Hotel Ruby (4 page)

Another knock.

I look for the time, but there's no alarm clock on the nightstand. Only a gold-plated lamp. “Hold on,” I call out, my voice thick with sleep. When I stand, my ankle buckles under my weight, and I stagger back onto the bed. I quickly pull up the leg of my pajama pants, expecting to see swelling, but instead I find a perfectly normal leg, bright pink painted toes. Tentatively I put my foot on the carpet, testing the pressure before I try standing up again. I'm fine.

My brother calls from the other side of the door.
“Today, Audrey. My stomach is starting to eat itself.”

I stomp my foot a few times, expecting a stinging pain—anything. After a few hops I decide it must have been just a cramp. I move the chair out of the way of the door, embarrassed that I let myself get so freaked out. In the light of day it seems silly.

I open the door and find Daniel wearing the same clothes he had on last night. His hair is disheveled and there's a shadow of blond scruff on his jaw.

“You look like hell,” I say. “What time is it? I don't have a clock in here.”

Daniel shrugs. “It's morningish. Brunchish. I don't think there's a single clock in this hotel. Not one that I've seen. But who cares? We're on vacation.”

I open the door wider and Daniel walks in. He sits on the edge of my bed and rubs his hand over his hair. “I had the craziest night, Aud,” he says. “This hotel is awesome.”

“Did you go to the party?” I grab my duffel bag from the floor, tossing it next to Daniel. I sort through the mix of clothes, finding nothing I want to actually wear, and then turn the bag over and dump the contents.

“Is that what that invitation was?” Daniel asks. “I just saw it this morning. Did you go? Why didn't you call me?”

I laugh. “Uh, because I only stayed for a minute before they kicked me out.” I see a red racer-back tank top and set it aside while I search for a clean-enough pair of jeans. “You got an invite?” He nods and I glance around the room,
looking for my own invitation. I don't find one. “Well,” I say, grabbing my clothes. “It was in the ballroom—the music was playing when we got here. Not sure how you missed it.”

“I wasn't really paying attention,” he admits. “And after you got on the elevator, I went to see if they had a gym.” He grins. “Met a girl instead.”

“Please don't tell me about it.” He always tells me, though, especially since Mom died.

My chest tightens and I cross to the bathroom with my clothes. I tell Daniel I'll be out in a second, and he looks offended that I'm not falling over myself to hear his story.

The bathroom door clicks closed, and I rest my forehead against the wood. Lately I've taken to blocking out all thoughts of my mother, distracting myself when she tries to surface. But this time I can't, not with Daniel's puppy-dog expression on the other side of the door, waiting for me to pat him on the head and tell him how great he is.

Daniel and Mom were best friends. Sometimes I'd come home and find them at the kitchen table, just talking. Laughing. He told her everything. He wants me to take her place, and when I understandably cannot, he hates me for it.

I straighten, blinking my eyes quickly to keep back the tears. I have to be stronger than this. The porcelain sink is cold against my fingers as I grip the edge, staring at my reflection until my pulse calms. Daniel's here and he needs me. So I have to be better.

I grab the hotel-provided toothbrush and paste and turn on the faucet. The taste is chalky, like baking soda, and I rinse out my mouth. My reflection stares back at me and I'm surprised by how well I look. Last night was probably the best sleep I've had since—

“Audrey,” Daniel whines from the other room. “I'm dying here.”

My brother is spoiled, but not altogether terrible because of it. I pull on the jeans and slip the tank top over my head. Now that Daniel's here, I realize I'm hungry too. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

Daniel's lounging back on his elbows and still grinning. “So it all started with this gorgeous blonde,” he says the minute I walk in, as if we were still in midconversation. “I was lost in the hallway—have you walked around yet?” he pauses to ask. “It's like a fun-house maze. Anyway, I'm just trying to find my way back to the lobby when this girl stumbles out of a room and the door slams in her face.”

“Sounds promising.” I lean down to lift the bed skirt, trying to find my flip-flops. There they are.

“Right?” Daniel laughs. “So she's crying, black shit all around her eyes. But she's beautiful, and I don't mean everyday attractive. She's like a classic painting.”

