A Fare To Remember_ Just Whistle_Driven - Vicki Lewis Thompson [10]
“Here we are, home sweet temporary home.” She pushed her card key into the lock and opened the door. The minute she stepped on the carpet and it squished under her bare feet, she suspected a problem. When she glanced at the bed where she’d laid out all her dry-clean-only, sale-priced interview clothes in preparation for ironing them, she knew disaster had struck.
“Sprinklers,” she said, moaning as she walked across the drenched carpet to her equally soaked clothes. “The smoke set off the automatic sprinklers.”
Zach closed the door and stared at the mess. “Can’t you just dry them somehow?”
“Not these. I mean, look at them.” A sick feeling settled into the pit of her stomach as she picked up what used to be a bold purple-and-kelly-green-striped dress. Purple and green oozing together made brown, something she’d learned in kindergarten with finger paints.
A neon-green suit decorated with big white tulips had rust splotches all over it. The rust had probably descended when the old pipes disgorged their supply of water all over the room. Her peacock-blue-and-yellow dress, a combo of silk and rayon that had been a steal at fifty percent off, was covered with ugly water stains and seemed to be shriveling before her eyes. That left her with the yellow sundress, which she’d hung in the closet after taking it off this afternoon.
She turned to him, determined to be a big girl about this. “Well, I’m clothes-less! Down to my underwear, a sleep shirt, my yellow dress and this bathrobe. Know any cheap stores?” Her voice barely quivered. She hoped he couldn’t tell that she was close to tears.
From the way he was looking at her, he probably could tell. “There are some resale shops in the Village.”
“Yeah?” She was determined to maintain a brave front. “Shopping in the Village would be very cool. I’ve always wanted to. Now it looks like I have a great excuse.”
“If you want, I could go with you during my lunch hour tomorrow.”
She was touched that he’d offer, but there were limits to how much help she could accept. “That’s sweet, but you really don’t have to. Shopping for clothes can’t be your favorite way to spend free time.”
“I don’t mind. I’d be happy to do that.”
“Because you feel sorry for me.”
He hesitated. “Look, it’s natural to feel a little sorry for somebody who just had her entire traveling wardrobe sprinkled into oblivion. But that aside, I’d like to help. And the fact is, you need me.”
She was afraid that might be true, for a variety of reasons, but she wasn’t ready to admit it yet. “Why is that?”
“I drive a hard bargain. No offense, but knowing how you pass out tuna and roses, I’m guessing you don’t.”
That made her laugh. “You’re right, I don’t. My sister refuses to take me to garage sales with her because I pay whatever’s marked on stuff, which she says violates the basic law of garage sales.”
“That’s absolutely true. It’s settled, then. Did you know your message light’s blinking?”
She glanced at the phone, and sure enough, the red light was flashing. “But I don’t know anybody.”
“You know the people in the hotel.”
Her tummy churned. “Oh, God. Do you think they’re going to charge me for this disaster?”
“No, but they might want to talk to you about it.”
She stared at the blinking red light and wondered if she could pretend she hadn’t seen it. If Zach was wrong and the hotel wanted to charge her for the inconvenience and water damage, she’d rather not find out right before her first big night in New York.
But she’d worry about that blinking light all evening, so she might as well get it over with. Picking up the phone, she punched the message button.
An official-sounding male voice came on the line. Ms. Robertson, we understand the sprinklers discharged in your room.
Hannah closed her eyes and hoped that her shaky financial situation wasn’t about to get a whole lot worse.
We apologize