“Why not? There are plenty of jobs in the city. My divorce will be final, or nearly.”
“You wanted a summer romance,” Richie says.
“Well, maybe now I want a romance-romance,” Kimber says. She wraps Richie’s arms around her. “I don’t want this to end.”
Grace sighs. So sweet! She would like to think of Kimber and Richie ending up together when they leave here. She wants to believe that the hotel is more than just cedar and salt. It’s a place that can create at least one happily-ever-after.
On the morning of the twenty-fourth, Chad gets to work early at Ms. English’s request. He figures this is because of Mr. Darling’s arrival. The hotel has to be even more immaculate than its usual immaculate self.
When he gets to the housekeeping office, he sees an unfamiliar older woman in uniform—khakis and hydrangea-blue polo shirt—running through the hundred-point checklist with Ms. English. This woman has bright red hair that looks spun over her scalp like cotton candy. Her face is plump and wrinkled and kind-seeming. She must be a reinforcement for Mr. Darling’s visit.
“Chadwick,” Ms. English says. “Please meet Doris Mulvaney, your new cleaning partner.”
“My…”
“You’ll be showing Doris the ropes today. I told her you were one of our best cleaners!”
One of the best on a staff of four isn’t much of an accomplishment but Chad feels a swell of pride nonetheless. He offers Doris a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mulvaney.”
She giggles and her blue eyes twinkle. “Call me Doris, please, lad.” She has an Irish accent, which is cool, Chad thinks.
Chad looks at Ms. English. “Where’s Bibi?”
“You and Doris will start with third-floor checkouts. We need to get the entire third floor cleaned before Mr. Darling arrives.”
“No problem, but—”
“Thank you, Chadwick. If you stop by here at the end of the day, we can chat then. But not now—we have too much work in front of us.”
Chad and Doris take the service elevator to the third floor.
“How old are you, lad?” Doris asks.
“Twenty-two,” he says flatly. Bibi was fired, he thinks. Ms. English gave her the ax. But she didn’t steal the Gucci belt! That was a ruse cooked up by the fake Shelly Carpenter! Bibi probably didn’t take Mrs. Daley’s Fendi scarf either. Mrs. Daley must have left it at Ventuno.
“In university?” Doris asks.
“I graduated in May,” he says. “From Bucknell University in central Pennsylvania.”
“And now you’re working here?”
“Uh-huh,” Chad says. He wants to be polite, but he also doesn’t want to encourage chatting. “My parents have a home here and this is my summer job.” He wonders if maybe something else is going on. Maybe Bibi’s daughter, Smoky, was diagnosed with some kind of awful cancer or maybe there was a domestic issue with the baby-daddy, Johnny Quarter. Maybe Bibi and Smoky got in the car and went looking for Johnny Quarter or maybe Octavia and Neves were mean to Bibi on the ferry and that made her quit.
“My son is the plumber for the hotel,” Doris says. “And when I heard you were shorthanded in the housekeeping department, I offered to jump in and help. I cleaned rooms at the Balsams resort in Colebrook, New Hampshire, for years and at Ballyseede Castle back in Ireland when I was your age.” She pats his arm. “So I know what I’m doing.”
“When did you hear we were shorthanded?” Chad asks.
Doris shrugs. “Top of last week, I believe.”
Top of last week? But Bibi has been at work every day. Just yesterday she informed Chad that they were tripling the floral arrangements in every suite because of Xavier Darling’s arrival. There would be bouquets in the living room and both bedrooms. Chad and Bibi had groaned about this together—triple the lily stamens to trim, triple the hydrangea dust!—but there had been no indication that Bibi wouldn’t be around to pluck the wilting snapdragon blossoms. When they’d parted ways the day before, Bibi had slung her backpack over her shoulder and said, “See ya, Long Shot.” Just like usual.
He wants to text and ask her what happened. Is she okay? But Chad doesn’t have Bibi’s number. There were times when he’d wanted to ask for it, but he’d always stopped himself because…why? He obviously thought about Bibi when he wasn’t at work—never in a sexual way, just in a friendship way. There were TikToks he’d wanted to send her and news bulletins about fin sightings on the south shore (Bibi was a devoted fan of Shark Week), stuff they could talk about the next day at work. But he never wanted to seem weird or eager and he certainly didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. Now, however, he has no way to reach her.
Chad knows Xavier Darling is supposed to arrive between two and three p.m., but at that hour, Chad and Doris are cleaning room 111 on the pool side of the hotel, so he can’t watch for him out the window. Doris is a brisk and efficient cleaner and she doesn’t mind tackling the bathrooms. “The loo,” she says, “is my particular specialty.” Chad is then left to handle Bibi’s particular specialty, which is the bed; it has been weeks, maybe even months, since Chad was charged with making a bed, but he does a textbook, if robotic, job. His mind is elsewhere—on Bibi, of course, but also on Xavier Darling’s arrival. Chad expects to feel a shift in the hotel—a crackle in the air, a rumbling of the floors, alarms ringing or an alert on his phone.
Out the window, Chad hears only children laughing and splashing in the family pool. At a quarter to four, he and Doris move down to room 108, which has a fine view of Easton Street, but the street is quiet.
At five o’clock, Chad and Doris finish their last room of the day and Chad rolls the cleaning cart to the storage closet and restocks it for tomorrow. A hundred and twenty dollars have been left as tips and he and Doris split the money. He tries not to seem like he’s rushing, though he is, a bit, and he says to Doris, “Nice meeting you, see you tomorrow!” in a falsely cheerful voice before he hightails it to the housekeeping office.
But Ms. English isn’t there. Chad can’t believe it. It’s a quarter past five, his usual time of departure, and she had said he could come see her when he was finished for the day.
He waits for a few minutes, pointlessly checking his phone—nobody snaps or texts him anymore—and when he finally turns to leave, he nearly collides with a woman walking into the office.
“Oh,” the woman says. “Long Shot. I forgot all about you.”
Chad blinks. The woman is Ms. English, but instead of being regular workday Ms. English, in her hydrangea-blue blouse, the matching cardigan she often wears because she finds the hotel rooms chilly, and her hair pinned back in a sensible bun—this Ms. English is wearing a hot-pink silk one-shouldered top and a pair of snug white pants. Her hair is piled on her head and wrapped in a bright floral scarf, and pretty curls hang down on either side of her face. This Ms. English is also wearing cat’s-eye glasses bedazzled with rhinestones and a pair of platform stiletto sandals instead of the loafers that Zeke calls her “auntie shoes.”
Chad manages to find his voice. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” she says. She considers him for a moment. “I have plans tonight, as you can probably guess, but my dinner’s not until eight o’clock, so let’s you and I go for a drink now, shall we?”
Again, Chad is rendered speechless. Go for a drink with Ms. English? “Okay?” he says. He feels himself flush. Because Ms. English is not looking like herself but rather like some hot older woman, Chad kind of feels like she’s asking him on a date.
“We’ll go to the Brant Point Grill and sit at the bar,” Ms. English says. “It’s high time you and I had a talk.”