Page 89 of Love By The Falls

Charlotte directs me to Mrs. Cook’s place, and I park the car in the driveway. It’s nearly seven, and there are two white vans parked near the back door.

“That’s strange. I was told I’d be the only guest this weekend.”

“Those trucks belong to Matt and Don. They’re plumbers. I wonder what they’re doing here.”

“Maybe she’s got a leaky faucet.”

I knock on the front door and an older woman in dyed red hair, styled in a 60s bouffant, with blue eye shadow, opens the door. “Who are you?”

“I’m Caleb Consuelos. I called you last week to reserve a room here for the weekend. You said you had a vacancy. Is there a problem?”

“Yes, darling, there is. I woke up to a flood on my main floor and had no idea where the water was coming from.”

“It’s rained a lot over the last few days,” says Charlotte.

“I know, sweetie, but that’s not it. At least that’s what Don says. But his wife is always saying how he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so who knows? That’s why I called Matt to come by, too. If Don can’t figure it out, Matty will. His wife doesn’t talk half as bad about him.”

“When would be a good time to come back?” I ask.

She looks over her shoulder at Matt and Don, scratching their heads while staring at the soggy mess of tablecloths and towels on the floor.

She shrugs. “Monday, maybe.”

“Monday?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but this is gonna be a big clean-up job.”

“Where do you expect me to stay?”

“There’s Cedar Brook Motel just by the freeway. They always have room there.”

I recall the neon sign on the turnoff and cringe at the thought.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cook. I’ll be sure he gets there. You take care, now.”

Charlotte pulls me away from the door, and I follow, muttering my disappointment.I really do hate motel rooms.

“Tell me the motel has been renovated, and it looks worse on the outside than it does on the inside.”

“Yes. But it’s the other way around.”

“Fuck me.”

She smiles when we reach my car. “I’m not taking you to a motel. You’re coming back to my place.”

I perk up at this suggestion. “Are you serious? Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.”

She nods. “If you don’t mind the couch, I’m sure Sage will be fine with it.”

“I don’t mind the couch. Ilovethe couch. I’m excited about the couch.”

She’s still laughing at my weak joke, and I love that I amuse her like that. I usually crank up the smoothcharm for women, but with Charlotte, I think she prefers to laugh.

I follow her directions back into town and around the large water fountain in the middle. “Turn right here,” she says.

I drive through the neighborhood. The homes are older but well maintained, with a fresh coat of paint and trimmed front yards. I turn right again when Charlotte points at a large oak tree. “It’s the red bricked one.”

The house, I’d estimate, is probably no more than sixteen hundred square feet. It’s a bungalow with a big yard, which is nice. Like many other homes, there’s a porch with a swing out front. There are also two big planters outside the door, and a bike leaning against the side wall.

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