Summer Storms

  “Then there are other people who need to understand you are the one in charge, not them, they need a firm hand to guide them in the direction you want them to go. Some guests respond better to a man than a woman and vice versa. The key is to learning which category each guest lies in.”

  “But how do you do that?”

  “You pay attention to the guests at all times. See how they interact with their families and other authority figures. There’s a limited pattern of behaviors in people so by studying the ones we have here you learn a great deal about humanity as a whole.”

  “So, if I learn how to manage Mrs. Henderson then I can manage other guests who display similar traits?”

  “Exactly.” Lizzie was delighted by Stephen’s interested tone, confident she would be able to turn him into one of her best protégées yet. “Can you tell me anything you learned about the guests we checked in today?”

  He rubbed his chin. “There was one woman I dealt with, she had three kids, they all had messy hair, and I’m pretty sure the baby’s diaper needed changing. I remember noticing she had well manicured nails when she signed the registration card and thought it seemed odd they were so neat, when everything else about the family was so unkempt.”

  Lizzie nodded for him to continue.

  “She was one of the few people who didn’t demand anything, didn’t get upset when I told her all we had left was a smoking room with one king bed.”

  “Good, now what category would you place her in?” Lizzie asked, excited that Stephen had noticed so much detail.

  “She seemed like the type of person who has a lot to deal with in her every day life and doesn’t expect things to go right. I can’t imagine her being any trouble, even if something wasn’t right with her stay.”

  “What would you do for her if you found out something did go wrong, but she didn’t mention it?”

  She watched his eyes as he thought. They had a rather blank look to them, but she knew he was sifting through memories, perhaps of things he had seen her do.

  “I don’t think she would accept anything for herself so I would do something for the kids, maybe have a special order of cookies and milk sent to the room, or a basket of toys they might like. I have a feeling anything that made her kids smile would mean the world to her.”

  “Excellent. There are a lot of guests who would prefer we treat their kids like royalty rather than do something special for the adults. Most of the families we get are here for the attractions, to give their kids a memory they will never forget. They would stay closer to the theme parks if they could, but they can’t afford it, or one of the parents is here on business. In either case the parents may feel guilty they aren’t giving their kids the full theme park experience, so anything we can do to make the kids feel special is appreciated.”

  Lizzie spent the next two hours reviewing the files of some of their most loyal guests, making sure Stephen knew all their favorite rooms, foods, restaurants, and shows. Her excitement grew as he asked questions and admired her network of connections not only in Orlando, but also throughout the state.

  “How did you meet these people?” Stephen asked.

  “Working at Disney helped. A lot of them worked there at some point then moved on. We stay in touch and help each other out whenever we can. It was hard at first because I was shy and afraid to approach people in other areas for help.”

  He nodded, “I understand that. I’m afraid to even give Chef Gustave a special dietary meal request.”

  Lizzie laughed. “Underneath all that bluster Gustave is a giant teddy bear. I’ve learned all chefs feel the need to yell in the kitchen to intimidate their staff and it seems to work. The cooks are always striving to do better to impress the chef.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not one of his cooks; why does he yell at me?” Stephen’s look of bewilderment made her laugh even more.

  “It’s ingrained into his personality, I bet he even yells at home. I’ll tell you a secret though; Gustave loves flattery, and Italian biscotti. If you ever have something you really need done, bring him some biscotti and complement his work, and he will be happy to help you.”

  Stephen raised an eyebrow. “It’s that easy?”

  “Most of the time. You may still have to endure a tongue lashing now and then, but it doesn’t mean he’s angry at you.”

  The rain fell harder and the wind howled, bringing down power lines, and plunging the hotel into darkness. Immediately the front desk phone began ringing. While Stephen fielded the calls and tried to calm the frightened guests, Lizzie organized the hotel staff, giving them each a box of flashlights to deliver to the guest rooms.

  When the phone stopped ringing and all the guests seemed to be asleep, or at least content in their rooms, Lizzie wandered out to the loading dock. The wind had died down, but the rain continued to pour in a thick curtain preventing her from seeing more than a few feet. She watched drops splash in the miniature lake that was once the parking lot, thankful her car was in the garage. Water was rising to the bottom of the hubcaps of those cars not fortunate enough to fit in the garage. She could hear a muffled gurgle as it tried to flow into the storm drain.

  “Dear Lord, I pray for all those who are in the direct path of the storm. I pray for your hand of protection on those who chose not to evacuate. Please don’t let my house be damaged anymore. I don’t know if I could face that,” she prayed softly as she watched the storm rage around her.

  “I thought I might find you out here,” Chef Gustave said. Lizzie turned and tried to smile, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “I needed some fresh air.”

  Chef Gustave nodded. “You are worried about your home, I understand, me too. I hate leaving my family alone in these storms. Last time my wife told me they hid in the closet almost all night.”

  “I can’t believe we are going through this again. This one doesn’t seem as bad though.”

  “Winds are not as bad, but the rain, look at this.” He gestured to the parking lot.

