“‘About finding love after a marriage falls apart,’” Adam reads over Lizbet’s shoulder. He honks out a laugh. “It is Kimber. Kimber is Shelly Carpenter!”
At that second, the door to Lizbet’s office opens and Richie steps in.
Edie says, “We got five keys, Richie, did you see?” Then she gasps. “Did you know? Did you know Kimber is Shelly Carpenter?”
“I found out the night before she left,” Richie says. “Kimber didn’t want to tell me until after the review was finished. She’s a professional.” At that second, there’s a buzzing noise and Richie pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Hey, boo,” he says. “Yep, they figured it out. We’re all in Lizbet’s office.” He pauses. “Aw, okay, I’ll tell them. Love you.” Richie hangs up and gives them a sad smile. “She says she misses you already.”
August 28, 2022
From: Xavier Darling ([email protected])
To: Employees of the Hotel Nantucket
It was a pleasure and a privilege to meet you all in person this past week. I’m only sorry I couldn’t stay longer.
Congratulations are in order for the fifth key from Shelly Carpenter of Hotel Confidential. Hear, hear! Shelly has been a formidable critic of hotels and resort properties across the globe, and it was my not-so-secret goal to win the fifth key, but ultimately it was you, the staff, who impressed Ms. Carpenter the most. I will be including a thousand-dollar bonus in everyone’s check this week.
Unfortunately, I must follow this up with some rather somber news: I am putting the Hotel Nantucket on the market, effective tomorrow. I have already received an offer on the place from a friend and colleague who wants to use the building as a satellite office space. This means that, unless another buyer comes forward with a competitive offer, the Hotel Nantucket will no longer operate as a hotel.
I thank you all for your time, energy, expertise, and dedication this summer. Every one of you should feel free to call on me for a letter of recommendation as you move forward into your various futures.
All best,
XD
An e-mail from Xavier arrives in Lizbet’s in-box at five o’clock on Sunday evening, and Lizbet nearly ignores it because she’s exhausted from the excitement of the past week. She wants to pick up a pizza from Pi, draw a bath, and then climb into bed to watch Ted Lasso until Mario gets finished with work. But it’s Xavier, so she can’t wait until the morning.
Putting the hotel on the market. Use the building as a satellite office space?
She feels like she’s reading her own obituary.
Edie cracks open the door and says, “Lizbet? Did you see?”
“I…I…” Lizbet doesn’t have words. For the past two days, she has been floating. Everyone on the island has reached out—calling, texting, messaging on Facebook and Instagram—to congratulate her and the rest of the staff on the fifth key from Shelly Carpenter. JJ sent a bouquet (the first flowers from him in a year that she hasn’t sent back). Lizbet’s parents called from Minnetonka. She has heard from countless news outlets, including the New York Times, Travel and Leisure, CBS Sunday Morning, Afar, the Armchair Explorer podcast—wanting to do interviews, articles, segments. But most meaningfully, Lizbet heard from her old dorm mate Elyse Perryvale, who was the reason Lizbet came to Nantucket in the first place. Elyse wrote that her family had, sadly, sold their house on the island but that she would like to book rooms at the Hotel Nantucket the following summer for two weeks.
Lizbet had wanted to talk to Xavier about raising their prices ever so slightly because the phone has been ringing nonstop the past two days; at this rate, the hotel would be completely booked with a waiting list for next summer by Labor Day. You don’t sell a hotel when the entire next season is booked! Lizbet thinks. Did Xavier not even glance at the financials? The business is booming, and now that they have the fifth key and all this media attention, they should be moving full steam ahead. Lizbet dreams of refurbishing the fourth floor and adding more rooms and maybe also extending their season through Christmas Stroll. She’d love to create a sunset-viewing platform on the widow’s walk, maybe hire Adam as their full-time lobby entertainment, creating a little competition for the Club Car piano bar. Their Instagram could use some beefing up; she could give Edie a side hustle of being their social media manager. There are so many things…they’re just getting started!
“He’s selling it,” Edie says. “He already has a buyer.”
Lizbet gives Edie a wink. “He must be cranky about something else,” she says. “This isn’t real. He won’t sell.”
“He won’t?”
“Let me talk to him,” Lizbet says. As Lizbet dials Xavier, she wonders again if something happened while he was here. He left so early, so quickly, without saying goodbye. Maybe it was business—but Lizbet’s gut tells her it was something else.
The call goes straight to voice mail. It is eleven o’clock on a Sunday night in London, but Xavier sent the e-mail only ten minutes ago. Surely he’s still awake. She calls again from her phone. Voice mail.
She sends him a text, something she has never done before. It has always seemed too casual, too familiar, but this is an emergency. Xavier, can we please talk about your e-mail tonight? I’m not sure I’ll sleep otherwise.
She stares at her phone, trying to manifest a response. Sure enough, three dots rise on Xavier’s side of the chat. What is he going to say? She needs to talk to him, ask him what happened. Wasn’t any negative experience he might have had while at the hotel washed away by Shelly’s five-key review?
The dots disappear but no text comes through. Lizbet checks her e-mail—nothing. He doesn’t want to talk to her; it’s this that fills her with a hot, loose, watery panic.
She runs into the Blue Bar kitchen, even though the bar is filling up with guests and Mario has started service. She catches a glimpse of him, gorgeous as ever in his white chef’s jacket, houndstooth pants, and White Sox cap, at the pass inspecting the plates, and she fully expects him to tell her to leave—she’s never interrupted him at work before—but instead he steps away and says, “Beatriz, cover for me, please. I need a minute.”
He takes Lizbet by the hand and they step into the quieter service kitchen, where a huge bowl of dough is proofing. Beatriz’s croissants for the next morning.
“You heard?” Lizbet says.
“He did just what I was afraid he’d do,” Mario says. “Pulled the plug.”
“But why?” Lizbet says. “Doesn’t he realize how great everything is?”
“He got what he wanted,” Mario says. “The fifth key. Guys like Xavier aren’t in this for the money or the greater good—restoring an historic building, boosting the local economy, creating jobs—they’re in it for the bragging rights. He probably bet some guy he met at Annabel’s that he could buy a hotel and get the fifth key. And he did and now he has no use for it anymore.”
Lizbet wants to feel angry but she’s too tired, so what overcomes her is grief. She cries against the front of Mario’s pristine white jacket and he holds her tight, rubbing her back. “It’ll be okay. We’ll go to California. You can work at a hotel there. I know the GM at Shutters, you’ll like that, on the beach in Santa Monica.”
“I don’t want to work at someone else’s hotel,” Lizbet says. Does she sound childish? Probably, but she can’t imagine getting a job in Los Angeles. She also can’t fathom finding another position here on the island. She made one monumental change—successfully!—but she can’t turn around and do it again.
“We’ll figure it out together, okay?” Mario says. He eases her off him so he can look her in the eye. “You aren’t alone anymore. I’m here, and I’m out of a job too.”
“We need to make Xavier change his mind.”
Mario sighs. “He isn’t going to change his mind, Lizbet.”
Suddenly, Zeke comes charging into the kitchen, and his presence is so startling that Lizbet thinks Xavier must be on the phone. He called back, he’s willing to talk!
Zeke says, “Lizbet, we need you in the lobby. Stuff is going down.”