Reclaiming the Sand
Page 77
I parked the car and looked over at Flynn who was absently scratching Murphy’s head and staring out the window toward the open ocean. The beach was mostly empty. Only a few people on boogie boards were braving the most likely cold October water.
“Let’s go check in,” I said enthusiastically. Flynn’s mood was still off but he seemed to be coming around.
Flynn didn’t move right away. He continued to rub Murphy rhythmically. The dog was loving it, not picking up on his owner’s odd temperament.
“Flynn? Are you ready?” I asked.
Flynn nodded and climbed out of the car, slipping Murphy’s leash over his head. The three of us walked into the small lobby and approached the front desk.
It was quaint and clean. The reception area was decorated with your stereotypical seashells and jars of colored sand. A large fishing net covered in starfish and sand dollars hung on the wall.
“Hello, welcome to Sandbridge Inn! Can I get your name?” the elderly woman with a very impressive blue rinse and whose name tag read Paula, asked, giving Flynn and me a bright and friendly smile.
I looked at Flynn but he didn’t answer her. He was chewing on his bottom lip again and he was wrapping Murphy’s leash around his hand over and over again.
“Uh, Hendrick,” I said, smiling to cover for Flynn’s rudeness.
He was looking around the lobby and he didn’t look happy. He looked upset.
Paula with the blue rinse tapped away at the computer until she found our reservation. “Just two nights right?” she asked.
I nodded, glancing at Flynn again. He was still completely disengaged.
I sighed; I couldn’t help it. I had wanted this to be perfect. But it seemed I overestimated Flynn’s ability to handle this.
It made me completely rethink my earlier frustration about his refusal to move away with me. Looking at him now, anxious and unhappy, I knew that perhaps I was thinking too much about what was best for me and not thinking nearly enough about what was best for Flynn. Being unselfish kind of sucked.
“Here you are. You’re booked for the King Suite with the extra $50 pet deposit.” She leaned over the counter to look at Murphy, who was being surprisingly well behaved.
“My, he’s a big boy, isn’t he?” Paula asked, her eyes widening as she took in Murphy’s massive girth.
“Yeah, but he’s a gentle giant,” I assured her. I remembered how nervous the other volunteers at the shelter had been when Murphy had arrived. He was huge. And his size alone made people nervous. But that was before it become clear his size was the only intimidating thing about him.
“Can I give him a treat?” the woman asked and I nodded.
She came around the desk, holding out the small bone for Murphy to take.
“Don’t give him that!” Flynn barked, stopping her. Paula startled and instantly backed away.
“Flynn. It’s fine. It’s just a treat,” I reasoned, trying to give the now flustered receptionist a comforting smile.
“No, he doesn’t eat until six. Then he has his treats an hour after that. Not before he has his dinner. You know that, Ellie!” Flynn’s voice rose and I recognized the tightening of his shoulders and the rigidity of his jaw.
Great, another meltdown.
“You’re right, Flynn. No treats,” I said calmly, though Murphy had started whining because he could smell the bone.
“No treats, Ellie! He has them after his dinner, not before,” he repeated and I nodded my head.
“After dinner. Not before,” I said quickly, knowing how this looked to Blue Rinse Paula. She hadn’t said anything as she watched us warily. So much for a good first impression.
Flynn thankfully calmed down and started scratching Murphy’s head again. The pair of them settled.
Paula’s smile was now a little brittle as she handed me the key to our room. “Take the elevator and get off at the fourth floor. Take a left and follow the hallway to the end. Your room is number 410. There’s a continental breakfast served every day at seven, though you can’t take your dog into the dining room.” She had abandoned all pretenses of politeness and now seemed ready for us to get to our room and out of her blue rinsey hair.
I looked over at Flynn who was staring holes into the floor. “Room 410, Flynn. It’s at the end of the hallway on the fourth floor,” I said. He nodded.
“Room 410. End of the hallway on the fourth floor,” he repeated. Paula was looking at Flynn, her face pinched and judgmental as I had seen so many times before.
I grabbed the key from her hand a little more aggressively than I meant to. “Stop looking at him. He doesn’t like it,” I hissed under my breath, low enough so Flynn couldn’t hear me, but loud enough that she got my message loud and clear.
She straightened her spine and puffed her chest indignantly. We weren’t going to be given the favorite guests award, that’s for sure.
She practically shoved the paperwork into my hand and I narrowed my eyes in warning. Without another word, I turned back to Flynn and put my hand on his arm. He didn’t jerk away, leaned into me instead.
“Come on,” I said softly, taking Murphy’s lead from him. He lifted up our bags and followed me to the elevator. I could feel the tension radiating off him but I hoped once were settled in our room he would be okay. This wasn’t the best start to our mini-vacation.
Once the doors closed and we were moving upwards, it became clear that Flynn and elevators did not mix. He pressed himself into the corner and took deep, shaky breaths. He looked ready to have a panic attack. We weren’t thirty minutes into our vacation and I was already exhausted and wondering if we shouldn’t head back to home.
