Hearts Inn Read online

  When she saw the man take a breath to launch into what was likely going to be another condescending remark, she stuck her hand forward in an assertive closing gesture. “Thank you for your time.”

  He took her hand and shook aggressively before saying, “I drove all this way, so let me say you’ve either got to cut your losses or learn the business.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Rosalie repeated, hardening her voice to indicate his advice was unwelcome. Even if he’d been in the business for years, his attitude rendered his opinions useless to Rosalie.

  “If you’re interested in a distress sale, I know a few people,” he said. “Give me a call.”

  “Thank you.” Rosalie moved to the door to open it for him. He was the last person in the world she’d call to help her sell Gran’s hotel.

  As she watched Tom pull out of the parking lot, she wondered if contacting real estate agents herself was the right way to go.

  When she’d first inherited the property, she’d asked Gran’s lawyer if there was any way to let the bank handle the sale and give Rosalie the profits, minus whatever their cut was. But the lawyer had informed her—by some unlikely series of events involving a rather large life insurance policy on her late husband’s part—Gran owned the building outright, and there was no mortgage for the bank to take over. This made things simple financially as Rosalie learned the ropes of running the place but gave her fewer options when it came to selling it.

  After Alex came back and painted the second coat on the pool, she came into the lobby.

  “How’d your meeting go?”

  “Not good,” Rosalie mumbled. She didn’t want to go into too much detail. Her problems probably didn’t seem so big to Alex. “It’s gonna be hard to sell this place.”

  “Aren’t you good with numbers?”

  “Insurance numbers. I don’t know anything about real estate.”

  “You know more than I do.” Alex shrugged. Rosalie sensed a resistance to talking about selling the hotel further. “So do you want me to come back tomorrow and fill it up?”

  “What?”

  “The pool,” Alex said slowly, pointing her thumb toward the parking lot. “I’ve got another small job in the morning, but I’m free all afternoon.”

  “Oh. Um…”

  Rosalie was wary of putting more money into anything on the property since her meeting with the real estate agent. She knew it was pointless to fix the pool if she didn’t intend to fill it, but having a functioning pool was one more thing she’d have to maintain. She knew she needed to replace the pool furniture, repaint the gate, and make sure the slide wasn’t a liability before she made it available to patrons.

  “I should probably get the slide inspected and stuff first,” she hedged. “Insurance probably cares. Plus, I don’t know if the filter’s working.”

  A look of confusion passed over Alex’s face. “I can look at the filter, if you want.”

  “I don’t know anything about chemicals, either. Do you?”

  Alex shook her head, studying Rosalie for a minute.

  “I don’t want to bite off more than I can chew,” Rosalie admitted.

  A frown passed over Alex’s face, then smoothed, her expression growing somber. Rosalie wondered if she was as desperate for work as Shelley had been but didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t decided what else was a priority on the maintenance list.

  “I guess I should give you an invoice.” Alex asked for a piece of paper and jotted down the hours she’d worked. Without scrutinizing them, Rosalie cut her a check.

  As she handed the check over, she realized how foolish her indecisiveness must look to Alex and that Alex wouldn’t be around anymore if she didn’t offer her more work.

  “Actually, yeah, why don’t you check on the filter and stuff tomorrow?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Alex tucked the check in her pocket and breezed out of the lobby, leaving Rosalie alone with the unpleasant aftertaste of her meeting with the real estate agent.

  Deciding the opinion of one misogynistic real estate agent wasn’t enough to give up hope, Rosalie switched tactics. In addition to two other meetings she had with real estate agents the following day, she contacted a hotel management company in Albuquerque and arranged for a meeting with one of its representatives. Surely, there was someone who wanted to help her in exchange for a cut of the profits.

  Just as Rosalie hung up with a pleasant older woman named Opal Thornbrock, Shelley wandered into the lobby. Rosalie looked up, surprised. She wasn’t expecting Shelley.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Sorry I had to leave so quickly the other night. Bobby gets funny if he doesn’t know where I am.”