I put my hand on my hip and scoff. “Seriously? Are you drunk?”

Daniel sits up, his eyes wide and earnest. “I'm not kidding, Aud. She was . . . perfect. Blond hair, nice dress—a
classy girl,” he adds emphatically. “And even with the smeared makeup, her skin was like one of those creepy dolls that Nana used to send you.” He motions his hand for me to remember.

“A porcelain doll?” I ask.

“Yes!”

“Daniel, she sounds horrible. I used to lock those dolls in my closet at night so they wouldn't kill me. You sure you weren't hallucinating?”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “Naw. She was real. I went up to her and asked if she was okay. Then she stared at me for a long while, and I thought maybe she was having some sort of a breakdown. Then she told me I was pretty.”

I curl my lip. My brother has always had awful taste in girls. It used to be the around-the-dinner-table joke. But this one might be in a category all her own. Obviously someone was kicking her out of the room. She has baggage. “And you responded by . . . ?”

“I kissed her,” he says, like it's the only logical response. “I don't get called pretty every day, Audrey.”

Now I laugh. “Oh, please. You were voted Best Looking in the yearbook. How much more validation do you need?”

“I'm needy.”

I slip on my sandals and grab my purse from inside my backpack. I didn't pack much to go to my grandmother's. One duffel bag and one backpack. My entire life could fit
in an overhead compartment. Daniel jumps up from the bed, intent on finishing his story.

“So we kissed, and her skin was ice cold. I asked her if she wanted my hoodie.”

“Gross, the dirty one?”

He shrugs and holds open the door for me. “She didn't take it. She said she had a shawl in her room.” The door slams behind us, rattling the frame. Daniel and I both glance down the hall at the other rooms, the silence so ominous it automatically makes my shoulders tense. “Uh . . .” Daniel pauses, seeming to sense the same thing, and then continues. “And then she took my hand and led me through the halls. God, it felt like we walked for hours.”

When we get to the elevator, Daniel reaches past me to push the button a bunch of times. Although his stories are rarely this bizarre, the last few months there'd been a rush of desperate girls. Ones who needed him, when really he was the one in need.

“Then where'd you go?” I ask. The elevator doors open and we step inside. Daniel pushes the lobby button, and I glance in the mirror and smooth down the flyaway strands of hair from my part. I should have grabbed a ponytail holder. What if I bump into Elias?

“We didn't go anywhere,” Daniel says, leaning against the shiny gold railing. “That's the thing—we just walked the hallways all night.”

“Morning,” I
correct, and then apologize when he gives me the
Don't be a know-it-all
look.

“Then we were at her door and she asked if I would come in.”

“Stop there,” I warn, holding up my finger. I'm grateful when the elevator doors open to the lobby. There are guests milling about, chatting and alive. The creepiness of the thirteenth floor fades, and I'm once again amazed by the beauty of the Hotel Ruby. Daniel and I start toward the busy restaurant, and Daniel waves when he sees our father already waiting at a table.

“Relax,” my brother tells me when we take our seats next to my father. “Nothing happened. I know how to play hard to get.”

I laugh, and my father raises his eyebrows. “Do I want to know about this conversation?” he asks. I turn to him, shocked by how awake he sounds. The dark circles that have become constants since my mother's death have faded.

“Daniel met a girl,” I say, gauging his reaction. Mostly to see if my father will just brush us off like usual. Hum a noncommittal reply.

“Surprising,” he responds sarcastically, and then smiles. It just about knocks me off my chair. Daniel and I exchange a glance, and then we both turn back to our father to make sure we aren't imagining this. He's . . . Dad. “What's her name?” he asks.

Daniel's eyes light up like a little kid, and it breaks my
heart how much he wants our father's attention. “Catherine,” my brother says. “I didn't catch her last name.”

My stomach clenches. “Catherine?” I repeat. Daniel nods and then begins to reshare the story with our father. I take a sip from the glass of water on the table, knowing exactly who he's talking about. She is the girl who came up to Elias. She was rude and threatening, and Elias called her a psychopath.

