event held in here, so I set to work getting it cleaned up and ready.
Once I’ve put all the stuff away, I give the floor a quick sweep and mop. Unfortunately being on a beach means dealing with pretty constant sand, and it doesn’t make for the best surface for dance, so I prefer to keep the floors pretty clean when I’m teaching.