  Rosalie tried to smile appreciatively, but it came out more as a grimace. She didn’t think she’d like Bobby much.

  “I’m free Wednesday night. Maybe we could grab some food?” Shelley’s voice curved up with her eyebrows, even though it wasn’t a question.

  Rosalie warmed at the gesture. “I’d love to, but I don’t have anyone to cover the desk.”

  “Right. Duh,” Shelley said with an anxious giggle. “Maybe I could get some food and bring it here?” Her voice lifted again.

  Rosalie gave her a broad smile. “Sounds great. I’ve got more ginger ale.”

  Shelley smiled back, and they agreed to have dinner together later that week. Even if Shelley wasn’t the most thrilling conversation partner, Rosalie was glad for the company.

  When Alex’s truck rumbled into the parking lot the following afternoon, Rosalie went out to meet her, trying not to make a funny face as she adjusted to the bright light and heat after sitting in the lobby for so long.

  Alex greeted her, and they walked over to the pool area, slowing as they took it in. The pavement was cracked, the chairs bent and mismatched, the gate rusted and peeling. It looked pathetic, save for the fresh paint and new decorative tiles in the pool. Rosalie tried to remember the area as it had once been, when she went down the slide in continuous loops as a child while Gran watched her, beaming.

  “This place used to be nice.”

  “It’s seen better days,” Alex agreed. “But it just needs some new furniture and paint.”

  Rosalie sighed. “What about the San Andreas fault?” She pointed to a jagged crack running across the pool deck.

  “Eh, it’s not too bad.” Alex stepped closer to examine it. “You could get away with filling it rather than replacing the whole slab. It’s not uneven enough for someone to trip on.”

  Rosalie stepped forward and examined the crack, seeing Alex was right. Insurance would only care about it if it was significant enough to potentially injure someone.

  “Do we have the stuff to fill it?”

  “Yeah, there’s some in the shed,” Alex said, straightening up. “I’ll go get it.”

  Rosalie nodded and examined the dilapidated furniture on the pool deck as she waited for Alex to return. When she did, she was carrying a package of sandpaper, too.

  “It would make a big difference to repaint the fence,” Alex said, holding up the sandpaper. “It should be sanded down first to take off some of the rust and chipped paint.”

  Rosalie nodded. For whatever reason, she had complete faith in Alex’s vision for the pool area.

  She glanced back toward the office, wanting to avoid its drab sterility for as long as she could. She knew she was a silly city girl in Alex’s mind, but she wanted to be useful. “Can I help?”

  “Sure.” Alex smiled briefly. Rosalie felt welcome and needed.

  For the next hour, Alex pumped some type of putty into the long crack along the deck while Rosalie cupped sandpaper up and down each rung of the metal fence surrounding it. It was hot, heading toward late afternoon, the sun beating down on them as they worked.

  Rosalie felt her skin start to burn, the sweat leaking from her pores not doing enough to cool her. Her hands and feet were swollen from the heat, and sweat was making her eyes sting as it seeped out from
under the scalding dark blanket of her hair. She knew she should take a break but didn’t want to appear feeble in front of Alex. Latinas were supposed to be able to handle heat. Alex worked hours out in the hot sun every day and never wavered. If Alex could do it, Rosalie could, too.

  Rosalie felt her arms grow shaky, but she pressed the sandpaper harder into the metal. She felt herself get woozy and decided she would take a break as soon as she’d finished the post she was working on. When things started to swim before her, she leaned forward onto the gate, wondering if she should sit down. Everything grew fuzzy, and she felt like she’d stood too fast. The slats wobbled before her. Everything turned gray.

  She was sitting on the swings of a park with Tara like they had on their fourth date. Tara was looking at Rosalie with a pitying look. Rosalie wanted her to say something, but she didn’t. Tara’s feet dragged in the dust as they rocked back and forth, heavy with the lack of conversation. Rosalie looked down and saw Tara was making letters in the dust with her feet. Rosalie squinted closer, trying to see what Tara was spelling. As she did, she felt someone touching her face from behind, pressing something wet against her forehead. She blinked, wondering who was behind her before the whole scene faded to gray and Rosalie felt herself rising from what had clearly been a dream. She stayed in a hazy, gray space for some time as she felt a fierce prickling in her head, arms, and legs.