  Remembering he had come looking for her, Lizzie asked, “Did you need me for something? Is everything alright inside?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about the wedding.”

  “Of course, let’s go to your office.” She followed the chef inside, down the dim hallways, emergency lights glowing every twenty feet.

  It was strange to enter the kitchen without the usual din of activity. On the chef’s desk, she saw a pile of papers strewn about, quite contrary to his orderly nature.

  “I have a larger staff than anticipated and I think we can expand the menu, but wanted to see which dishes you thought we should add.”

  Lizzie sat down, shinning her flashlight on the original menu and replayed the conversation with the couple, remembering their facial expressions and tone of voice when each item was discussed.

  “These two.” She pointed at an appetizer and an entrée. “If you could do one or both of these I think they would be happy.”

  Chef Gustave looked over her shoulder and read the description of each dish. “I believe we can do both. I may have to reroute some of the emergency power to the kitchen for a few hours, though.”

  “I’ll call engineering and have them help when you are ready.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I have to say this will be my first wedding feast cooked during a hurricane,” Chef Gustave chuckled.

  “Hopefully the storm will be over tomorrow.”

  “Mon Cherie, have you not seen the weather reports lately!” he exclaimed. “This Frances is a slow girl, she has barely moved in the past four hours. They expect it to take another twenty-four or more for her to push all the way across the state.”

  “You’re joking.” Lizzie’s eyes went wide, her pulse quickened.

  “I wish I were. I am going to have to get creative with the food we have on hand. I had one of the cooks run to the store this morning to get everything we would need for the wedding, but we may have to serve anything left over from that dinner to the rest of th
e guests.”

  “I will check to see if the guests brought any of their own food, snacks for their drive maybe.”

  “Do not worry, we will make it work. It will be an adventure, and I do love a good adventure.” He gave her a grin that went right to her heart.

  “Thank you.”She patted his cheek. “I think we’ll let Stella and Naveen be surprised by the additional food, a little extra magic for their special day.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Jacquelyn returned to the kitchen to find it empty. She went to the front door and saw Jeffrey’s truck still in the driveway. She wandered from room to room in search of her son. In the den, she found Edward at his desk, a pair of reading glasses resting on the tip of his nose, reviewing office reports.

  “You know the doctor told you no work for another two weeks,” she chided him.

  “This isn’t work, I’m just reading.”

  “Just reading leads to just one phone call, which leads to just a couple of hours at the office. You are not supposed to get agitated and that is exactly what you are doing.”

  “I’m not agitated, but I want to get caught up on what has been happening.”

  “Fine, do as you please. Have you seen Jeffrey?”

  “Not since this morning.”

  Jacquelyn gave her husband one more look of disapproval and left to continue her search. She opened doors to rooms that were rarely used these days. She wondered why they didn’t move to a smaller house. They certainly didn’t need such a large one anymore. At the door to Jeffrey’s old room she stopped, noticing it wasn’t completely shut. She pushed it open and found her son curled up on the bed.

  His eyelids twitched as though the eyes behind them were moving rapidly. His fists were clenched and held close to his chest. Jacquelyn leaned down and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. She longed to sit down next to him and stroke his hair as she had done when he was a boy, but feared waking him. Instead, she found a blanket in the closet and covered him with it before tiptoeing out of the room and shutting the door.

  Jeffrey had fallen asleep as soon as his eyes closed and dreamed of Camylle’s last day. Afraid she would slip away, he hadn’t left the hospital all week. That morning she looked better and seemed to have more energy. She begged him to go home for a shower and a few hours of sleep.

  At home he stood in the shower for twenty minutes, letting the steaming water run down his body. He picked at a frozen dinner, but returned to the hospital within three hours. He knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped off the elevator. Alarms were blaring; nurses were running down the hall.

  He followed them to Camylle’s door, and could hear her gasping for breath and moaning in pain. He pushed through the nurses who tried to hold him back. At her side, he grabbed her hand and tried to speak to her in a calm, soothing tone despite the fear gripping his heart.

  He’d never know if it was his voice or the morphine that had finally calmed her. He sat down and read to her from Pride and Prejudice, her favorite book. He’d never understood why she loved it, but the time he’d spent reading to her had given him a new appreciation for it. He continued reading after he knew she was asleep, recognizing Camylle’s independent spirit in Elizabeth Bennett. As he finished the last word and closed the book he noticed Camylle’s breath growing shallower, the periods between each inhalation farther apart. He squeezed her hand willing her to stay with him, to wake up and see him there beside her. She exhaled and he waited for her inhalation. It never happened.

  Jeffrey’s body jerked with a violence that caused him to fall off the twin bed, screaming as he hit the floor. He opened his eyes and searched the room, and remembered he was at his parents’ house. The door opened a crack then flew wide as Jacquelyn came running in, kneeling by his side.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” She helped Jeffrey sit up. He leaned against the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

  “Did you have a bad dream?” Jacquelyn rubbed his arm.

