Lessons of the Universe

Caroline had just turned off the television and started up the stairs to her bedroom when the doorbell rang. Puzzled, she stole a glance at the clock. It was rare that the bed and breakfast got guests during the winter months, but it was even more rare that they showed up without a reservation at ten minutes before midnight. In fact, Caroline could count on zero fingers and toes how many times it had happened before.

Still, she was the only employee now, so it was her job to cater to whomever was on the other side of the door. Not wanting to scare away whoever it was with her messy appearance, she paused in front of the hallway mirror and immediately got to work: she tucked a stray strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear, adjusted her sweater so it sat more appropriately on her shoulders, and practiced her smile quickly, trying to gauge what amount of teeth to made her seem the most professional.

After heaving a sigh, she undid the locks and pulled the door open. The sub-zero air that greeted her came as no surprise; Vermont winters had never been particularly warm and cozy. A twang of guilt trickled through her for having made the guest wait outside even a second longer than was necessary.

Visually, the man standing on the porch was breathtaking. He was bundled in an assortment of winter attire, but it was the way his knit skull cap pulled his hair just enough away from his face to put his bone structure on full display that caused Caroline to decide the cold looked good on him.

“May I help you?” she asked, making eye contact briefly before looking beyond him into the front yard. There was a car parked at the beginning of the driveway, still running, just in case she hadn’t answered or there were no rooms available.

“Do you have any rooms available?”

Caroline nodded, not bothering to ask what his price range was or how long he’d be staying. The bed and breakfast hadn’t had a guest in weeks—she’d let him stay for free so long as he promised to help chop wood or shovel snow. But, deep down, she knew it was more selfish than that. She was lonely. “Would you like to come in and see what’s open?”

The man shook his head as a relieved smile slowly made its way onto his face. It succeeded only in making him more handsome. “I’ll take whatever you have.”

“Of course,” Caroline replied, offering up a smile of her own. She knew it didn’t have the same effect; it wasn’t nearly as blinding or contagious as his. “I’ll help you with your bags.”

The man immediately moved to protest, but Caroline held up a hand to stop him. It was her job, she assured him, and she’d be more than pleased to assist him with whatever he’d be needing for the duration of his stay. He didn’t seem convinced, watching her with a guilty stare as she wrapped a thick scarf around her neck and slipped on a pair of snow boots, but made no attempt to stop her again.

Having been doing her job for close to thirteen years, Caroline had acquired somewhat of a sixth sense. People were fascinating to her, and though the winters were brutal and running a bed and breakfast on her own wasn’t easy, she was thankful for a job that let her interact with them as often as she did. She knew as soon as they reached the man’s car that it was a rental without having to see the license plate, and that bit of knowledge transfixed her even more. Vermont, especially her little corner of it, was typically a ghost town as soon as November rolled around. Most people chose somewhere warmer to vacation.

“I just have the one bag,” the man said, shutting the trunk as quietly as possible. He moved around to the driver’s side of the car and quickly turned off the headlamps. Then, after he killed the ignition, he turned to her with a slight grimace.

“I forgot to ask…” Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Do you allow pets?”

She peered into the backseat, not at all surprised to find two sets of eyes staring back at her. “Normally we don’t—”

“They won’t be any trouble,” he promised.

Caroline considered tacking an extra fee onto his bill, but ultimately decided against it. She didn’t know why or how the man wound up at her bed and breakfast, but she knew he’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else to stay at midnight on a Sunday. The only place that allowed pets was a chain hotel a few dozen miles away, and something told her that a chain hotel wasn’t what this man was looking for.

“I’m sure they won’t be. Shall I take your bag?”

“You can carry these two, if you’d be more inclined, but they’re a bit heavier.”

Smiling, Caroline took the pet carrier from the man’s hand and started back up the driveway. Hard snow crunched beneath her feet as she made the slight trek uphill, leaving her to once again wonder why anyone would come to Vermont during this time of the year. Tourists typically flocked to the resort areas to ski or snowboard, and it was usually only by sheer luck that Caroline would accommodate a family that was on their way to Killington and got stuck in a snow storm. A run-of-the-mill guest appearing in mid-January was genuinely puzzling.

As soon as the man and all his belongings were inside the entrance hall, Caroline relocked the door and began taking off everything she’d put on to go outside. Her bones ached from the ten minutes of below-zero temperatures she had to endure. For the hundredth time since she’d eaten dinner, Caroline wished she’d grown up on the other side of the country or further down the east coast. She heard people went swimming on Christmas in some parts of Florida.

“Wow,” the man breathed, taking in the colonial-style architecture and décor. “This is…”

Proud. It was the only word Caroline could come up with to explain how she felt every time someone’s breath hitched as soon as they stepped inside. She’d been part of the renovation process from the beginning. She helped paint the walls and tear up the old, stained carpets. It was she who picked out the species of wood for the floor—Jarrah, because she liked how warm the mahogany hue felt. Thirteen years of hard work was what he was complimenting.

