“No.”
I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly, taking a small plate from the cupboard. I slice one of the rolls and make Maisie a half sandwich with salami and Havarti, along with a little dish of blueberry yogurt. She’s been eating Oma’s German breakfast since she was a baby, so cold meats and cheese in the morning normally don’t faze her. I settle her at the coffee table with Fred and a fairy coloring book I’ve been saving for this kind of occasion.
“Mama?” she says.
“Yes, baby?”
“Are you mad at Daddy?”
“A little bit.”
“Me too,” she says. “He didn’t color with me, and he doesn’t ever tell me bedtime stories.”
My broken heart fractures even more. I refuse to speak ill of Brian in front of her, so I lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Maybe later we can go to the park near the beach and look for gopher tortoises.”
“Okay,” she says, her tongue poking out as she uses a purple crayon—her current favorite color—to fill in a fairy’s wings. “Mama?”
“Yes, Maisie?”
“Ich liebe dich.”
I push away the tear that tracks down my cheek and kiss the top of her head again. “I love you too.”
Back at the breakfast counter, Mom hands me a plate. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I, um—I was fired last night.”
“What? Why?” She keeps her voice low, but I double-check to make sure Maisie isn’t listening. She’s completely absorbed in her artwork. I share the whole story with Mom as I fill my plate, then hold my breath as I wait for her reaction. She’s at least a decade younger than Blackwell, but she left her home country to follow a man, so she might not share my opinion. I’m half-afraid she’ll tell me I was overreacting and should apologize.
“That is so unfair.” There’s an edge of anger in her voice, and she wags her egg spoon at me. “You should sue that verdammtes hotel.”
“I don’t want to sue the hotel, Mom. I want to forget this ever happened.”
“What will you do?”
I spread a bit of red currant jelly on my roll. “Find another job, I guess.”
“Are you worried other hotels won’t hire you because you were fired from Aquamarine?”
“Well, I wasn’t, but I am now.” I hadn’t considered that I might have ended up on some no-hire list. I drop the roll. “I need to go lie down.”
“You need to eat.”
“Mama, when are we going to the park?” Maisie pipes up from across the room.
I sigh. “As soon as I’m finished with breakfast.”
“Okay,” she says. “Eat faster.”
* * *
Maisie climbs the playground structure at Hugh Taylor Birch State Park while I sit on a bench and scroll through employment websites on my phone. There are always plenty of housekeeping positions available. I don’t think I’m too special to clean hotel rooms—that was my first job out of high school—but it feels like something to fall back on. A last resort kind of thing. I apply for a couple of reception manager jobs at chain hotels, even though a decade of experience and a degree in hospitality management make me feel overqualified. I don’t know what else to do—like when Dad left, and Mom had to take a second job so we wouldn’t lose our house. She kept going because she didn’t really have a choice. I have slightly more financial stability than Mom did, but I can’t afford to wallow in my misfortune any more than she could.
My phone rings with a call from Cecily. We usually only see each other when she’s going off shift and I’m coming on, so we’re not close, but I guess I’d call her a friend.
“I heard what happened,” she says. “Jack said you were pursuing other opportunities, but Charlton told me the truth. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Scattered,” I say. “One minute I get so angry, I want to punch something, and the next I want to cry. The minute after that, it doesn’t seem real. I keep pinching myself, hoping it’s a nightmare.”
“You haven’t had time to process,” Cecily says. “But one of the reasons I called is because I have a lead for you. One of my college sorority sisters used to be married to a guy who is starting up a brew hotel—kind of a hybrid microbrewery and boutique hotel—and he’s looking for someone to manage it.”
“That sounds great, actually. I love specialty hotels.”
My secret someday dream is to own my own hotel, something like the little art deco boutique hotels on Collins in Miami Beach, with just a few cozy rooms and a small restaurant with patio seating.
“The catch is that it’s in Ohio,” Cecily says.
“Oh.” I’m a little disappointed. “Maybe not.”
“I thought the distance might make it a long shot,” she says. “But I’m going to text you his information anyway. If your situation changes, you’ll have it.”
“Thanks again.”
“I wish … I’m sorry … I’m not…” She trails off, leaving me to fill in the blanks. I understand what she can’t bring herself to say. If Cecily had been sexually harassed out of a job, I don’t know if I would have spoken up on her behalf. Would her standing in solidarity with me have made a difference? Or would we both be unemployed? My face flushes with shame, but the instinct toward self-preservation is strong. Especially when you’re living paycheck to paycheck.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I appreciate you calling to check on me.”
“Hang in there.”
“I will.” I let out a small, mirthless laugh, thinking about four years of waiting around for Brian. “I’ve gotten pretty good at that.”
CHAPTER 3
Desenrascanço
Portuguese
“the act of disentangling oneself from a difficult situation by using all available means to solve the problem”
“So, most of our bookings are for a single night,” Ed says, leading me behind the reception desk during my orientation for the night reception manager position at the Sunway Hotel in Fort Lauderdale.
I was only unemployed for two days before I landed this job. Technically, it’s the same job I had at Aquamarine, but the atmosphere is wildly different. The tiny Sunway lobby is decorated with dusty fake palm trees and chairs that look like they haven’t been updated since 1988. There’s a janky ATM in the vestibule, and the reception desk looks like a wall, making me wonder if the desk clerks frequently find themselves in need of a protective barricade. The general manager is wearing jeans and sneakers with his company-issued golf shirt, which is oddly informal to someone who wore a skirt and heels every night. And is currently—apparently unnecessarily—wearing a skirt and heels for her first day on the job.
“Our guests are basically just looking for a place to crash before their early-morning boarding calls on the cruise ships at Port Everglades or flights out of FLL,” Ed continues. “They roll in late and check out early. Night desk is busier here than a lot of other hotels.”