Lord, thank you for getting me here. Thank you for a place to sleep.
She laughed, breaking the cobwebs from her tired soul. Just. Need. A. Bed. And. Bath.
Still waiting for her taxi, Corina dug her phone from her handbag and texted Gigi that she’d arrived safe and sound. Then she found the number of her friend Sharlene in her Contacts, wishing she’d arranged ahead of time to see her. When Sharlene’s voice mail came on saying she was on holiday and would respond when she wasn’t napping or on the beach, Corina hung up.
Between helping Mark step into his director role, and preparing for the premier and the interview with Clive, Corina had not organized the personal side of her trip very well. What friends did she want to see? If any at all? What memory lanes to stroll down? Most important, when and how did she contact Stephen? What would she say to him when she did?
Hey, dude, I came to love well. Whatever that means. You game?
She was about to check on her taxi when a woman approached, wearing a white overcoat with a fur collar and wool cap. In June? Corina stared a moment beyond polite.
“You’re looking for a room,” she said, making a statement, not asking a question.
Corina monitored the woman’s movements. “And you are?”
“A friend.” Her voice was thick and powerful, yet smooth and easy.
“My friend? Have we met before?” She didn’t look or feel familiar.
“In a manner of speaking.” She offered Corina a simple, cream-colored card. “There’s a place for you right down the avenue. One block south.”
“Excuse me? A place for me?” Corina hesitated but then took the card and read the simple lettering. “The Manor.”
“Go to the corner of Market Avenue.” The woman pointed toward the south curb. “Cross at the light and go down one block on Crescent. You can’t miss it. A quaint little place in the shade of Gliden and Martings.”
“Gliden and Martings? The department stores?” Corina checked to see if a bell cap was within shouting distance. “Look, I’m tired and not interested in whatever you’re doing.” Really? A huckster in the shadows of the great and grand Wellington?
“The Manor has a room for you. Please, go. With faith.”
With faith.Corina’s sense of eerie was balanced by a flood of peace.
Stepping back, the woman tipped her head toward the corner. “The traffic is stopped. You’re clear to go.”
With a gaze toward the avenue, then the hotel bell station, Corina sensed a sort of celestial pause, as if the world was waiting for her to move. The traffic in both directions was stopped at the light, mounting up, idling.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Corina stuck out the cream-colored card, willing the woman to take it back. “I–I don’t think this is for me.”
“You’re in very safe hands. Remember why you came.” She nodded toward the street, her hands buried in the deep, creamy pockets of her coat. She was ethereal, exuding a rapturous peace. “Best go or the opportunity will be lost. Lean into your faith. It’s brought you this far.”
“O–okay.” Corina collected her luggage. While she had no intention of staying at the Manor, she was confident she wanted away from this woman in white wool and fur. In June!
Rolling luggage behind her, she crossed at the intersection, the woman watching. She’d go a block, then hail a cab and find a hotel. Never mind the weirdness of the world being in slow mo, even stopping for her while she made her way to the other side.
What was happening?
The city must be working on the lights. Yes, that must be it. Otherwise, traffic would not stop in all directions on a Friday morning.
Yet the moment Corina cleared the lane and stepped onto the sidewalk, the west-bound traffic light turned green. Cars zipped past. Pedestrians skipped along, their heels cracking against the concrete. The bell captain’s whistle pierced the air.
And the woman in white? Gone. No sign of her on Market or Crescent. Theswirl, like the one from last Sunday, a touch of the divine, coated Corina.
She paused, listening. Waiting and watching. But she was too weary to contemplate any further. Chalk the last few minutes up to jet lag. Or the way of summer in Brighton.
Of course, that was the answer. Weariness. And a bit of the wonder of this fine isle.
Adjusting her grip on her luggage, Corina made her way toward what should be the Manor, fully prepared to drop everything and run. If anything,anyone, jumped out at her, she’d be nothing but heels and elbows.
