“Best dinner I ever had,” the man said. “Do you remember their names, honey? I thought I’d never forget, but I didn’t factor in old age.”
“Jean and Vern Carter,” Ben said.
“That’s right,” the woman said. “You knew them?”
“They were my grandparents.”
“Lucky you.” The man patted the desk surface with his hand. “How are they doing?”
“Granddaddy died six years ago and Granny…last month.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman said sincerely. “You’ll see them again, take comfort.”
Okay, but wasn’t that thought a bit of a cliché?
“This life is passing. But the next life?—”
“Let me get you signed in.” Ben asked for their credit card and handed them a registration packet. He’d heard the messages of life, death, heaven, and hell. Seen more miracles than most. He’d read the Bible verses, argued about them with Dad, and in the moment, didn’t want to relive it all over again. Church, religion, wasn’t for everyone.
The man, Mr. Walker, signed the credit card transaction, then reached down for his luggage. “Are you running the place now?”
“For the time being.”
“We’ve remembered this place our whole lives,” Mrs. Walker said. “Your grandparents’ kindness was life changing. Our stay here is Walker family lore. One we’ve told over and over to our kids and grandkids. Oh, Dan, I’m sorry now we didn’t make it back to tell the Carters.” She peered at Ben. “We’d always planned to come back, but then the kids started coming, and we were working, raising a family. Next thing you know, it’s forty-eight years later.”
“But this anniversary our kids sent us back.” Mr. Walker was busting his buttons. “We raised some great kids, Barb.”
The Walkers shot heart eyes at each other. Their happiness and love were palpable, like Ben could reach out and touch it. Their memory of Granddaddy and Granny washed over him with sentimentality.
Never once as the hotel manager at any of the Viridian Jewel Resorts had Ben offered rooms to those in need or interacted with such a sweet couple.
He rarely, if ever, met the same guests twice. Business travelers, sometimes, if the timing was right. But honeymooning couples? Families taking an extravagant excursion? No, never. And forget about offering shelter to someone in trouble.
The rooms had to earn a specific amount. The food, earn a certain profit.
The profit margin was a part of the hotel business he didn’t like. The guests were just numbers. A way to meet the resort’s bottom line.
“Here is your room key as well as a key to the front door. We lock up every night at ten. Open every morning at six.” Ben handed Mr. Walker an old-fashioned metal key. Were he to stay here and run the inn, he’d upgrade to keycards. But he wasn’t taking over, was he? “And at Hearts Bend Inn, we insist on helping you to your room.”
Ben walked around the desk to help the Walkers with their luggage. Service was the Viridian culture. Escorting guests to their rooms was the Golden Rule.
Checking to make sure everything was shipshape, he bid the Walkers goodnight and returned to the lobby. It was late and he really needed to get to bed, but a mountain of VJR work waited for him back in the office.
Coffee. He needed coffee. Even a cup of Walt’s horrible brew would do. Which reminded him—check with Java Jane’s about supplying the inn with coffee.
At the registration desk, he checked to make sure he’d cleared the Walkers’ form, then turned off the lobby lights except for the wall sconces.
The warm, low glow of the lights triggered a store of memories. How many times had he checked in a solo traveler caught in a storm or a weary family who’d come to town for the Fourth of July festival or summer tourism?
Then there’d been the January of 2010, when he’d come home for Granddaddy’s birthday and Old Man Winter had dumped almost ten inches of snow on them. Ben had checked in quite a few stranded travelers. His grandparents had opened all the rooms and cottages and fired up the kitchen to feed anyone who needed something to eat. Granddaddy had grilled up all the meat he could, and Granny had made batch after batch of cookies. Ben himself had stirred up several gallons of hot chocolate, tea, and coffee.
The fireplace had roared with hot flames, and one of the guests had sat at the piano, playing request after request.
We’re having us a slumber party, Granny had said.
Ben laughed softly, remembering her expression, hearing the excitement in her voice.
Then there was the family who’d lost their house in a fire. Granny had given them Cottage One for six months. Free.