  “Camylle,” was all Jeffrey could say. Jacquelyn rose and pulled some tissues from a box on the bedside table. She wiped his face and dabbed at the corners of his eyes.

  “Sshh, it’s okay,” she whispered.

  Jeffrey rocked back and forth, the pain he had kept at bay washing over him, crying for the first time since Camylle’s death. He used the sleeve of his shirt to brush away the tears, but they continued to fall. Jacquelyn murmured soft words. When his cries started to subside, she offered him more tissues to blow his nose.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” She pulled him into her arms. “Why don’t you let me make you some dinner?”

  “Thanks, but I should get home before the storm hits.”

  “It’s already started,” She said with an amused smile. Jeffrey finally identified the whistling noise he heard; wind rushing around the house, teasing at the windows, searching for any gap that would allow it inside.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after seven. You took quite a nap.”

  He pushed off the floor and raised his arms above his head in an elongating stretch. He felt several of his vertebrate crack as his back loosened. He offered his mother a hand and helped her to her feet.

  “I guess I’ll take you up on that dinner then.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Rain fell all through the night. While the rest of the staff slept in shifts, Lizzie remained at the front desk. She knew by the hands of her watch that dawn should be breaking soon, and walked to the loading dock and watched the storm, fascinated by the unending power. She watched the towering metal lights throughout the parking lot sway, threatening to collapse and crush anything in their path. She almost wished her beat up old Camry were out there so the insurance could go toward something from this decade.

  The sky changed from deep black to a lighter shade of gray. The Harris-Singh wedding was scheduled for two o’clock. With most of the preparations already taken care of, she had little to occupy her time until the guests awoke and started calling again. She returned to the front desk and pulled a new set of clothes from her suitcase. In the bathroom, she washed up the best she could and changed clothes, which left her feeling refreshed despite her lack of sleep.

  She found Stephen curled up on a couch in the lobby, a blanket lying on the floor beside him. When she pulled the blanket up and covered him with it he stirred but did not wake. She made her way to the kitchen where she found Chef Gustave pouring a cup of coffee.

  “Thank goodness for generators,” he said as she approached.

  “You said it. I’m going to need a lot of this to keep me going today.” She poured herself a cup and didn’t even bother with cream or sugar. The strong liquid gave her a jolt. “What do we have for breakfast?”

  “I already pulled all the cereal from the concierge lounge, I hope you don’t mind.” Chef Gustave gave her an apologetic smile. “Combined with what we normally have available in the dining room we should have enough for everyone. I don’t want to open the refrigerators too much; even with the generators, we need to use things sparingly. It would be best if we could arrange to serve in two groups.”

  “What times will work for you? I can station people on each floor to advise the guests what their meal time will be.”

  “We could do a first seating at eight and a second at nine thirty. That should give us time to serve, clean the dishes and reset. Then we can do lunch at noon and one thirty.”

  Lizzie nodded. “Sounds like a good plan, I’ll let everyone know. Do you think we can feed the staff now, before the guests wake up?”

  “My team just finished. Send in the others and I will take care of them.”

  “Thanks, Gustave.” She slipped out of the kitchen in search of the handful of employees on duty.

  At noon, Lizzie entered the conference room for one last inspection. By the glow of her flashlight, she saw vases of white roses on several sma
ll tables. The north end of the room held fifty chairs on either side of the the aisle where a white runner extended to the altar, created by an archway covered in burnt orange silk with delicate beadwork.

  A dozen LED lanterns sat on pillars at the end of each row of chairs. Hundreds of white candles were scattered around the room waiting to be lit. The south end of the room was filled with round tables covered with saris in rich jewel tones. Glass bowls filled with water and floating candles sat on mirrors in the middle of each table. Satisfied with the decorations, Lizzie made sure the kitchen staff knew to light the candles and lanterns just before two.

  “Stephen, will you go check on Naveen, make sure he has everything he needs.” She handed him a radio and earpiece she had found in the convention office. “Call me on this. Let me know when he is ready. I’m going to help Stella and her mother.”

  Stephen hooked the radio on his belt and jammed the earpiece in. “Are you sure about this? A wedding without power seems kind of crazy.”

  “We have power, just not a lot,” she said. “Think of it this way, if we can pull this off, there is little we can’t do.” She followed Stephen up the stairs to the third floor. “This is me. Naveen is on the fifth floor, room 508. Call if you need anything.”

  The only light came from the emergency exit signs so Lizzie swung her flashlight across the hallway. Many of the rooms had propped their doors open hoping to create some kind of airflow. Lizzie hadn’t realized how warm these upper floors were in comparison to the lobby. She found Stella’s door open but she knocked anyway.

  “Come in,” Stella called from the bed.

  “It’s Lizzie. I came to see if I could help you get dressed.” She found Stella curled up at the head of the bed in one of the hotel’s bathrobes. Her eyes were red and puffy.

  “I can’t do it, I can’t get married like this,” Stella whimpered. “This is supposed to be the best day of my life.” Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.