“Thank you. I can show you around if you’d like.” The man shrugged, allowing her to run the show.

Caroline gave him the grand tour of the first floor: the kitchen, communal living room, two bathrooms, study, and the rec room that, over time, had turned into a game room for the younger guests. Having been terribly bored the winter before, Caroline installed a foosball table, ordered a slew of board games off the Internet, and even splurged on a video game console for the flat-screen television that took up the far wall. However, her guest seemed none too impressed. The study had him captivated as soon as he scanned the bookshelves.

“Impressive.”

“They belonged to the previous owner,” Caroline explained, though it felt antique on her tongue. No one ever took an interest in the books unless the power was out, and even then most of them fell asleep a few pages into Wuthering Heights.

“She had great taste.”

“How did you—”

“Know it was a woman?” Caroline nodded. The man didn’t respond save for the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

They moved out of the study and into a long hallway, Caroline explaining things as they went. At one end was a door that lead to the basement. That was where the laundry facilities were, Caroline told him, also telling him to leave his dirty clothes, towels and bed linens in the provided laundry bag in the morning and she would wash them for him. At the other end was the dining room. The kitchen was available for guests to use—although most didn’t—and she did most of the cooking. Breakfast was served at eight, lunch at one, and dinner at six—every five hours, just like clockwork.

“The available rooms are upstairs,” Caroline said as she moved back into the entrance hall where the tour had begun. “We normally have cottages available on the back end of the property, but none of them are made up at the moment. If you’d like, I can get one ready first thing in the morning.”

“Are they as nice as this?”

“There’s two; the bigger cottage has two bedrooms while the smaller cottage only has one. They both have the same amenities, though: high-definition television, wireless Internet, whirlpool tubs, gas fireplaces…”

As Caroline began listing the features included in both cottages, the man broke into a cheshire grin that stopped her cold. He was intimidatingly good-looking; the kind of good-looking that was effortless because the person who owned it knew they’d been blessed in the aesthetics department. He hadn’t bothered trying to impress her, and Caroline found herself hoping it was because he knew he didn’t have to rather than because he didn’t want to.

Finally, he spoke, pulling her from her trance. “You’re not going to ask how long I’m staying?”

“No,” she answered. “It isn’t often someone shows up at midnight without a reservation. It’s even less often that someone shows up in the most podunk part of Vermont in the middle of winter at midnight without a reservation. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m assuming you’ll be staying for a while.”

He eyed her with curiosity. Maybe it was because she lived in sub-zero temperatures for most of the year, but she looked younger than he knew she was. She was smart in the sense that she knew things that took years of experience, mostly how to manipulate people. Not in a bad way, but she had a silent need to be in control. Everything about her was carefully calculated, from the way she spoke, the words she chose, the professionalism she feigned. She was someone else behind closed doors, away from work—or it was all she knew.

But he was smart, too—smart enough to be perceptive and have her figured out in minutes, yet stupid enough to play right into it. “You’re absolutely right.”

Her smile was tight-lipped as she let him choose between deciding on an available room upstairs or starting the necessary paperwork. He told her they might as well do the paperwork while they were in the vicinity, and it wasn’t until she asked for his name that he panicked.

“Uh…J-James.”

Her hazel eyes were humored as she looked up at him. “Do you have a last name, James?”

“Franco.”

Without granting him the reaction he was expecting, Caroline asked, “Is that F-r-a-n-c-o?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She nodded, writing his last name on the form. After checking a few boxes and writing words James was unable to read upside-down, she stapled the pages together and slipped them into a file. Somewhere, a grandfather clock chimed that it was one-o’clock in the morning. Undeterred, Caroline offered her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, James. I’m Caroline Ashe, and I appreciate your staying here.” He shook her outstretched hand, branding her name into his memory.

“Can I help you bring your belongings to your room?”

As familiar as he’d grown to people catering to his every need, James refused. “I think I can handle it.”

Caroline didn’t seem bothered. While it was in her job description to cater to the inn’s guests and make sure they didn’t want for anything while under her roof, James had reason to believe she wasn’t used to being turned down. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn a majority of people took advantage of being catered to; maybe it made them feel important, maybe they were just simply lazy and didn’t want to walk up some stairs while carrying ten pounds of crap.

“Since you’ll be in a cabin after tonight, you can choose any room you’d like. Like I said, they’re all available.”

James nodded. Taking his only bag in one hand and the pet carrier in the other, he ascended the steps. They creaked and moaned beneath his weight. The age of the building, along with Caroline’s seeming ignorance regarding who he was, made him feel like he’d stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone.

“My door is the last one on the right,” Caroline said, having appeared out of nowhere. James hadn’t heard her come up the steps behind him, but he’d been so lost in his own head that it didn’t surprise him. “Please, let me know if you need anything. I’m available twenty-four-seven.”

James knew he wouldn’t be bothering her anymore for the night. He’d already shown up at midnight unexpected and she’d shown him as much respect and kindness as she would’ve shown anyone else. Someone normal, James reminded himself. Someone not like you.