So of course my brother had to go and hook up with her.

I have two options, really. I can tell Daniel she sucks and to stay away, or I can keep my mouth shut. What would my mother do? I think back to the bits of conversations she and Daniel shared. She'd make a joke, but in her jokes would be some truth. Some hidden advice that my brother swallowed down because it came with a spoonful of sugar. Then again, we're leaving today. It probably doesn't matter.

“Tell Dad the part where she looks like a killer porcelain doll,” I say, making my brother laugh. He doesn't realize that I mean it kind of literally. Daniel continues the story, sparing us none of the details, including the fact that her hair smelled like peaches. I'm thankfully distracted when the server comes up to take our food order.

“I ordered you a coffee,” my father says, pointing at the cup in front of me. There's a sinking feeling as I thank him and turn to the server.

“Can I have a juice instead?” I ask. “I hate coffee.”

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. My mother told me you can tell if someone's really smiling if it wrinkles the skin around their eyes. She jots down a note. “May I also recommend the ham,” she says, opening a menu to point to it.

I crinkle my nose. “Ham tastes too much like pig.” I smile. “How about pancakes?” I ask, pretending it has nothing to do with my mother. Pretending it's not an attempt to feel close to her. The server scans the menu like she's not sure they have them listed, and I glance at her name tag—
TANYA
.

“Great choice,” she says, snapping the menu shut. It sends a breeze over my face and hair. “And a side?”

“You pick,” I say as a peace offering. She stares at me like I've said the wrong thing. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I begin to fidget with my napkin to distract myself.

“Fruit, then,” she says, and rounds the table toward Daniel. I'm unsettled, but I watch as she takes his order. Her short, curly black hair is pulled back in a headband, her dark skin complemented by red lipstick. As if sensing me, she glances over and I lower my eyes.

“You all right?” my father asks, startling me. “You look pale.”

“Just hungry,” I say, spreading my napkin on my lap. When the server is gone, I pull my chair closer to the table, to my family. “Did you know this place is supposed to be haunted?” I ask.

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Catherine mentioned it last night. I guess it's how they stay in business. We're in the middle of nowhere.”

“I've been thinking about it,” our dad says between sips of coffee. “How about we stay another night?”

“Really?” I ask, a smile spreading across my face. Another night at the Ruby would be a dream. Not only does it postpone my misery, it'll give me a chance to check out the cute guy from the party.

“How about two nights?” Daniel asks. “I've got plans, Dad. Even I'm not good enough to pull them off in a mere forty-eight hours.”

“Until Friday, then,” he says, holding up his cup. “We'll be together until Friday.” Daniel and I exchange another glance, but I don't let the comment drag me into the possibilities of after. This moment is too good. “Now,” my father continues. “Tell me more about this Catherine girl.”

Daniel launches into his thrilling plans to woo Catherine, and it's fifteen minutes later when Tanya sets a plate in front of me. There are scrambled eggs with garnish, and on the side is a steaming slice of ham, bright pink against the white plate. I lift my gaze to Tanya's and she smiles.

“Bon appétit,” she whispers, handing me a steak knife. I swallow hard, taking it from her hand. I could argue, cause a scene. But Daniel and my dad are so happy right now. I wouldn't ruin this moment for anything. Not even for pancakes.

I saw into the slab of meat, thinking I'll have to choke it down if I hope to curb my growling stomach. I shove a thick chunk in my mouth, readying my hand on my glass. Tanya turns to grab another plate off the tray, and a flash of red catches my eye. I drop my silverware with a loud clang, terrified. Tanya's bleeding—on her side she's got a fist-size splotch of blood. My mouth is full of food as I try to get the words out, pointing my shaking finger in her direction. My father furrows his brow when I get his attention.

“Is it not to your liking?” Tanya interrupts, sounding concerned. I turn back to her; the blood is gone. Her crisp white shirt is stain-free, pressed and neat. My hands are shaking, and I flick my stare between the missing spot and her face. “Is there something wrong?” she asks, her left eye narrowing slightly as she studies me.