Hotel Ruby (5 page)

“No,” I say, putting my palm on my forehead. I run my hand down my cheek and then shake off the nerves. “I must have been imagining things.”

Tanya bites her long bright-red fingernail like she's thinking. Then she smiles politely. “It happens to the best of us,” she responds. “Enjoy your breakfast.” Then she leaves to grab the other plates.

A
fter I finish eating, I decide to check out the gift shop I noticed when we checked in. I'm thrilled to be staying an extra two nights as I peruse the shop, which is more like a department store than a hole-in-the-wall filled with an array of tourist tchotchkes. There are key chains and shot glasses, of course, but there are also sets of delicate glasses and plates, linens, and plush robes—everything you'd need to re-create the Hotel Ruby experience at home. Weird, sure. But I'm kind of obsessed with the woven scarf hanging on the coatrack.

In Arizona I didn't wear scarves very often, at least not sensible ones. A decorative one here or there with skinny jeans and boots, but this—I pick it up and wrap it around my neck. The fabric is as soft as cashmere, but thick and warm. It'll be perfect for Elko's long winters, the cold days I'll be spending in some converted attic, locked away like my father's forgotten past.

The thought of moving to my grandmother's fills me with dread once again, and I unwind the scarf and loop it on the rack. I walk along a little farther and skim the T-shirts, pausing at a dark red one with
THE HOTEL RUBY
embroidered on the front. I smile and start to search through the sizes for an extra-large. When I find it, I hold it up, measuring if it's big enough for Ryan. Lately his arms have gotten massive, and whenever I buy him a large, it—

Ryan
. I drop the shirt onto the pile and take a step back. I've been on autopilot, mine and Ryan's relationship so ingrained in my head at this point that I shop for him without thinking, that I save up my observations and funny stories to share him with later. Even though I have no intention of calling him. For so long I wanted to be free, and now that I am, I don't know who I want to become. I'm not sure what kind of person I really am.

I leave the T-shirts and head toward the candies near the register. There's an older woman behind the counter, reading through an issue of
Entertainment Weekly
, and a guy restocking bookshelves on the far side of the store. The woman glances up from her magazine and smiles.

“Hello there, hon,” she says in a faded Southern accent. “Are you looking for something in particular or just browsing?”

“Just browsing,” I respond. She nods, but sets her magazine aside like I've captured her attention instead. She's a little older, about my mother's age, polished and put together in an ivory suit with shoulder pads. She looks like she just walked off the pages of a JCPenney catalog. Her smile is wide and genuine, and her perfume reminds me of a grandmother's—albeit a hip, rich grandmother who
wears blazers to work a cash register. “Actually,” I say, hoping for conversation, “I might want to buy something for my ex-boyfriend.”

She chuckles, and slaps her palm down on the counter, startling me. “Now you're talking.” She rounds the counter to stop in front of me. I read her name tag:
ASTRID
. “Thought I'd be spending another afternoon ready to kill myself,” she says. “Have you seen these people?” She waves her arms, gesturing to the Ruby itself. “They may as well be dead, they're so boring.”

“Now tell me,” she continues, her dark eyes round with excitement. “Is this an ex you're trying to win back, or is the gift more of an apology?”

“It's definitely an apology,” I say, embarrassment quieting my voice. Astrid's smile fades slightly, and she leans in closer.

“Then I have the perfect thing,” she whispers, and starts walking in the direction I've just come from.

I follow her, doubting I'll send Ryan any gift I pick up. But since my mother's death I haven't had another woman to talk to. Maybe for a moment I can pretend that I do. I blink quickly to avoid the onset of tears, sniffing them away before Astrid stops in front of the decorative jars and chocolate boxes.

“He's not really the vanilla-candle sort of guy,” I say, glancing sideways. Astrid reaches past me to grab a white box of chocolates from the shelf and then holds it out. I
take the box hesitantly but shake my head. “Ryan won't eat these,” I tell her. “He's super anal about his diet. High protein. Low carb. No sugar.” I put the box back on the shelf and am surprised to find Astrid smiling at me.

“They're not for him,” she says, grabbing the box again and heading toward the register with it. “They're for you.”

“Me?”

Astrid slides behind the counter and pulls out a paper bag with “The Hotel Ruby” written across it in red. She slips the chocolates inside and then rings them up. I stare at her like she's crazy. When I don't take out money to pay her, she leans against the register.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she says, in way of explanation. “Just let it go, hon.”

“Not to sound rude,” I begin, “but I actually do owe him a lot. A hell of a lot more than a box of chocolates.”

“That may be,” she says, her expression growing serious. “But life has a way of balancing things out. Is he here with you?”

“No. I doubt I'll ever see him again.”

Astrid reaches to put her hand over mine. “See?” She turns back to the register like she's just made a powerful statement, but I'm a little confused. Forcing a bonding moment with a random cashier probably wasn't an inspired idea.

Well, at least she grabbed the salted caramel flavor chocolates. They're my favorite. I glance around the counter
one last time and notice the postcards. One catches my attention, and I pluck it off the plastic rack. It's a painted portrait of the Hotel Ruby, the massive front doors and leaded windows. The golden lights shining on the trees, setting off the entire scene in magic. “Stay Tonight. Stay Forever” is typed in black on the side.

“Astrid,” I say, sliding the postcard across the counter. “Can you add this in?”

She flicks her eyes to the picture and then to me, seeming slightly annoyed that I'm not taking her advice to “let it go.” She rings up the card and shoves it into the bag with the chocolates, telling me the total. I hand over a few bills, and while waiting for the change, I see the other employee has finished stocking the shelves. There's an empty cart sitting there, but he's gone.

