Fisher's Light
Page 83
I put away the ladder and leave the rest of the storm shutters for another day while Ellie heads over to Bobby’s house and I go inside to do a little work on the website, switching out the summer rates for the winter rates. As soon as I sit down at the computer, I hear the front door open and see an older couple walk inside with a few suitcases.
It’s not unusual for us to get guests once the season is over. Some people don’t like the crowds and prefer to be on the island when it’s quiet and peaceful, but I checked the schedule this morning and we don’t have any new guests coming until next week.
I get up from the computer and move around the desk to greet them.
“Hi, my name’s Lucy, welcome to Butler House,” I tell them with a smile, holding my hand out for each of them.
“Thank you,” the woman tells me. “This place is absolutely beautiful. I’m so sorry, but we don’t have a reservation. Will that be a problem?”
We only have one other couple staying here at the moment and they are checking out tomorrow.
“It’s definitely not a problem,” I tell them as I gesture towards the front desk and head back around it, pulling up the registration page on my computer. “How long will you be staying?”
They share a look before the man rests his elbows on top of the desk and smiles at me. “This was kind of a spur-of-the-moment vacation. Is there any way we can pay for a week and then play it by ear after that?”
I nod, typing that information into the computer. “That’s no problem at all. Each of our rooms has a different lighthouse theme and a view of the ocean. We serve breakfast, lunch and dinner every day and even though it’s off-season, all of the businesses in town will be keeping their summer hours for a few more weeks.”
I hand them a brochure with a list of all the attractions on Main Street as well as the ferry schedule to and from the island.
“You probably saw the horrible red shutters we’ve started putting up on the front of the inn, sorry about that eyesore,” I tell them with a smile. “We’re getting into hurricane season, so we like to get a head start on making sure everything is ready, just in case.”
“I saw on the news there were a few tropical storms brewing in the Gulf. Do you guys get many hurricanes here?” the man asks as I print out his registration information and slide it across the desk with a pen for him to fill out.
“We actually haven’t had an official one blow through here for about twenty-one years. Mostly we just get a few bad storms,” I explain.
I can barely remember the hurricane that hit the island when I was nine years old. I was here visiting my grandparents that summer and all I remember was racing around, helping them put up the storm shutters and hiding out in the library with a bunch of candles lit all over the place after we lost electricity. I was too young to remember much else, but from what I’ve heard from people in town since then, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been and the island didn’t get too much damage, thank God.
The gentleman finishes filling out the paperwork and hands it back to me. I grab one of the room keys and slide it over to them. Unlike large hotel chains, Butler House uses old-fashioned skeleton keys for each of the rooms. Attached to each key with a ribbon is a small card welcoming the guest to the inn along with the name of the room they’re staying in.
“You’ll be staying in the Cape Hatteras room,” I tell them. “If you go through these doors you’ll see a central staircase. It’s right at the top, the fifth door down. If you’d like to leave your suitcases here, I’ll have them brought up in just a few minutes.”
I look down at their form and quickly memorize their names.
“I hope you enjoy your stay at Butler House, Mr. and Mrs. Michelson,” I tell them with a smile.
Mr. Michelson returns it and nods at me, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Please, call us Seth and Mary Beth.”
Chapter 39
Lucy
Present Day
Seth and his wife, Mary Beth, have been here for two days and, while I enjoy talking to my guests and getting to know them, Seth has gone a little overboard with the personal questions. Whenever I try to ask him about his life, he turns things around and asks me about mine. I don’t know what it is about him. Maybe his age, his kind face, his understanding eyes? Whatever it is, I’ve found myself pouring my heart out to him on more than one occasion.
Mary Beth went into town to do some shopping and Seth offered to help me fold towels at the dining room table. I refused his help repeatedly, telling him there was no way I would let a guest lift a finger to help with laundry, but he’s a persistent old man. He followed me into the dining room, sat down at the table and started folding. He ignored me when I tried giving him a bunch of suggestions of other things he could do on the island, just smiling up at me and continuing to fold until I had no choice but to sit down and let him help.
“So, what do you do for a living, Seth? Aside from push your way into doing manual labor when you should be relaxing?” I tease him as I grab a towel out of the laundry basket and shake it out.
Seth chuckles, resting a folded towel on top of the pile he’s already made on the table. “Well, I’ve been retired for a few years now, so I spend my spare time volunteering as a counselor.”
