“Well, what’s the account looking like?”
“It’s a little thin,” Didi told him. “Our last guest on the cottages left in a huff, if you recall.”
“We have two families coming for cottages, so that should be enough to handle that little pile.”
“I can always dip into our?—”
“No,” Jorge interrupted. “We said no to that. If this place doesn’t fly anymore, we agreed, no life support.”
“I am not ready to pull the plug on Sea Turtle. I’m not. We’re just going to have to get better, you and me.”
“No argument here. I told you it’s your call, and this place is our retirement hobby as long as you want to do this. I will say I’m sick of being in here though. What about we take the chairs out to the beach?”
“Yeah, that sound is annoying. But I carry the chairs, mister.” The chairs were resin, light weight, and Didi knew for a fact she could carry two without too much trouble.
Jorge harrumphed at her declaration. Then he stood up and walked over to the air conditioning unit. He banged the side of it with his hand. It was a wall unit that kept the office cool. Central air in their office was wasteful, plus they were barely in here. Most of their work was out with the guests, on the grounds, in the motel. This place was a phone and files and the attached laundry. The smack to the side of the air conditioning unit did the trick. It stopped moaning in protest.
Didi thought about the phone. Her wandering cell phone. She just hadn’t ever adjusted to using it like a landline. Thinking about the landline, she reshuffled the pile of bills.
There it was. This had to be the reason they’d had a few quiet weeks of rentals.
Past due from the Tampa Telecomm.
“Oh no, that was one of the bills I neglected! The phone! It’s not on!”
“No wonder bookings are down,” Jorge sighed. “No one can call. Good thing you’re a bombshell. Otherwise, I’m sure I’d have no use for you.”
Didi slid herself under Jorge’s shoulder to steady him. She could see the effort it was taking him to stand up and tinker with the air conditioner.
“Oh, yes, thank goodness for that. How else did I snag the Latin Lover of Mangrove County?” She rolled her eyes at the comment.
“Let me put the check to the phone company in the slot, and we’ll head out to the water.”
“Perfect.”
Ten minutes later, they were in their spots.
Somehow, Jorge managed to find two clean beach towels in the towel caddy and draped them over the resin chairs. Oops, another thing Didi needed to tend to. She needed to gather the towels, launder them, and restock them. The list kept getting longer.
“Get that in our mail slot?”
“I did. Yes, the phone should be back in service in a day or two.” She knew most people paid bills on the internet. But she didn’t trust the internet. She mailed the bills in…well, when she remembered.
“Good, good. Now, let’s just relax. We don’t want to miss it.”
“When you’re right, you're right.”
As they settled into their chairs, their friend Henry showed up with wine.
Henry owned the cutest little beach restaurant, the Seashell Shack. He couldn’t make the scene every day, but today was their lucky day. He must have sensed they needed a little something good to end the day.
“What? You don’t need to bring us libations, Henry Hawkins.”
“Yeah? Well, I missed you two yesterday. I thought I’d check on my favorite love birds.”
“Oh, you’re too sweet,” Didi said.
Henry Hawkins was Henry Handsome in her book. He had the look of Timothy Olyphant, Didi’s favorite from that showDeadwoodthat Jorge liked. Jorge teased her that Henry was her backup plan. Maybe if she was twenty years younger!
