Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Where would I stick stolen belongings if I were a crazy hippie with no boundaries? In my room? No, too obvious. Besides, Fern and Ziggy were in the room with us when the belongings were taken. That means they have someone in on it with them—a sympathetic staff member? So that person would be the one with the stolen items. Someone in a position of power, but not an owner—they wouldn't want to get their hands dirty in case someone got mad.

Front-end staff. It has to be someone in administration.

Low enough that they'd do what Fern and Ziggy wanted to keep the guests happy, but important enough to be able to bend the rules and go into our rooms. Fern and Ziggy wouldn't have trusted a housekeeper with this—it had to be front end. Maybe they're all in on this, true believers of Fern and Ziggy and their weird cult.

The irony that a receptionist is the most likely accomplice isn't lost on me.

My first stop is the room where we had slept. When I get my phone back—and I will get it back—I'm not sticking around. Best to pack my meager belongings now and then hightail it when I get my phone. I'll figure out the logistics later, such as how the hell I'm getting home, and if I'll still have a job when I get there. If I still want that job when I get there.

My feistiness flags when I jam my clothes into the small backpack I brought. How could Fern reveal my problems like that without asking my permission? She can't have thought that would have been okay with me, and it certainly has to be some kind of breach of... something. It was sneaky and opportunistic—and how dare she call me a cheater? I sit on the mat I slept on, head spinning.

This crosses a major line. If she's willing to do that here, she's going to do this when we get back to work as well, isn't she? Casually bringing up my personal life in front of clients and, worse, Phyllis.

Maybe I'm overreacting. Everyone else in the group was cool with this. Am I making a mistake? I wish I could talk to Blake. He'd know just what to say to make me feel better about this and help me find my next move.

I miss him. Tears spring to my eyes, and I sigh. I wish we were together right now. He always makes me feel better. No matter how bad everything seems, he knows just what to say to make things okay.

And there it is.

In the midst of sleep deprivation, low blood sugar, and hippies violating my boundaries, I've stripped away the layers of indecision.

I think of Blake first when I need support. Support is the foundation of a long-term relationship. Maybe a candle isn't as exciting as fireworks, but it's better to carry with you to find your way ahead. If Jack and I broke up, I'd lose Pete too. How could I ever look at my best friend's face and not see his twin who broke my heart? Jack's been opening up, but Blake made himself emotionally available from the start, and that's important.

Blake is the one. I need to get home and tell him that as soon as possible.

Feeling light enough to float, I jump up, bag in hand, and leave the room. I have a receptionist to see, a phone to find, and a life to live.

I tiptoe past the conference room and hit the communal bathroom before making my escape, because if life has taught me anything, it's that you should always go when you have the chance. The resort isn't big, but the hallways twist and turn, so I have to hike around a little to find the front desk. A young, bored-looking brunette is typing something onto a screen I can't see.

I clear my throat. "Excuse me. May I use your phone? I wanted to double-check an appointment."

"Sure." She passes me the cordless phone and goes back to her typing.

Excellent. I take a couple of steps away from the desk, ostensibly for privacy, but really, I want to be able to hear my phone when it rings. I dial my number. The Game of Thrones theme song rings out in the lobby.

Surprised, I look at the receptionist.

"I'm sorry. Someone left their phone here while they're in a course." She looks at the top drawer. The song stops when my voice mail kicks in. I don't leave a message, staying silent for a moment instead. 

"That's fine." This is hilarious. She's apologizing to me, thinking I'm annoyed that the noise is happening during my phone call. I fake a conversation confirming my "appointment" and give the phone back to her. Now I have to get her away from the desk.

I lean closer. "Sorry, but I think one of your toilets is leaking."

Her head snaps up. "What?" 

I know that face. That's the face I make when something barely falls under my jurisdiction at work and I don't want to deal with it, but there's no one else to handle the situation. "Yeah. I can't be sure. I was in the other stall, but I thought I heard dripping. And saw a puddle," I add when she looks like she's going to ignore the leak.

"Crap. That's the second time this week."

I make a sympathetic face. "Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow? I need to write down my appointment time."

"Sure." She rummages around and hands me a pad with the hotel's information on it, then stands. "If you're good, I have to go check on that leak."

"I'm perfect, thanks." I begin writing, and she huffs and heads toward the bathroom.

As soon as she turns the corner, I race behind her desk.

Nothing else was missing from my things, so as soon as I grab my phone from the drawer, I speed-walk outta there, trying to look casual while formulating my next move.

Thankfully, it's warm, and I flop onto a nearby bench once I'm outside. I'm stuck in the back end of Jersey with no vehicle and no friends. Blake? No. I don't want to go into things with him rescuing me. That would set a precedent and the tone for our relationship in a way that I don't want. I'm not a blond-haired princess in a video game; I don't need to be rescued.

Not by Blake, at least.

But I've missed a text from him while the hippies had my phone. Hey, Sarah, it's Blake. I know it's not my place to interfere, but things didn't look so good at Inner Space. Screw those hippies. I've got a job opportunity, if you're interested, with a friend who's head of HR at a women's magazine. Let me know. I've emailed the details. It's yours if you want it.

My heart soars at this blinding light at the end of the tunnel. My fingers tremble while I check my email, sending back an immediate "YES" when I see the description and the starting pay. I call his number, but he doesn't answer. Now I really want to get home.

Pete doesn't pick up when I phone him four times in a row. Even though I'm overstepping the bounds in a huge way—especially when I shouldn't be calling him except to say good-bye—I call Jack.

"Hey, I was just thinking about you." His voice is warm and brings back memories best left in the bedroom of my past.

"You got the distress signal?"

"What's happening?" The humor leaves his tone.

"There's been a situation with the hippies. I need a ride, but I'm still at the resort."

"What's the address?"

I tell him.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you."