“Let’s go check in,” I said enthusiastically. Flynn’s mood was still off but he seemed to be coming around.
Flynn didn’t move right away. He continued to rub Murphy rhythmically. The dog was loving it, not picking up on his owner’s odd temperament.
“Flynn? Are you ready?” I asked.
Flynn nodded and climbed out of the car, slipping Murphy’s leash over his head. The three of us walked into the small lobby and approached the front desk.
It was quaint and clean. The reception area was decorated with your stereotypical seashells and jars of colored sand. A large fishing net covered in starfish and sand dollars hung on the wall.
“Hello, welcome to Sandbridge Inn! Can I get your name?” the elderly woman with a very impressive blue rinse and whose name tag read Paula, asked, giving Flynn and me a bright and friendly smile.
I looked at Flynn but he didn’t answer her. He was chewing on his bottom lip again and he was wrapping Murphy’s leash around his hand over and over again.
“Uh, Hendrick,” I said, smiling to cover for Flynn’s rudeness.
He was looking around the lobby and he didn’t look happy. He looked upset.
Paula with the blue rinse tapped away at the computer until she found our reservation. “Just two nights right?” she asked.
I nodded, glancing at Flynn again. He was still completely disengaged.
I sighed; I couldn’t help it. I had wanted this to be perfect. But it seemed I overestimated Flynn’s ability to handle this.
It made me completely rethink my earlier frustration about his refusal to move away with me. Looking at him now, anxious and unhappy, I knew that perhaps I was thinking too much about what was best for me and not thinking nearly enough about what was best for Flynn. Being unselfish kind of sucked.
“Here you are. You’re booked for the King Suite with the extra $50 pet deposit.” She leaned over the counter to look at Murphy, who was being surprisingly well behaved.
“My, he’s a big boy, isn’t he?” Paula asked, her eyes widening as she took in Murphy’s massive girth.
“Yeah, but he’s a gentle giant,” I assured her. I remembered how nervous the other volunteers at the shelter had been when Murphy had arrived. He was huge. And his size alone made people nervous. But that was before it become clear his size was the only intimidating thing about him.
“Can I give him a treat?” the woman asked and I nodded.
She came around the desk, holding out the small bone for Murphy to take.
“Don’t give him that!” Flynn barked, stopping her. Paula startled and instantly backed away.
“Flynn. It’s fine. It’s just a treat,” I reasoned, trying to give the now flustered receptionist a comforting smile.
“No, he doesn’t eat until six. Then he has his treats an hour after that. Not before he has his dinner. You know that, Ellie!” Flynn’s voice rose and I recognized the tightening of his shoulders and the rigidity of his jaw.
Great, another meltdown.
“You’re right, Flynn. No treats,” I said calmly, though Murphy had started whining because he could smell the bone.
“No treats, Ellie! He has them after his dinner, not before,” he repeated and I nodded my head.
“After dinner. Not before,” I said quickly, knowing how this looked to Blue Rinse Paula. She hadn’t said anything as she watched us warily. So much for a good first impression.
Flynn thankfully calmed down and started scratching Murphy’s head again. The pair of them settled.
Paula’s smile was now a little brittle as she handed me the key to our room. “Take the elevator and get off at the fourth floor. Take a left and follow the hallway to the end. Your room is number 410. There’s a continental breakfast served every day at seven, though you can’t take your dog into the dining room.” She had abandoned all pretenses of politeness and now seemed ready for us to get to our room and out of her blue rinsey hair.
I looked over at Flynn who was staring holes into the floor. “Room 410, Flynn. It’s at the end of the hallway on the fourth floor,” I said. He nodded.
“Room 410. End of the hallway on the fourth floor,” he repeated. Paula was looking at Flynn, her face pinched and judgmental as I had seen so many times before.
I grabbed the key from her hand a little more aggressively than I meant to. “Stop looking at him. He doesn’t like it,” I hissed under my breath, low enough so Flynn couldn’t hear me, but loud enough that she got my message loud and clear.
She straightened her spine and puffed her chest indignantly. We weren’t going to be given the favorite guests award, that’s for sure.
She practically shoved the paperwork into my hand and I narrowed my eyes in warning. Without another word, I turned back to Flynn and put my hand on his arm. He didn’t jerk away, leaned into me instead.
“Come on,” I said softly, taking Murphy’s lead from him. He lifted up our bags and followed me to the elevator. I could feel the tension radiating off him but I hoped once were settled in our room he would be okay. This wasn’t the best start to our mini-vacation.
Once the doors closed and we were moving upwards, it became clear that Flynn and elevators did not mix. He pressed himself into the corner and took deep, shaky breaths. He looked ready to have a panic attack. We weren’t thirty minutes into our vacation and I was already exhausted and wondering if we shouldn’t head back to home.
