Chapter 7
~ Sammie ~
I tell Braden I have to sleep on this and will give him his final answer in the morning. A girl has to keep her options open. After all, hesayshe got a call from his stepmother, and he spins a story about a dying grandfather, being estranged from his family, and wishing to make amends. All suitably heartstring tugging.
I don’t believe it.
I do, however, sleep so well that the sun is streaming through the curtains printed with yellow happy faces, and I can smell bacon and coffee wafting up from the kitchen below.
I get a grand choice between my jeans and sweatshirt and my short-shorts and tube top. It’s winter in the Sierra Nevada mountains, and neither will keep me warm. I went to jail in the summer and don’t have even a winter coat. Since the matronly Mrs. King who checked us in said I could call her for anything I wanted, I pick up the room phone and dial the front desk.
“Over Easy Bed and Breakfast, how may I help you?” the cheerful voice asks.
“I’m Sammie in room one. Can you knock on the gentleman’s door in room two, Mr. Powers, and ask him to fetch me a laptop so I can order clothes? I’ve lost my luggage and don’t have anything to wear.”
“Oh, my, why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Mrs. King huffs and puffs. “We have a discarded clothing pile where guests donate clothes to our homeless shelters. Why don’t you come to the kitchen, have some breakfast, and then go pick yourself an outfit?”
“I couldn’t do that. Those are meant for the poor.” Not that I don’t qualify, but I’m all for hitting Braden up for designer togs. After all, if I’m his genius daughter…
“I understand how you feel.” Mrs. King lowers her voice as if she’s on a super, secret mission. “I’m betting you’re a size three, petite. The truth is, all the homeless folks in this town are three times your size, and the smaller clothes are not in demand. I’ve been meaning to sort them out and take them to the shelter, but you know how it is, being so close to Christmas and a million things to do. Let me bring you an outfit to get you going.”
She sounds just like the motherly type who bakes Christmas cookies and frosts them, makes her own apple cider, and probably churns her own butter. At least, I imagine that’s how ordinary country folk live.
“Okay, sure. Thanks. Did you see Mr. Powers this morning?”
“He’s gone. Drove away early this morning. That’s why I suggested looking through our donation pile.”
“What do you mean he’s gone? Did he check out?”
“We rent night to night, so we don’t have a formal check out process, but he did take all his things, and the room is clean.” Mrs. King sounds kindhearted, but an edge of gossipy curiosity creeps into her voice. “Did something untoward happen? Does this mean you’re stranded?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll need to stay another night and figure things out. Will forty dollars cover it?”
“If you’re willing to help me with the laundry and make the beds, I can let you slide,” Mrs. King replies. “I’ll be right up with the clothes.”
The desktop phone is one of those old hefty ones, so I slam the receiver into the cradle with a satisfying thud.
I can’t believe he up and ditched me. I should have known it was too good to be true. Who falls for a cockamamie tale of pretending to be a guy’s daughter?
This sucks the big one. I didn’t even get to sleep with him. What a dud of a get out of jail night. I’m not even sure if he passed my test or not, because I’m not sure what I was looking for.
A smidgen of humanity?
A ray of honesty?
Or evidence he’s got a heart?
Obviously not.
There’s a knock on the door, and Mrs. King says, “Dear, I picked out a dress for you. If you don’t like it, feel free to go to the basement after breakfast and choose something else.”
Since I slept in the sweatshirt and baggy jeans, I’m okay with opening the door. I paste on a smile and thank Mrs. King, keeping the smile on my face until she’s gone.
Then I stick my finger down my throat and mock gag. She picked out a white dress with red polka dots. It has puffed sleeves, a tiered frilly bodice, and a bell-shaped skirt that ends below my knees.
She’s included white lace socks, red Mary-Jane shoes, size five, and a red faux-leather purse.
Who wears stuff like this? And what town am I stuck in? Mrs. King looks like a homemaker from theLeave it to Beaverera with a beehive hairdo, a pin-tucked white blouse, and pleated plaid skirt.
