While my own summers were nowhere near as interesting as Lily's, I spent a great deal of it at my cousin's house in Santa Fe, northeast of Albuquerque. The pueblo-style homes (you know, those sharp-cornered houses that look like they were built from mud or clay and they would have small square windows and nude paint jobs) blended well with Santa Fe's desert environment, so when Uncle Tim's Georgian-style house was built, it was an obvious standout from all the other houses.
Uncle Tim was never home whenever I spent my summers in Santa Fe. He was a partner at an accounting firm in Albuquerque and would often stay in the city for a couple of nights if work was too demanding. Aunt Martha would be off to town with her fellow girl friends to spend credit cards provided and paid for by their husbands, and then come home to finish whatever painting she was working on in the rear balcony like she was Allie Hamilton from The Notebook.
With both Uncle Tim and Aunt Martha gone for most of the time, cousin Daniel and I would be left alone to entertain ourselves and make sure neither of us accidentally died in the process. But even Daniel would go off with his own friends whenever he got a chance, so I had plenty of time to get to know their peculiar 9-bedroom home.
As I led the way to our room on the fourth floor, I realized how much the hotel reminded me of Uncle Tim's house. Sure it wasn't the same exact architecture but the base layout was all the same. Like the Hacienda's, the Santa Fe house featured a large dining hall next to the kitchen (which was never used except for Thanksgiving and sometimes Christmas), long hallways with mismatched carpets, high ceilings carved in even blocks, and a solemn atmosphere I would still come to remember even decades later.
We reached the rear of the hotel and found the bottom of the stairs by the sparkling clean drink station. Lily, who carried the sleeping Gale, was visibly disappointed.
"We're on the fourth floor and there's no elevator?" Lily grumbled.
"Your hometown, Lils."
Halfway up the stairs, we decided to take a short break on the second floor landing. With Gale asleep and two huge luggages in hand, the climb required one last grudging effort to end our two-day excursion.
From the landing we could see a glimpse of the second floor hallway which I imagine would be similar to the fourth. Beige wall sconce lighting lined the walls evenly on both sides, the floor either empty or it housed guests trying to sleep through the night. At the opposite end of the hallway was a ceiling-to-floor window through which I could see the upheaval of Hurricane XX.
After a minute or so of catching our breaths and realizing how much we needed to go back to the gym once we were settled in, we trekked up the last few steps up the stairs until we reached the fourth floor (and felt sorry for whoever had to stay on the floors beyond).
"What's the room number again?" asked Lily.
"412."
We arrived at our room; Lily set Gale down on one of the queen beds as I put away our luggages in the closet by the bathroom.
While Lily kept herself busy inspecting the cleanliness of our room (especially the bathroom after she had an oh so miserable time in the restroom downstairs), I was quite a bit surprised at how plain the bedroom looked compared to the rest of the hotel. The walls were painted a dull gray except for a slightly noticeable paint crack by the outskirts of the beds' headboards; a counter decorated with an alarm clock, telephone, and lamp, separated the two queen beds neatly fitted in clean white sheets; a study desk stood at the corner by the window covered in dark red drapes; a TV, dresser, mini fridge, all the things provided for in a chain hotel were complete in the Hacienda.
Not that it was a terrible bedroom per say. With Hacienda looking like a Georgian model home in a magical garden, the room could be from a Hilton or Marriott brand hotel if taken out of context.
Lily stepped out of the bathroom then said, "Looks good."
After going through my evening routine-- a seven-step skincare ritual I religiously follow without missing a night-- I began unpacking the only luggages we were able to bring from the van. These only made up a fraction of our belongings but the majority of it was left in Albuquerque to either be donated or sold. Lily insisted it would be cheaper to just buy most of what we needed locally, and less things to move with meant less costs to move.
"Babe," said Lily as she started grabbing clothes from the luggage and placing them in the drawers. "How're you feeling so far?"
"I gotta say, I'm a bit worried about that bridge we just passed through." It was meant as a slight sarcasm but the tapered bridge suspended over the river right before we reached the hotel truly worried me that the water may cause the bridge to flood.
"That bridge went through so many hurricanes, I can't even count them."
"And what if those hurricanes just damaged the bridge little by little over time, and this is the year it finally falls apart?"
"I don't think we're that lucky, babe." Lily chuckled and reached for the jeans I had re-folded on my side. Then she asked, "Seriously, how do you feel?"
"You know me, Lils. I'm optimistic. And I don't care if it's a big city or a small city as long as I have you and Gale."
"What about your family? You friends? You'd miss them terribly."
"I know what I'm doing and I know I'm doing the right thing." I insisted.
The tone in Lily's voice--soft and encumbered--was an indication of the guilt sweeping over her, as she usually did when either of us were reminded of the things, and people, we lost since the conception of our relationship, and even worse so when we announced our marriage a few months ago.
"You'll tell me if you're overwhelmed, right?"
"When do I not?" I said. Then I asked, "When do you meet with Katie tomorrow?"
Katie, one of Lily's friends from high school, had been one of the unlucky ones to have stayed behind in Lagro while most everyone in LHS (batch of '13, go Hornets!) had moved as far away from the dead town as possible. Still she wasn't as unlucky as the few LHS alumnus who had futures in opiates, methamphetamine, or sex trafficking. Being an escrow in a small forgotten town was the middle ground she didn't think she'd fall into.
"With this weather? I'm not so sure. I was going to text her and see what time we're meeting tomorrow but I can't get any signal since getting here."
"It's late anyway. We can try in the morning."
YOU ARE READING
Night Auditor
Horror"Between 1936 and 2018, Lagro, a small Central Florida town 96 miles south of Orlando, would suffer up to 138 yearly casualties directly related to the deadly hurricanes that would sweep through half of the state. On November 30th, 2019, the offici...
