Page 10 of Jingle Bell Jilt
My mom told me once that she never swore until she was, like, forty. And then one day, something happened and it just came out. She said she wanted to tell me that it didn’t make her feel better, but that it really had. At least for a minute. But then she had hurriedly told me that she was not giving me permission to swear. As if I needed her permission. I’m an adult.
“You say you didn’t go upstairs?” He says it like he doesn’t believe me. “Even to look around when you first got here? Maybe you turned on a sink and don’t remember doing it.”
“I’m not memory impaired. I’d remember if I’d turned on a faucet.” I jut my hip out and put my hand on it. “But in order to turn on a faucet and then forget that I did it, I would have had to go upstairs. Which I didn’t. The first time I went up was to see if the toilet was overflowing or something. Before I came to get you. Last night I unloaded my groceries, then watched movies until 2:00. Then I was awakened at 4:30 by water dripping on my face.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, something happened.” He narrows them at me. “Do you sleepwalk?”
I shake my head and look at him like he’s crazy. “No.”
He tromps up the stairs and disappears around the railing. I hear doors open and close and then I hear him swear again. I must admit, he has a very good swear word vocabulary.
He comes down the stairs and stops in front of me, his eyes looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry I accused you. It looks like one of the washer hoses burst.”
I let out a relieved sigh. “Then it isn’t toilet water?” I’m already pretty sure it isn’t. I mean, I hadn’t seen any of the toilets overflowing, but I have no idea if it can come from underneath.
He shakes his head. “Does it matter?”
“Uh, yeah.” My eyes widen. Okay, he might actually be crazy. “It doesn’t bother you to think that you might be standing in toilet water?”
His brow creases. “It didn’t, but now it does.”
I step inside and look around. And then it hits me. My suitcases. I walk into my room and see my suitcases sitting on the floor of the closet. For the first time in my life, I regret not being one of those people who put their clothes away in the dresser when they arrive at the hotel.
I mean, I don’t because, hello…germs. But as I lean over and poke at my clothes— water fills the space where my finger had been—I wonder if dresser germs were as bad as wet carpet germs. “Well, son of a biscuit,” I say.
Stupid Nathan. If he hadn’t talked me out of buying those new hard-sided suitcases, I wouldn’t be without any dry clothes right now.
“Son of a biscuit?” I hear from the doorway. “Must you use such harsh language, Shay?”
I turn and see the manager (did he tell me his name and I just forgot it?) standing there, a grin on his face. Although, how grin in the midst of this disaster, I have no idea. “I’m not a big swearer.”
He runs a hand through his hair again. “Normally, I’m not either.” He sighs. “Sorry you had to hear them.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. My dad has a rather colorful vocabulary. You haven’t said anything I haven’t heard from him.” I lift my first suitcase and water runs out from one corner. I look up at him. “I think I need to visit a laundromat.”
He shakes his head. “You can bring them over to my house and wash them there. It’s the least I can do.” He looks around him, and it’s the first time I can say I have seen someone look forlorn. I don’t think he knows where to even start.
“Thanks. Maybe you can call a disaster clean-up place and get them out here before they leave for the holidays?”
He nods. “That’s a good idea.”
I look down at my suitcase. How am I going to get them to his place without making a mess over there?
“Wait just a second.” He lifts a finger and then turns and walks away. A minute later he returns with two black garbage bags in his hands. “Put them in these, and then once your clothes are in the washer, we can put your suitcases out on the patio to dry.”
“That sounds as good as any plan I had.”
He sloshes over and holds open the first bag. I drop my suitcase and all the clothes from it inside. He twists the top and moves it to one hand, then opens the other bag for me to put my other suitcase in. It’s less full because BG and my pillow are still on the bed.
Thank goodness I had left my backpack and carry-on on the chair in the family room, or my computer would be toast.
I reach for the bags. “I can take those and then come back for my backpack and carry-on.”
He shakes his head. “Go grab them. I can take these.” He grimaces. “Think of it as the first part of my apology.”
CHAPTERFIVE
EVAN
