14
Jack
Idon’t have a concussion. By the end of the evening, with a full stomach and enough ibuprofen, I’m feeling pretty close to human. Still, Harper insists on knocking on my door every two hours through the night. I try to tell her I’ll be okay and she doesn’t need to keep waking us both up, but she insists. Her presence at least means that most of the midnight sexual antics from my neighbors are kept to a minimum, but I also don’t manage to get more than forty-five minutes of consecutive sleep before she’s back again. In some ways, I miss the creaky springs.
My own springs remain silent. Because I said that was the right thing to do.
We’ll blame the head injury—concussion or not—for my questionable decision-making.
Harper’s clearly not firing me. It would have been easy enough to announce she’s putting me on a plane to get my brain checked out and then use my absence as an excuse to hire someone else. Instead, she’s knocking on my door at two in the morning to make sure I haven’t slipped into a coma, in case her VI-VIP and his bodyguard want to go out tomorrow.
The same bodyguard I turned down less than twelve hours ago.
I finally fall asleep around five. The sun is already halfway up. My last thought isI hope David finds decent coffee without me.
I wake up in the afternoon. The blackout shade has done its job, and my room is still almost entirely dark, though when I raise the shade, it turns out it’s also pouring again, so there wasn’t that much light to block in the first place.
I call Stef, but she doesn’t pick up, so I send a quick email letting her know I made it through the night, then strip and take a long, hot shower since apparently my services aren’t needed today. The Steri-Strips stay in place, and I can’t help but remember the gentle pressure of David’s hand on my face as he patched me up.
If I’d let him, he would have touched me more. Maybe even other places than my head.
I towel off and tell myself to get it together. I learned a long time ago that the right thing and the thing you want only line up half the time. And anyway, David will be gone soon, and it won’t matter anymore. I’ll be on to the next VI-VIP, and all they’ll want is for me to find them the biggest fish I can.
The staff lounge is empty when I go looking for food. So is the staff kitchen. I slap together some bread and cold cuts, and the whole time I’m eating, not a single person appears.
Did I sleep through an evacuation?
When I walk out into the main part of the lodge, the front desk is unattended, which seems like a huge lapse in service on Harper’s watch. I go to the front door, and the world outside is completely gray and drenched. TheHawkis tied up at the dock, and no one is around.
A shout comes from the second floor. It’s followed almost immediately by cheering, and I can’t help myself when I take the first step up and then the next, curiosity drawing me toward the sound.
The second floor is what Harper calls “the social floor.” One wing has guest rooms, but the other, over where the dining room is, has an open space where guests can hang out in the afternoons when fishing is done. It’s got leather couches, a pool table, a bookshelf on one wall, and a chest of board games for people to play on days like today when it’s too wet to go outside.
As I come up to the top of the stairs, there’s a small party going on. Maybe sixteen people are squashed onto various couches. Harper is perched on the arm of one of the chairs, looking as meticulous as ever, but her smile creases her cheeks in a way I haven’t seen before. One of the waitstaff from the dining room—I think his name is Rick—is standing in the middle of the crowd, waving his arms excitedly, then hopping on one foot, while people shout at him and laugh.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away!”
“Always look on the bright side of life!”
“What goes around comes around!”
“Get two pizzas for the price of one!”
The last comment has the whole room dissolving into hysterical laughter while Marci stands up abruptly and shouts “Time!” Rick puts his hands on his hips and glares at the people around him.
“You’re all the worst,” he says. “The answer was obviously ‘bad moon rising.’” This declaration only leads to more laughter as Rick pouts and Marci strikes a big X on the paper flip chart that’s been set up off to one side.
“Okay, who’s next?” Harper asks, clapping her hands brightly. Even when everyone’s having a good time, she can’t help herding them all like ducklings. There’s a lot of finger pointing and a lot of “No, I already went!” and finally a voice behind me says, “I don’t think Jack’s had a turn.”
David’s standing behind me. He’s holding a full coffee mug in each hand and gives me a smile that nearly has me reminding him we’re not alone, but before I can, people are back to cheering and yelling.
“Yeah! Jack, come play.” Marci tugs on my hand.
“No, no. It’s okay. I just wanted to know where everyone was.”
David’s behind me, close enough that if Marci lets go, I’ll stumble into him and most likely get two cups of coffee dumped on me for my trouble. I continue to protest while Marci leads me into the circle, and David skirts around me to hand one of the mugs to his boss, who says something I can’t hear to David, but he only shakes his head before he goes to stand behind the couch where Mr. Morgan is sitting.
“Come on,” Marci’s saying. “It’s a friendly game of charades. You can be on my team.”
