Page 90 of Falling Slowly
Charlie
Driving down the mountain in the waning evening light, I felt sick to my stomach. Bess’s phone, still dead as a dodo, sat heavy in my pocket, reminding me of what a horrible human I was. But once the first lie had left my mouth, I had to keep going. I had to commit. Otherwise, she would have never believed it. And now I had her for two more days, incommunicado. Well, I could hope. Even if she used her mom’s phone, Wilde Creative required everyone to generate complex passwords and store them with a password manager. Without access to that, she probably wouldn’t remember the login details to her email.
Was it worth it? Could any of this be worth it? Because the phone wasn’t the only thing I’d lied about. I didn’t have a place to stay. I only had the addresses of one inn and one motel, as well as the knowledge that every Airbnb in town was fully booked. It wasn’t looking good.
When I arrived, darkness had fallen. Main Street glowed under rows of old-fashioned streetlights, decorated with hanging baskets of mums. The Fall Festival preparations were clearly underway, bunting flapping in the gentle breeze and hay bales piled up on the sidewalk. For a moment, I felt as though I had stumbled onto a historical film set where the buildings were mere facades, with nothing behind the charming paneled doors.
That illusion was broken as I reached the inn. Finding the front door unlocked, I stepped inside the time capsule of heavy drapes and floral patterns. The sweet smell of baking added to its homey feel. I introduced myself to a woman dressed in shiny fabrics, laden with jewelry. She looked like she was on her way to a gala in the 80s—which might have been her heyday.
“Nice to meet you! I’m Ruth Hickey, the owner.” She circled the reception desk to shake my hand.
“Do you have any available rooms?”
“For tonight?” Her eyebrows shot up in shock and sympathy. “No. We’re booked solid for the next two months.”
I nodded. “Oh, okay. Do you know any other place that might have availability? Anything at all?”
She cocked her head. “Levi Carmichel has a place that he’s meant to be renting but who knows what’s going on with that guy. One minute he’s a recluse, the next minute he’s got some pretty young thing up there.”
“That’s okay. I’ll check the motel.”
I made for the door, but she blocked my way. “Stay for a cup of tea? On the house. I hate disappointing people.” She took me by the arm and seated me in the corner of the small waiting area. “Let me order for you.”
“It’s really not necessary?—”
“Nonsense.” She called out to someone, ordering the tea, then took a seat across the small table.
“So, where are you from, Charlie?”
“Denver.”
“Oh… That’s nice.” She made it sound like it certainly wasn’t.
“Not as nice as Cozy Creek,” I conceded.
“Of course not. And what do you do?”
“Advertising, mostly. I’m a Creative Director.”
She cocked her head, studying me with even more interest. “Would you consider relocating? We could use someone with your skill set. I mean, the town really sells itself, but it doesn’t hurt to put the word out there, does it?”
“I suppose not.”
It was the most laid-back attitude to advertising I’d ever heard. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine having a client like that and almost laughed out loud.
My tea arrived, and I sipped it quickly, answering Ruth’s questions and listening to her elaborate sales pitch for Cozy Creek. Who needed advertising when you had a lady like this in your corner? She seemed to have her fingers in every pie around town. If I ever decided to leave my troubles behind and relocate to the mountains, she’d be my first port of call.
“Thank you.” I set down my empty cup and stood up. “I better go check that motel.”
“Best of luck, dear! It’s the Fall Festival week, so the town gets a bit crowded. If everything falls through, come back. I’ll make room in my bed.” She winked. “Oh, don’t look so shocked! I’m only joking.”
I gave her an awkward smile and deliberately slowed my pace so it didn’t look like I was running out the door.
Holding onto hope, I drove to the motel, a little outside of town. It looked dark. Too dark. When I got to the front door, I saw the notice. The building was closed for renovations.
I was about to leave when I noticed the small figure stepping out of the side door. The movement activated an overhead light,revealing a hunched woman holding a pack of cigarettes. “We’re not open!” she called in a raspy voice.
She didn’t sound friendly, but I was desperate. I took a step closer, raising my hand in greeting. “Hi! Would you happen to know any place in town, anything at all? I really need to find something for tonight. I’m not picky. Happy to pay what’s fair.”
