Page 24 of Love's a Script
“I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s the app the shuttle service uses. Any updates or delays will be communicated through the app.”
“Is there a way for me to just get an email or a text?”
“You’ll have to download the app, sign in, then select an option for email or SMS.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you,” she said, but once she stepped away from the desk, she approached the other bleary-eyed travelers. One of them must have downloaded the app. But she never made it across the floor to introduce herself and ask because her cell phone, along with everyone else’s, began to ping, chime, and blare.
On the screens, an automated message appeared: This is an Emergency Alert. Snowfall and Blizzard Warning—Heavy snow and strong winds with gusts near 80 km/h have produced near-zero visibility. Postpone nonessential travel until conditions improve.
Chapter Fourteen
The doors and windows in the lobby had been sealed to keep out the wind and snow, but they rattled as if they might fly open at any moment. And as hard as Ruben tried, he couldn’t make out anything in the gray outside. It left him wishing he’d done as Chesa had and journeyed home last night, but he’d thought one extra sleep in a bed more comfortable than his own wouldn’t hurt.
When Ruben had first arrived, he’d thought the lobby grand with its high ceilings, exposed wood beams, and central fireplace, but that was all lost with so many people packed in there.
“Folks, it’s bad out there,” the hotel manager told the assembled guests. He stood on top of the front desk and spoke into a megaphone. His stiff oversized blazer made him look like a child playing dress up. “We’re watching weather reports closely, and for now, it’s been advised we all shelter in place.”
The people whined and objected. “You can’t keep us here!” someone shouted.
“You’re right,” the manager replied evenly, “but access to the main road is completely blocked with snow. If you do venture out, there’s no guarantee someone can come get you.”
“But where do the people without rooms stay?” asked one guest who’d arrived on the full shuttle ahead of the blizzard.
The manager said, “We will be offering blankets and sleeping mats for people to use here in the lobby.”
“What about food?”
“We will serve two buffet meals. One in the morning and another at dinnertime. A snack table will be available during lunch hours.”
“Will the ski lift be open?”
The polite professional façade that had governed the manager’s face to this point cracked a little. “Well, no. There’s a blizzard,” he said. A ceaseless wave of questions and complaints followed that the hotel manager did his best to address, but at last called for order, saying, “Join a line at the front desk, and one of our staff will help you with your individual concerns.”
As bodies shuffled to form queues, Ruben ended up near the front of one and waited fifteen minutes to be helped. He booked additional days in his room at the regular rate because, as the clerk explained, it was standard hotel policy to charge the same, come rain, shine, or raging blizzard.
“But I do see here you have two single beds,” the clerk said to him. “We can offer a discount if you are willing to share your room with a stranded traveler.”
“I’ll consider it,” he told her and moved aside for the next person in line. He wasn’t eager to room with a stranger, but it felt especially selfish to leave a perfectly serviceable bed unused during an emergency.
“Hey, Ruben!” someone called across the way. A small group of people Ruben had met at the conference waved at him from the middle of the lobby, and he temporarily abandoned his quest to join them.
“This is nuts,” said one TV news anchor with teeth so white they made Ruben think his own looked like pennies in comparison.
“I’m thinking two or three days before we can leave,” Ruben said.
“Well, it depends,” replied a meteorologist from an east coast station. “The snow and wind might subside, but the roads will still need clearing. And we’re not getting prioritized up here. I’d say prepare for four to five days.”
As his colleagues continued to talk, Ruben’s gaze wandered the lobby in search of possible solo travelers, and instead saw tired families, bored friends, bickering couples, scolding parents, and most surprisingly of all, Mary. She sat on the hearth of the raised fireplace in a beige matching set. For some reason, he hadn’t expected her to still be here.
Ruben’s feet were moving him toward her before he could properly excuse himself from the group. She was typing on her phone and didn’t notice him until he was standing in front of her. “Bad weather we’re having,” he said past a sudden wave of nerves.
She looked up, dragging her reading glasses onto her head. “Oh, hey! What’re you doing here?”
“Work conference,” he said. “You?”
“I was attending a wedding. Would you like to take a seat?” She scooted over on the concrete, and he nearly declined before noting how she craned her neck to look at him.