  A voice was swimming into her consciousness. She resented it. She wanted to know what Tara had written on the ground.

  “Rosalie...Rosalie, talk to me.”

  Someone was patting her arm, and Rosalie felt herself lying on something lumpy, her head at an odd angle.

  “Rosalie, can you hear me?”

  Rosalie recognized the voice as Alex’s. She cracked her eyes, blinded by slivers of light struggling in through an old pair of blinds. She blinked hard and realized she was in the lobby. Why had she decided to take a nap in the lobby?

  Hovering over her was Alex, a look of panic on her face.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Rosalie frowned, confused about what had happened. She moved to sit up, but Alex reached forward and pressed her shoulder into the couch. She felt her legs were at an odd angle and looked to see they were propped up on several pillows.

  “Don’t sit up,” Alex said sternly. “You passed out.”

  Disoriented, Rosalie resisted Alex’s hand, wanting to move and at least examine herself for injuries. Her head felt fuzzy, and her forehead felt wet. She lifted her hand and found a wet paper towel draped across it. She felt tingly all over.

  “I passed out?” Rosalie asked, confused.

  “I looked up just in time to see you sliding to the ground.”

  “What the fuck...”

  “You must have gotten too hot,” Alex said.

  Rosalie lifted her hand to cover her eyes, embarrassed. She used her hands to map her head, feeling for any sore spots or lumps. She didn’t find any.

  “How long was I out?” she asked, confused about how Alex had managed to get her into the lobby, prop her feet up, and put a wet paper towel on her head without her registering any of it.

  “A few minutes,” Alex said, her voice slipping into a more soothing groove. She sounded almost maternal. “The paramedics are on their way.”

  “Oh, my god, I don’t need the paramedics.” Rosalie felt herself grow hotter with embarrassment.

  “I want them to check you,” Alex said. “Heatstroke is nothing to mess around with.”

  Rosalie sighed, knowing Alex wouldn’t negotiate with her on this matter. Her body still felt hot and tingly, as though some of her blood vessels had fallen asleep and were slowly coming back online.

  “Did you carry me in here?” Rosalie asked, wondering how Alex could have managed that while she was unconscious.

  Alex shrugged. “Had to get you out of the heat.”

  Rosalie sighed and closed her eyes, strangely soothed by this protective and assertive version of Alex.

  “I’m sorry,” Rosalie mumbled, overcome with embarrassment.

  “Next time you feel dizzy, you sit down right away. Don’t try to be tough in this heat at this altitude when you’re not used to it, okay?” Alex’s voice was stern in a way Rosalie hadn’t heard before.

  “Okay.”

  It was quiet for a long minute. When Rosalie looked up, Alex was looking at her with a strange combination of fear and urgency.

  “I’m okay,” Rosalie said, willing herself to believe it. In truth, she was disoriented, confused by how she could be minding her own business in one place and wake up minutes later in another with no recollection of what had happened.

  “I’ll feel better after the paramedics check you.”

  Rosalie gave into the lumpy sympathy of the couch, realizing she was too heavy and uncomfortable to do more than lie where she was. She was still hot, her hands and feet swollen despite their tingling, the itchy prickle of sweat collecting under her arms and behind her knees.

  “Can I have some water?” she asked, feeling her throat stick together.

  Alex jumped up, filling a glass with water and crouching back down and holding it up to Rosalie’s lips so she could drink. It was an awkward angle, and Rosalie knew she would spill if she tried to drink, so she took the cup from Alex and lifted her head a few inches. Alex watched her as though she might choke on the water.

  “Does anywhere hurt?”

  Rosalie swallowed and scanned her body, feeling some soreness in her left shoulder. She reached across to touch it, finding it tender but not mangled. “My shoulder is a little sore.”

  “You fell on it,” Alex said. “Be sure to tell them that.”

