CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Diane's POV

Enchanted.

The farther into the Hotel I walk, the feeling that I am feeling is like a bomb that is ready to explode. The scenery ...

It's peaceful.

Crushed granite paths lit with coach lights lead guests past the boat docks and more water sports equipment than I’ve ever seen. On the left side of the lodge are three cabins modeled after the main building, each one set high up on the rocks, shrouded by trees and adorned with balconies overlooking the water. John said those are the penthouse suites.

On the right are gardens to sit and ponder in, and beyond them are signs leading to hiking trails. I push through a heavy set of glass doors and revel in the warmth and smell of cedar in the grand lobby, offering a young woman who passes by me a nod and a smile.

She returns it, zipping up her jacket before heading outside.

I’ve never been one to have a lot of friends. Just a few, really, mainly through church groups and study groups. The problem is they’ve all been “our” friends, and now that Justin and I aren’t together, I’m acutely aware of something missing when I see them.

So, I’ve isolated myself from them over the past few months, staying in my dorm room and focusing on my studies. Most of them don’t even know that I’m up here.

I’ll make new friends here, I assure myself. Ones who know nothing about me, about my life back home. It’s kind of refreshing to be whoever I want to be. That’s what I told myself this summer would be about.

Answering to no one, including Mama. I am not concerned with what people will think or what they’ll say or weighing all my words and thoughts and decisions based on what would be considered appropriate by Jesus and my Mama.

I’ve spent far too much time worrying about those things. Look where it has gotten me? Alone, while the guy I’ve loved for years is having, I’m sure, copious amounts of s*x.

It’s past nine in the evening now, and a few people mill around. The e-mail sent out last week says that I’m supposed to report to the main lodge check-in upon arrival, so I head toward the expansive and chic rustic desk made of timber logs.

A woman stands behind it, her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her.

Not until I approached did I see her name. It’s Bea, the woman I spoke with on the phone.

I smiled. “Hi, Bea.” My Mama taught me to always use a person’s name when I can.

She looks up, her sharp gaze peering out from behind stylish red-framed glasses. I wish I had the guts to buy a pair of glasses like those. “Name, please?”

I remind myself that she probably spoke to hundreds of employees. She’s not going to remember me. “Diane Dizon.”

“Oh. Yes.”

What is that I see flicker across her expression? Annoyance? Dislike? It vanished too quickly for me to identify it.

“You left me a message about missing the orientation session, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that was me. My flight was delayed.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.” I use my shirt sleeve to clean the mist from my glasses as she pulls my file up, her nails tapping against the keyboard.

“Okay, here we go. Diane Dizon.”

“It’s Diane.”

She flashes me a tight smile, such a contradiction to her soft, seductive voice. She’s stunningly beautiful her makeup flawless, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder in movie-star smooth waves, but she’s dressed inappropriately, in a tight black dress that barely covers her butt, her fingernails blood-red and clawlike.

My Mama would turn her nose up at associating with this woman and remind me never to dress like that if I wanted any respect.

“Right. Welcome to Hotel Dela Paz, Diane.”

I grinned. “Thank you. It’s beautiful here.”

“Uh-huh. So, Diane, I see here that you were hired for Housekeeping and Guest Services.”

“What?”

I blurt. “No. Outdoor,” I correct her.

“Well, it doesn’t say that here. See?”

She taps the screen with her nails. All of my information, my home address, social security number, even my picture is there, as well as a line that, sure enough, reads a position applied for “Housekeeping and Guest Services.”

“That’s got to be a mistake. When we spoke on the phone, you confirmed Outdoor.” I can’t spend the summer cleaning toilets. And bedsheets! I’ll go crazy.

She frowns. At least, I think she frowns. Her forehead doesn’t actually wrinkle.

“A mistake like that would be a first for us.”

“Well, can you fix it?” I’m mildly panicked now.

“I’ll look into it.” She didn’t sound at all concerned.

“For now, please stand over there so we can take your picture.”

I stifle my groan as I follow her direction and stand in front of a digital camera with a white screen set behind me.

“Smile,” she says as the flash goes off, catching me off guard, taking what I’m sure is a horrible image.

“Okay, here’s your orientation package. Training begins tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. in the grand ballroom.” She reached behind the desk and handed me a canvas tote bag.

“Inside, you’ll find all kinds of useful things like our employee guidelines handbook, information about the hotel and what our guests will expect of service, and a complimentary bottle of bug spray, though the main guest areas are equipped with magnets to deal with them. A pocket-sized flashlight and a can of bear spray.”

She must see the flash of panic on my face because she quickly adds, “Don’t worry; you won’t need that within the main gates. The perimeter is wired with electric fencing.

I give a nervous laugh. “Okay. Good.”

I know the state has plenty of black and brown bears, but I didn’t think I’d have to worry about them here.

“And here.” Her fingers are clicking furiously on her screen again. Then, with a jangle of her keychain, she unlocks a drawer and hands me an iPad and headset.

“There’s an orientation video loaded up on here. It has everything on it that you missed tonight. You can return the iPad to me here tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“And if you hurry, you can still grab a bite to eat in the staff lodge. Go out these doors,” her hand gestures to the left, “and follow the signs for the village.”

“Great. Is that where I can make calls home?”

“Yes. The bandwidth isn’t enough for streaming videos, but you’ll be able to do basic things like send e-mails and messages, check F******k, that sort of thing.” Bea pulls the freshly printed card out of the printer and, after swiping it across a machine, sets it on the counter along with a lanyard and two other cards.

“You need to wear your employee card at all times. This card is for the cafeteria.” She taps the blue one. “Food is greatly subsidized for staff, and it’s a no-cash system, so you can load money onto it or ask that a portion of your salary be garnered for it.”

“Just like the campus.”

“Yup. And this other card gets you into your cabin. You’re in cabin seven. The others are already here.”

“How many others are there?”

“Six per cabin.”

I let that news sink in. I haven’t had a roommate since my first week of first-year student year. That was a short-lived disaster. Mama quickly forked over another two thousand dollars. I snagged one of the last available private rooms. We’re not poor, but my parents like to live frugally.

Either way, neither Mama nor her bank account will fix a problem with a roommate here or five roommates, potentially.

I hope not.