D. Graham - What Are The Chances?

“Okay, uh.” The area was known for outdoor activities like skiing, rock climbing, river rafting, mountain biking, and kite sailing. Even if it had been sunny and warm, none of those would have worked for a young family anyway. “If the rain lets up, you can go to the beach on the other side of the highway and explore the tidal pools along the shore to search for starfish and crabs. We also have hundreds of hiking trails up the mountain behind us. You won’t notice the rain that much when you’re under the canopy of the forest. The waterfalls you’ll pass and the views of Howe Sound and the Tantalus mountain range are worth the trek. I’ll find a map for you.” I crouched behind the front desk to get him some brochures. But then it hit me that they might be the subjects of my vision and sending them out into the wilderness might be a bad idea. “As you can see, there is a restaurant and a few souvenir shops here in Britannia Beach.” I pointed to the horseshoe of old buildings that lined the perimeter of our parking lot next to Trevor’s house, hoping maybe they’d be interested in a safe, quiet day close to the Inn.

The guest peered out the window at the ocean on one side of the highway. Then he turned his head to look at the base of the mountain jammed right up behind our little old mining village. His forehead started to sweat as if he was getting claustrophobic or something.

He wasn’t impressed, so I grasped for ideas. “There’s shopping, a bowling alley, and a movie theatre in Squamish. It’s a short drive north on the highway.”

His face relaxed a little and he took in the information about Squamish. “Thanks,” he said, looking kind of like he wished they had chosen Mexico instead of the rugged Canadian wilderness as their summer vacation destination.

There wasn’t anything I could do to prevent whatever bad thing was going to happen if I didn’t know what that thing was. Or where it happened. Or when it happened. Or who it happened to. I tried not to worry about the vision, although it wasn’t working that well. Once the majority of guests had either gotten in their cars or gone back to their rooms, I carried a tray of the breakfast leftovers down the hall to my granddad’s room. He was still sleeping. I opened the blinds, which didn’t make the room that much brighter since the sky was so thick with black clouds.

“Good morning,” I said at a volume gentle enough not to startle him, but loud enough to hear without his hearing aids.

He rolled over and patted down the few wispy white hairs left on the top of his head. “Oh dear. What time is it? Is the coffee brewing?” He got out of bed and put on a robe over his pyjamas.

“Everything is taken care of,” I reassured him. “Everyone has already eaten and I’m finished the clean-up too.”

“Oh Derian. Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” He hooked his glasses behind his ears and squinted at the clock, wondering why the alarm hadn’t gone off.

“I turned your alarm off. You deserve a day to rest once in a while.” I laid out some clean clothes on his bed. “Taking it easy will prepare you for retirement.”

“I can’t take today off. Alan and Paula are coming by this morning.”

“The new owners?”

“Yes. I’m supposed to give them an orientation today. They also want to come in and do shifts while we’re here so they can get the hang of how to run things.”

“That’s a good idea.” It made me feel better to know they were eager to learn. Out of all the people who could have bought the Inn I was grateful it was a family who would retain its old charm and continue to run it the same way we always had.

“They’re going to be a good fit. I can feel it,” he said.

“I feel it too.” I rested my hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek as I reached over to steal a piece of toast and peanut butter off the tray. “But since we’re technically still on the clock until the end of the summer, I should get back to the front desk. Enjoy your breakfast.” I left his room and headed back to the lobby.

Two more families who were desperate to entertain their kids during the storm took brochures on the attractions in Squamish. Growing up in an ancient rain forest, I was brought up with the attitude that there was no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. But even I had to admit it was a particularly dreary day. Curling up next to the fireplace with a good book appealed to me.

As I scanned the list of check-ins for the afternoon, three trucks, all black, pulled into the parking lot—one after the other in a convoy—a Hummer, a Mercedes G Class, and a Range Rover. I knew who they were and a jolt of excitement slammed through me when the driver of the Range Rover got out and crossed the parking lot towards the front door of the Inn.

I ripped the elastic out of my ponytail and shook my head to make my hair fall straight over my shoulders and down my back. My reflection in the black computer screen reminded me that I still looked like I just rolled out of bed. At best. Oh well. Too late. The driver of the Range Rover, Mason Cartwright, stepped through the door into the lobby. He ran his hands through his wet caramel-brown hair and pushed it back off his forehead. He smiled. “Hi Derian.”

“Hey.” Saying something more elaborate would have been helpful to at least pretend to be articulate. Unfortunately, my lips felt as if I had gone to the dentist and then got caught in a blizzard.

“How have you been?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I tried again and was able to spit out, “Um. Good. You’re home.”

He chuckled at my blatant statement of the obvious. “Yeah.” He did his shy smile. It had been almost a year since I’d seen it and I had forgotten how adorable it was. He ran his finger over the nick in his eyebrow and said, “A bunch of us are going off-roading. Would you like to come with us?”

I stared at him for an awkwardly long time. After I blinked three times, I finally forced myself to breathe and answered, “Can’t. Have to work.” My Neanderthal sentences came across sounding rude, so I scrambled to find more words. “Thanks anyway.”

“What time do you get off?”

“Never. Um, I mean, it’s not like a real job. It kind of depends on how busy it is. And it is. Busy. This weekend. Lots of people.”

“Okay. Would you like to go to a party with me in Squamish tonight?” His hand rose in a hold-on-a-second gesture. “Before you answer, I want to remind you about the deal we made last summer. Remember?”

I remembered our deal—of course I remembered our deal. I had thought about it about a thousand times since then—I was just surprised he remembered. The deal had happened during a crazy time in my life. I had just found out my boyfriend Steve had cheated on me. Trevor had just gotten home after five months away but made it clear we shouldn’t be more than friends. And to top it all off Mason informed me that if we were both single when he got back from working abroad for a year, he would ask me out on a date. At the time, I didn’t know where I would be living in a year or if Trevor and I would be together in a year. Plus, I had always been curious about Mason, so I had agreed. But I thought the chances of him actually honoring the deal were slim. Apparently I was wrong.