  The silence felt heavy, and Rosalie felt anxiety seize her, racing with worst-case scenarios involving her fainting every time she had to go outside for more than five minutes. She knew she needed a distraction, but Alex wasn’t as talkative as she would have liked. Figuring she could leverage her emergency against Alex’s reticence, she said, “Tell me a story.”

  “A story?”

  “Just take my mind off feeling so fuzzy.”

  “Do you feel like you’re gonna pass out again?” Alex leaned in a few inches to examine Rosalie’s face.

  “I just want a distraction.”

  Alex settled onto the floor. Rosalie could tell she wasn’t keen to tell a story, but she wouldn’t refuse Rosalie right now.

  “I don’t know if I have any good stories,” Alex said.

  “Tell me about a vacation you took or something.”

  A beat passed before Alex said, “My family doesn’t take vacations.”

  Rosalie felt guilty for calling attention to the differences between her situation and Alex’s yet again.

  “I did live on a Navajo reservation a few hours away when I was thirteen.”

  Intrigued, Rosalie tilted her head to look at Alex. She considered Alex’s skin tone and long, narrow nose. Perhaps she was of Native American descent, or perhaps her skin was simply bronzed from the New Mexico sun.

  “Are you Navajo?”

  Alex gave a little shrug. “I’m something, obviously. My dad’s white, but I don’t know my mom’s ancestry.”

  Rosalie nodded, glad she could relate to Alex on this small matter. Like Alex, her dad was white. Rosalie’s mom was half Mexican, but she didn’t feel she belonged in either culture. She looked too Mexican to be white, but she didn’t speak Spanish, nor had she ever been to Mexico. She hadn’t had a quinceañera and couldn’t tell real Mexican food from Tex-Mex.

  But she didn’t say any of that to Alex. She just let Alex keep talking.

  “We lived on the reservation for a few months. My dad went to help with a few construction projects. My mom had just left, so I went with him.”

  It was quiet for a moment, and Rosalie didn’t know if she should ask about Alex’s mom. She figured she should play it safe.

  “Was it fun?” she asked.

  Alex did a funny little movement with her head and sh
oulder, and a shy smile crept over one side of her face as she glanced to the side. She was thinking about something but wasn’t disclosing it to Rosalie.

  “I learned a lot about construction and carpentry,” Alex offered instead. “My dad gave me my first electric drill when we got back to town.”

  Rosalie mustered a smile, even though her face still felt tingly and hot.

  “It was pretty cool living on the reservation. It’s like a whole little society with its own rules and stuff. Once you got off the highway, it took an hour to get to the village.”

  Rosalie wanted to hear more, but the paramedics pulled into the parking lot, unloading and dashing into the lobby with a stretcher in a matter of seconds.

  “Oh, my god,” Rosalie said, covering her eyes again. “I don’t need a stretcher.”

  “Let them decide,” Alex said in a hushed voice. She stood and gave a few of the paramedics a sturdy handshake, explaining what had happened.

  A concerned white man with a bloated face leaned over Rosalie. “Español?”

  “English,” Rosalie mumbled.

  Unpacking a bag Rosalie couldn’t see on the floor, the man lifted Rosalie’s arm and slipped an inflatable cuff on it, pumping the cuff full as Rosalie felt it squeeze and her arm start to tingle. He stuck a thermometer in her mouth and waited until it beeped to start asking questions: her name, the date, who the president was.

  “When was the last time you ate or drank?”

  “I just had a glass of water. I had a slice of pizza a few hours ago.”

  “Are you taking any medications?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

  Rosalie tried to laugh, but it fell flat in her chest. “Definitely not.”

  “When was the first day of your last menstrual cycle?”

  Surrounded by strange men and Alex, Rosalie was embarrassed. She didn’t want anyone to think about her body’s more private functions.

  “Um…like a week ago,” she muttered.

  “How much do you weigh?”

  Rosalie muttered a response, barely loud enough for the man to hear. She knew his questions were standard medical intake questions, but her answers felt too intimate to be sharing with a group of strange men and Alex.