Upstairs, she went from room to room, checking the progress. Walls were open, exposing pipes that needed to be replaced. Lights from the ceilings were sitting on the floors, with gaping holes overhead. She found one man standing on a ladder, only she couldn’t see his head because he was in the ceiling, likely working on the wiring. Spools of wiring cluttered the hallway, and men walked by her with their tool belts clanking.
Tape measures had a distinct sound to them when being pulled from their cases. Brooklyn watched as a two-man team measured the exposed wall and jotted notes down. If she listened carefully, she’d hear the buzz saw that was outside, slicking through the wood. This excited her. Creating something out of someone’s vision always brought her joy. Once the shiplap went up, she’d bring Carly up here so she could see the progress. Everything she wanted out of the magazines would be exactly as she liked. Brooklyn would make sure of it.
Down the hall, she came across Bowie’s men. She walked in, expecting to find them sitting down. Much to her surprise, this room was further along than the others she had inspected. This pleased her, but there was no way she’d give Bowie the satisfaction of knowing. But she would give his guys a compliment because they deserved it. “Looks great in here.”
“Thanks, boss lady,” one replied.
Brooklyn walked to the end of the hall and used her master key to unlock the room. It had been years since she had been in here. She flipped the switch, and the light dimly lit the room. Before looking at anything, she went to the window and pulled open the blinds, letting the sun beam through. This room aside, Brooklyn decided she was going to make sure the windows were open in all the rooms. The inn needed the sun; it needed to have life brought back into it. She left the room, avoiding even a glance at the bed. Her life had changed in this room. It was where she had become a woman. But recalling those memories right now was too painful. One thing was certain: she wanted the furniture gone, sooner rather than later.
Downstairs, she saw progress in the lobby. The scaffolding was finally up, and work was being done. She went back to the house, needing a break. In the living room, Brystol was on the floor with the remote in her hand. Nothing odd except for the fact that she was using a dog as a headrest. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for Simi so I can go with her.”
“Where’s she going?”
“Into town. Wants to stock up on food because Nonnie insists on feeding everyone.”
Brooklyn gave her daughter an odd look. “How do you know this?”
Brystol sat up and shrugged. “Nonnie talks really loudly sometimes.”
“Did you finish your reading?”
“Yes, and I wrote my book report. I emailed it to you.”
“Thank you for doing it without me asking.” Sometimes homeschooling was a struggle. It was hard to find a happy medium, which was another reason she should do the right thing and enroll her daughter in school. A constant schedule and structure could do her some good. “Whose dog is this?”
Brystol turned and started petting the black dog. She leaned down and kissed him before burying her face in his coat. If this wasn’t a sign that she needed to put some roots down for her daughter, she didn’t know what was. Living on the road, going from hotel to hotel, wasn’t the right life for a teenager.
“One of the workers’. I don’t know; I talked to him out back at lunch. His dog is really nice.”
“Seems it. Does Nonnie know you brought him in?”
Brystol nodded and resumed her position. The dog didn’t seem to care that she was using him as a pillow; in fact, he seemed rather content. Brooklyn went into the kitchen, now hungry and a bit angry with herself for missing lunch earlier. She rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out the makings for a sandwich. With her arms full, she closed the door and jumped. “Don’t you have people to supervise?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” Bowie said.
“It can wait until after I eat.” She wasn’t suggesting or even asking; she was telling him. She expected Bowie to leave, but instead he pulled out the barstool and sat down. She eyed him warily, wondering what he was up to, but she was serious—he had people to manage and should be there.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Brooklyn glanced up at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She was standing next to Bowie, and he was looking at her like she was a long-lost relative.
“What’s your name?”
“Brystol,” she said sweetly.
Bowie glanced at Brooklyn, who diverted her eyes back to her sandwich. She tried to spread some mayonnaise, but her hand was frozen. She supposed she should introduce them but couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth. She had a hard time understanding Carly’s logic and wished she would’ve known before she came back to town. She preferred being prepared for any situation, not that you could really prepare for something like this.