Seth warmly congratulated Rosie on the job she’d done and pulled up a chair to the kitchen island like he owned the place. He had a laptop and several binders bearing the name of his property management firm.
“I can’t believe it,” Seth said, shaking his head. “I can’t hardly recognize it! You’re the best, Rosie. This is, like, my biggest account now. I’m so glad you didn’t decide to sell.”
Tom recalled a relevant childhood fable in which a little red hen baked cornbread, but a bunch of other little assholeanimals didn’t help at all. Seth didn’t deserve any cornbread unless Tom got to rub it directly into his face. Tom thought that he and his little hen should go eat cornbread in bed. But he needed to get the other man out of the house first.
“Have you had lunch?” Tom asked, deciding that conspicuous hospitality was the best tactic to take. He’d polished these floors. He’d caulked these windows. Seth was inhiskitchen, but he’d barely acknowledged Tom’s existence, which Tom did not intend to tolerate. Tom crossed his arms and went to stand next to Rosie. “We’ve got a lot of food left. Can I fix you a snack?”
“Oh, sure,” said Seth, not at all picking up what Tom was laying down. He looked at Rosie. “Always love your cooking. It’s too bad we’ve been too busy to get out here. The baby is just too much. But next time.”
“Next time,” Rosie said, shooting a cautious glance at Tom as he stomped to the fridge to get out the previous day’s fajita meat. “Did you have a chance to look at all the bookings?”
Seth nodded in amazement. “Boyd Kellagher! Everyone wants to come stay with Boyd Kellagher. Any chance we can use him to promote the inn?”
“Like the white tigers at the Mirage hotel?” Tom called as he picked the meat apart for nachos. “Boyd needs alotof enrichment in his enclosure. He’s leaving for New York tomorrow.”
Seth chuckled. “I get it,” he said. “But won’t he be back? Aren’t the three of you all…you know?” He made a half-hearted gesture with his hands that could have been obscene or merely confused.
Rosie turned bright red, but she didn’t flinch.
“Are we three what?” she asked innocently.
“You know,” Seth said. “Or is it just, uh. Is it—you know?”
“I don’t know,” Rosie replied, digging in.
Tom stuck a plate of nachos in the microwave and came to stand behind Rosie again with his hand on her shoulder.Sure, Seth, ask me in front of my wife which of us is fucking Boyd Kellagher.
Seth folded and grabbed a binder. “Never mind,” he muttered. “I brought all the bookings like you asked.”
Rosie took the binder from him and eagerly flipped through the pages.
“We’re totally booked through October,” Seth boasted. “Even the bunk room. Some girls want to have a convention out here. About Boyd. See? In August? They’re calling it BoyCon. I had to get extra permits to have commercial booths on the front lawn.”
“So it’s going to make money?” Tom asked, headed to the microwave.
“Well, yeah,” Seth said. “Should break even by the end of the season, even considering all the storm stuff. And if this keeps up through fall, Max might do very well.”
“Maybe next summer we could put in that hot tub you were thinking about, babe,” Tom called to Rosie, who was continuing to flip through the pages with a small frown on her face.
She murmured an agreement, but unenthusiastically. Tom looked over her shoulder to where she’d turned to listings for Memorial Day weekend. The suite was assigned to Max, and Rosie’s name was listed for the next queen bedroom down the hall. Tom didn’t recognize any of the other names on the list.
“Didn’t you get an email with reservation links?” she asked.
Tom didn’t understand the thrust of her question. He’d gotten the email. So had hundreds of other people, if the number of reservations was evidence. “Yeah, but I didn’t make a separate reservation because I assumed I’d be with you?” he said, voice tightening. He’d thought this argument had been put to rest.
Rosie saw the flash of panic on his face and quickly put a hand on his arm. “No, of course you will.” She turned back to Seth. “Did everyone else think they had to pay, do you think? We’re still not charging family to stay here, right?”
Seth shook his head. “No, I sent out a separate email to all the people on the friends and family list. It’s a different sign-up system.” He flipped to the Fourth of July and pointed at one entry. “These are Max’s friends. See the little code here?”
“I do see,” Rosie said, her hands resting on the pages. She was very quiet and still. The microwave beeped, and Tom turned around to get Seth’s snack out.
“You know,” Seth mused. “It might even be better if you and Max did something else this year while everyone is so interested in the inn, yeah? We could charge a premium for the suite. Like a thousand a night. Hate to take those rooms off the market. I’ve got people on a waiting list. What do you think?”
The plate was hot, and Tom had to hunt for an oven mitt to pull it out. He was waiting for Rosie to tell Seth off, but when he turned back around with the nachos, Rosie was halfway up the stairs.
25
Even though she’d gone up to the suite to have a private cry, some part of Rose’s soul was still bewildered to find herself alone there. After she’d matched the curtains to the throw pillows? After she’d gotten the wires for the basement sound system invisibly taped to the baseboards? After Tom had nearly broken his neck getting the roof fixed? After the windows, the pool, thebees? After Boyd Kellagher oozed his ambiguous sexuality over every piece of furniture in the foyer?