I smile to myself, not really shocked by this admission. Within just a few hours of meeting Seth, we were drinking coffee and I was spilling my guts to him. He’s friendly and easy to talk to and I can definitely see him counseling people.
It’s not unusual for us to get guests once the season is over. Some people don’t like the crowds and prefer to be on the island when it’s quiet and peaceful, but I checked the schedule this morning and we don’t have any new guests coming until next week.
I get up from the computer and move around the desk to greet them.
“Hi, my name’s Lucy, welcome to Butler House,” I tell them with a smile, holding my hand out for each of them.
“Thank you,” the woman tells me. “This place is absolutely beautiful. I’m so sorry, but we don’t have a reservation. Will that be a problem?”
We only have one other couple staying here at the moment and they are checking out tomorrow.
“It’s definitely not a problem,” I tell them as I gesture towards the front desk and head back around it, pulling up the registration page on my computer. “How long will you be staying?”
They share a look before the man rests his elbows on top of the desk and smiles at me. “This was kind of a spur-of-the-moment vacation. Is there any way we can pay for a week and then play it by ear after that?”
I nod, typing that information into the computer. “That’s no problem at all. Each of our rooms has a different lighthouse theme and a view of the ocean. We serve breakfast, lunch and dinner every day and even though it’s off-season, all of the businesses in town will be keeping their summer hours for a few more weeks.”
I hand them a brochure with a list of all the attractions on Main Street as well as the ferry schedule to and from the island.
“You probably saw the horrible red shutters we’ve started putting up on the front of the inn, sorry about that eyesore,” I tell them with a smile. “We’re getting into hurricane season, so we like to get a head start on making sure everything is ready, just in case.”
“I saw on the news there were a few tropical storms brewing in the Gulf. Do you guys get many hurricanes here?” the man asks as I print out his registration information and slide it across the desk with a pen for him to fill out.
“We actually haven’t had an official one blow through here for about twenty-one years. Mostly we just get a few bad storms,” I explain.
I can barely remember the hurricane that hit the island when I was nine years old. I was here visiting my grandparents that summer and all I remember was racing around, helping them put up the storm shutters and hiding out in the library with a bunch of candles lit all over the place after we lost electricity. I was too young to remember much else, but from what I’ve heard from people in town since then, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been and the island didn’t get too much damage, thank God.
The gentleman finishes filling out the paperwork and hands it back to me. I grab one of the room keys and slide it over to them. Unlike large hotel chains, Butler House uses old-fashioned skeleton keys for each of the rooms. Attached to each key with a ribbon is a small card welcoming the guest to the inn along with the name of the room they’re staying in.
“You’ll be staying in the Cape Hatteras room,” I tell them. “If you go through these doors you’ll see a central staircase. It’s right at the top, the fifth door down. If you’d like to leave your suitcases here, I’ll have them brought up in just a few minutes.”
I look down at their form and quickly memorize their names.
“I hope you enjoy your stay at Butler House, Mr. and Mrs. Michelson,” I tell them with a smile.
Mr. Michelson returns it and nods at me, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Please, call us Seth and Mary Beth.”
Chapter 39
Lucy
Present Day
Seth and his wife, Mary Beth, have been here for two days and, while I enjoy talking to my guests and getting to know them, Seth has gone a little overboard with the personal questions. Whenever I try to ask him about his life, he turns things around and asks me about mine. I don’t know what it is about him. Maybe his age, his kind face, his understanding eyes? Whatever it is, I’ve found myself pouring my heart out to him on more than one occasion.
Mary Beth went into town to do some shopping and Seth offered to help me fold towels at the dining room table. I refused his help repeatedly, telling him there was no way I would let a guest lift a finger to help with laundry, but he’s a persistent old man. He followed me into the dining room, sat down at the table and started folding. He ignored me when I tried giving him a bunch of suggestions of other things he could do on the island, just smiling up at me and continuing to fold until I had no choice but to sit down and let him help.
“So, what do you do for a living, Seth? Aside from push your way into doing manual labor when you should be relaxing?” I tease him as I grab a towel out of the laundry basket and shake it out.
Seth chuckles, resting a folded towel on top of the pile he’s already made on the table. “Well, I’ve been retired for a few years now, so I spend my spare time volunteering as a counselor.”
I smile to myself, not really shocked by this admission. Within just a few hours of meeting Seth, we were drinking coffee and I was spilling my guts to him. He’s friendly and easy to talk to and I can definitely see him counseling people.
