Page 4 of No Room in the Inn

I grin up at Sarah before looking back to Flora. “You’re a pin-press? Which pin-press are you?”

“I’m Ewsa,” Flora says.

“Hello, Princess Elsa,” I say, still smiling. “I would love to give you a hug when you’re ready; is that okay? Can I give you a hug sometime?”

Another little giggle is her response.

“Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you,” Sarah says, and I stand up again, waving one hand.

“I’m not worried; she’s fine. I do need to pee, though.”

“Bathroom,” Sarah says, pointing at the door on the opposite side of the entryway.

I nod my thanks. When I’ve made quick use of the restroom and washed my hands, I return to see Sarah holding up the black dress I brought for the funeral.

“It’s at three, right?” she says.

I nod.

Sarah sighs, looking at me. “I’m so sorry, Willow. I know you loved Granny, and I especially know you don’t really want to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” I say, shaking my head and blinking against the tears that suddenly threaten. “It will most likely just be for a few days, and anyway I get to see you guys.”

Sarah nods, passing me my dress. “And what are you going to do about the inn?”

I exhale slowly. Because that’s the question, isn’t it? What am I supposed to do with a bed and breakfast? Not a functional bed and breakfast, either; about a year ago a car slid off the road and through the dining room wall. If that wasn’t bad enough, during the repairs a fire broke out because of some bad wiring and ended up doing significant damage to the dining room. Granny fell on the stairs when the car crashed into the inn, resulting in a broken hip and leg, and she wasn’t able to focus on anything but recovering. It’s just been sitting there, collecting dust, for a year. There are repairs that need to be made, and I’m sure everything needs to be cleaned, too.

“I have no idea,” I admit. “I’m going by to see it after the funeral. Want to come?”

“Ooh, yes,” Sarah says. “I totally do. And after that we can—” She breaks off, looking sympathetic all of a sudden. “Well, I guess I didn’t ask. I was going to take Flora to the parade. Do you want to come with us? If you just want to rest, I get it—”

“No, I’ll come,” I say quickly. The December Parade takes place on the first of every December in Woodfield, because like I said, this town is Christmas obsessed. Different businesses sponsor different floats, and Woodfield High always has their own float. Santa always shows up too, which little kids love.

Sarah nods. “And—” She hesitates. “When will you see Myrtle?”

It’s her polite way of asking when I’ll see my parents, and I love her for her tact.

“My parents will be at the funeral, but I don’t know when I’ll see Myrtle. It might not be until tomorrow.”

Sarah nods again. “Okay. Well, now that you’re here, can I get a shower? I have permanent marker on my arm and applesauce in my hair from work.” Sarah works at the town’s daycare center. It’s perfect, because she can take Flora to work with her.

“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly. “Go ahead. I’ll slip my dress on, and then we can leave.”

“I’m grabbing clothes for us to put on after the funeral,” Sarah calls over her shoulder as she disappears down the hall. “I’m getting you something Christmasy for the parade. No complaints.”

“Meh,” I say, but it’s no use arguing with her when it comes to dressing up, so I don’t try.

Thirty minutes later we’re dressed in black—except for Flora, who’s still “Pin-press Ewsa”—and ready to go. We take Sarah’s car, and after dropping Flora off with Sarah’s mom, we head to the funeral home.

It’s a building that hasn’t been updated since it was built sometime in the seventies. The evidence is in the wood-paneled walls and the shag carpet that’s an unfortunate shade of green—I think I could vomit on the floor and not have anyone notice a thing.

And right now, I’m feeling pretty queasy.

I’m not a particularly confrontational person; confrontation makes me anxious. And seeing my parents—particularly my mother? It’s almost guaranteed that there will be confrontation of some kind. Thus the churning in my gut.

I take a deep breath as Sarah and I pass out of the entryway and into the parlor where the memorial service is taking place. It hasn’t started yet; the air is stuffy with people mingling. The hushed voices and whispers make me think of Granny—of how much she would have hated this whole thing. She would have told everyone to go home and spend time with their loved ones instead of wasting time staring at her.

In true Woodfield fashion, at least half the town seems to be here. The funeral parlor is a decent size, and it’s packed. There are a lot of things I don’t miss about Woodfield, but the close-knit community isn’t one of them. It has its downsides, of course—everyone knows everything about everyone—but there’s something comforting about knowing that a town full of people has your back, for the most part.

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