“Here you go,” Astrid says, holding up the bag. I thank her as I take my items, then start for the door, already thinking about what I'll write to Ryan on the postcard. “And hon,” the cashier calls. I turn back to look at her, and she smiles. “Welcome to the Ruby.”

Upstairs I shower and put on makeup. As I get ready, I open the box of chocolates and pop a piece into my mouth. The first bite is sweet and rich, but as I continue to chew, there's an aftertaste that reminds me of turned milk.

“Bleh,” I say, opening my mouth to let the chocolate fall into the trash can with a
thunk
. I rinse out my mouth and
then inspect the box, trying to see if there's an expiration date. When I find nothing strange, I close up the box and dump the entire thing in the garbage. “That was a waste,” I say, clicking off the bathroom light and heading back into my room.

I sit on my bed and bring the room service menu onto my lap. The postcard lies next to me on the comforter. I grab the pen from the nightstand and blow out a steadying breath. Leaning back against the pillows, I move the postcard onto the menu so I can write.

But after close to twenty minutes the words won't come. They're too big, too broad, to fit in the stroke of a pen. Maybe Astrid was right—I should let it go. Every minute I sit here, I regret more, and the guilt is threatening to eat me up. In an attempt to cut off the pain, I quickly scratch a message on the postcard and sign it.

I'm sorry for everything.

—Audrey

When I'm done, I hop up from the bed, tucking the postcard into my back pocket, and slip on my sandals. I'll take this down to the front desk and have them mail it. And then I'll be done. It'll be over. I'll let it be over.

Afterwards I'll keep my eyes out for Elias, the gorgeous distraction. I have no plans of pulling a Daniel and hooking up with a stranger, but I definitely liked the guy in the suit.
I think he sort of liked me, too. It's nice to feel attracted to somebody again.

I grab my keycard and head out the door.

At the elevator I smooth down my hair, since it's hell-bent on frizzing out and making me look crazy. I'm trying to mat down my part when the doors open. My heart skips. Elias is inside the elevator, resting against the mirrored wall.

“Audrey Casella,” he says, stepping aside to make space directly next to him. “You're still here.” He darts a look at the floor number and then back at me. “What an unexpected surprise.”

“You're telling me,” I say, blushing under his attention. “My father's letting us stay a few more days, and normally I would wait until I could crash your fancy party to bump into you, but I've been told I need an invitation. Not at all pretentious.” He chuckles, and I glance sideways at him. “Hey. You lost the suit.”

“I look great without it.”

I laugh, and stare down at the floor—sure that he can tell exactly how thrilled I am to bump into him. My pink toes are neon against the classic colors in the elevator, the grays and reds, and I shift my eyes to Elias's shoes: soft brown moccasins. He has on khaki shorts, a button-down white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is tucked behind his ears, although a few strands have fallen forward.

He's taller than I remember, and as I continue to check
him out, I realize he's smiling and staring straight ahead. I follow his gaze to our reflections in the elevator doors. When I meet Elias's eyes in the shiny surface, he winks. I smile and look away.

The elevator stops and the bell dings for the lobby.

“Where are you off to now?” Elias motions for me to exit first when the doors slide back. “I'm certainly open to changing my plans.”

I turn toward him, the rectangle in my back pocket making me feel like I'm cheating. On whom, I'm not exactly clear. “I'm, um . . . on my way to mail a postcard to my ex-boyfriend.”

“I'm a little jealous,” Elias says, despite the curve at the corner of his mouth that says otherwise.

“Don't be. It's an apology for being a terrible girlfriend.”

“That's incredibly polite of you,” Elias says with a laugh. We start across the lobby, our steps deliberately slow to draw out our time together. “Can't say any of my ex-girlfriends would have bothered,” he says. “Your boyfriend . . .” He pauses, waiting for me to supply the name.

“Ryan.”

“Ryan,” he continues, “must be a great guy. Either that or you were truly awful.”

“A bit of both, I think.”

“I hope you never have to be that kind to me.”

We reach the deserted front desk, and I flash Elias an apologetic smile. “Don't think I'll be here long enough
for us to reach any official status, so you should be safe,” I tell him.

Elias turns, resting his back against the counter so he can look out over the lobby. “I'm not afraid of commitment,” he says.

“I am.”

“Goddamn, you're interesting.” Elias peeks sideways at me, a wry smile on his lips. “Let me steal you away for a little bit. Give you that tour.”

I'm seriously considering his offer when the door to the back office opens and Kenneth walks out. He smiles brightly, like he's pleased to find us waiting. Elias glances back but doesn't acknowledge him. Kenneth doesn't miss a beat, though.

“Mr. Lange,” he says, nodding to Elias. “Ah, Miss Casella. You're still here. What can we do for you?”

This is actually way more awkward than I considered. I take a step away from Elias and pull the postcard from my back pocket. “I was looking to mail this?” I say in a hushed voice. I slide the card across the counter, and Kenneth stares down without touching it. When he doesn't respond, I clear my voice to sound steadier. “I don't have any stamps,” I say. “I thought maybe—”

“I'll take care of it right away,” Kenneth says, folding his hands in front of him. He doesn't go on, he doesn't check the address. I wait a long moment, but his face is a portrait of pleasantness. I thank him and turn to Elias, widening
my eyes to let him know the concierge is being weird.

Elias's lips hint at a smile, but he straightens them and nods to Kenneth politely before taking my hand to lead me away. When we're across the lobby, his fingers slide from mine, the sensation sending chills over my skin. We both look back to where Kenneth is standing. He watches us, but then the concierge picks up the postcard and disappears into the back room.