Page 1 of Illinois Innkeeper
1
GRAHAM
Ihave always been calm, quiet, and perfectly content to live in the background, while my younger brother is the magnetic, rock star-type––literally. He’s Gavin Timberbatch. Yes, the one who has stadiums full of screaming fans throwing their lacy skivvies onstage and hoping to shoot their shot with him.
Gavin has calmed down considerably in recent months and has even acquired a steady girlfriend, whom he seems to have fallen head over heels for, but that doesn’t stop his top fans––the self-proclaimed Timberbitches––from going to extreme lengths to meet him.
I’ve even had a few of his most avid fans show up at my inn with the hope that I might be able to introduce them to Gavin. As much as I’d like to help out the starry-eyed women, I won’t do anything to jeopardize my relationship with my kid brother. He and I don’t have the greatest parents or a large family, so Gavin is everything to me.
Besides, these women must be raving lunatics to travel all the way to my tiny inn, The Charming Hideout, located in Charming Falls, Illinois. It’s not like it’s on the way to, well, anywhere. But the quaint hotel is all mine, and I couldn’t be any prouder of it.
Gavin went through a rough patch with his fame with some false accusations that threatened to ruin his skyrocketing career, but he came through it like the champ that I know him to be.
Actually, the entire world knows he’s a champ, thanks to his win onUSA Idol. I’ve never been so proud as the night he was voted the winner of that televised, nationwide singing competition. And that was just the beginning for Gavin. His career exploded after that… until the sexual assault claims threatened to take it all away from him.
I never doubted my brother’s innocence for a moment, but everyone else did. Well, everyone except his new love, Demi.
Demi stood by Gavin’s side during that dreadful time in his life and proved that she truly cares about the real man behind the rock star.
The two lovebirds came here for a quick visit a couple of weeks ago, and I couldn’t be happier for them. Gavin deserves that kind of all-consuming passion and love. We all do.
Gavin’s career has slowed down a bit now, and he is taking things in a new direction. With his phenomenal level of talent, I have no doubt that he will be massively successful no matter how he chooses to perform.
Other than my brother, my biggest pride and joy is my inn. I have done everything at The Charming Hideout––from sanding and staining the wood floors, to hanging and painting the crown molding. There likely isn’t a square inch in the entire place that hasn’t been touched, cleaned, or detailed by me. That kind of handiwork to improve a place creates a deeply ingrained love that can’t be bought.
Sure, it would be nice to have an easier career or a competent manager to run this place for me, but I can’t give up on my hotel baby. It may not be a huge moneymaker, but it’s mine, and I can’t imagine anything I’d rather be doing.
My guests choose this inn for the architectural details and rustic charm. I take the time to get to know them and cater to their needs in a way that a chain hotel near the highway can’t accomplish. The job may not be glamorous and sometimes it gets lonely, but it’s my life, and I’m content.
Today, I use the midday lull between morning check-outs and evening check-ins to run errands. After stopping by the local hardware store for more painting supplies to continue what seems to be the never-ending touchups from dings and scratches on the inn’s walls, I head to the grocery store for cereal, peanut butter, frozen dinners, and Oreos––my main food groups.
After I load the grocery bags into the back of my trusty old Jeep, I notice Mrs. Swindell ambling out toward her car. The independent, opinionated woman has been a staple in Charming Falls for as long as anyone can remember.
I return my cart to the corral and jog over to greet the cranky, older woman. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day, isn’t it, Mrs. Swindell?”
“You came all the way over here just to blabber on about the weather?” she asks in a grouchy tone.
Unoffended, I lean down to say near her ear, “Actually, I rushed over here to flirt with a lovely woman, but I needed an excuse to speak to her.”
At first, she seems confused by my compliment as she looks around. When comprehension dawns that I was referring to her, she pats her chest before fluffing her silvery-blue pin curls. “Oh my… Yes, it’s a very nice day, Graham.”
As I reach over to push her cart for her, she immediately slips back into her grumpy tone as she snaps, “I can do it myself.”
“Oh, I know that you are a perfectly capable and independent lady,” I assure the woman, before adding, “But I would be honored to escort you to your car.”
“All right then,” she answers primly.
Once I load her few grocery bags into her ancient, white Cadillac and close the enormous trunk’s lid, she says, “It’s nice to see a young man from your unruly generation with actual manners.”
In all the years I’ve been trying to win the standoffish woman over, it’s the nicest thing she has ever said to me. I’m quite sure it’s the closest she can come to giving a genuine compliment. Before I can thank her, the piercing sound of a siren draws our attention.
We both watch as the bright red fire truck heads toward the center of town.
After the noise fades, Mrs. Swindell scrunches up her face and says, “Looks like they’re going downtown to Main Street. I hope your little inn isn’t on fire.”
Even though she likely intended for her words to be kind, an incredibly ominous feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly, I know in my heart that something is terribly wrong. Unable to even say goodbye to Mrs. Swindell, I race to my Jeep.
