Page 33 of Love's a Script
“They’re a fun, quirky duo,” she said.
“Oh, a perfect match,” he replied.
With the fog of fear and chaos now completely lifted, Mary realized she and Ruben were holding hands. When it happened, she didn’t know. But their palms were flush, and their fingers intertwined. Ruben must’ve realized it, then, too, because his firm grip grew lax. And Mary slowly, without comment, withdrew her hand from his.
Chapter Eighteen
After the night’s big interruption, morning came too soon for Ruben. He’d opened an eye to read the clock on the bedside table and was about to pull the covers over his head for a few more hours but saw Mary staring at the ceiling.
“How long you been up?” he asked her.
“Not long,” she replied, turning on her side to face him. “I kept waking up thinking I heard another alarm.”
“I dreamt that the side of the hotel room got ripped away by the wind,” he said. “And I was just circling in the sky with a cow in a sort of blizzard tornado.”
“Wait,” Mary said, laughing. “Where did the cow come from?”
“I can’t even begin to explain or guess.”
“Where was I?”
“You’re asking too many questions about what amounts to a stress-induced bad dream,” he replied, but the truth was that Mary had featured in his dream. He didn’t mention it because it would feel like an admission of something more, but she’d been right beside him in the snowy cyclone, and their hands had been joined as they were in reality during the faux evacuation.
In the stairwell, Mary had reached for his hand when the alarm cut out. It had been an honest bid for comfort that he’d eagerly met, but like so much that weekend, it had also been a breach of the neat parameters that once governed their interactions.
Once they’d both gotten ready for the day, they left the room together for breakfast and found that all anyone could talk about was what caused last night’s false alarm.
“The wind,” came one suggestion from a lady on the elevator.
“I think a rat chewed through the wires that set off the alarm,” said another in the line at the buffet.
Ruben overheard someone bet it was a drill to test the response time if there was ever a real need to evacuate. And, of course, the Arizona couple had an elaborate conspiracy they readily shared.
“Someone broke into the kitchen trying to cook something and accidentally caused a fire that tripped the alarms,” Jillian said.
“I wouldn’t blame them,” Ruben replied as he pushed around the gummy oatmeal slop now passing for breakfast.
“You want some raisins?” Allen asked, sliding over a mini-snack box of raisins. The couple had collected a few dozen boxes so far. “Gives the food a hint of sweetness,” the older man said.
“I’m okay, thanks. Only thing that would hit the spot right now is a bowl of cereal that has enough added sugar to power a small motorized vehicle.”
Mary commiserated with a nod, saying, “Or a slightly heated cinnamon bun with extra glaze.”
Jillian perked up in her seat. “We’ve got this Mexican place back home that sells these incredible churros.”
“Ah, the caramel sauce!” Allen said.
The four of them continued sharing the perfect dishes and meals they’d eaten in the past until, toward the end of breakfast, the manager of the hotel showed up in the restaurant. The dining room fell to a hush when he called attention to himself with the megaphone, and Ruben braced himself for more unpleasantry.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfasts,” the manager said, appearing the same as he had the first day of the storm, save the shabby stubble along his jaw, in a dress shirt and oversized blazer. “I’ve just received some good news. The main road that leads to the highway will be cleared as early as tomorrow morning.”
There was a hum as people turned to their neighbors to confirm what they’d heard.
“You mean we’re going home?” someone shouted.
“Yes, and to celebrate?—”
Applause and cheers thundered, and it took the manager a full minute to regain control.
