Daddy's Chasing His Valentine:3- Where's Your Key?
1624 Words
Noelle
I was jolted awake in the middle of the night by a timid little knock. I groaned and rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock. Without my glasses I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it said 2:00AM.
I must be dreaming. No one would be knocking on my door in an empty hotel at two in the morning. I had just relaxed back on my pillow when I heard it again. Very soft, very faint, but very definitely a tap, tap, tap.
I threw back the blankets and rolled off the bed, thankful that I didn’t have the habit of sleeping in the nude. My satin pajama set was modest enough for me to answer the door. I pressed my eye against the peephole to see who was disturbing me.
It must have been a ghost, because there was no one outside my door.
I had just turned away to go back to bed when I heard it again. Louder and more insistent this time. To be cautious, I left the security latch in place, and opened the door a crack. There was in fact a person at my door, but a person so small that he hadn’t been visible through the peephole. I rubbed my eyes just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
But no, there really was a small child standing outside my door, wearing rumpled clothes and droopy socks. I undid the security bolt and opened the door fully. I stuck my head out and looked up and down the hallway, but I didn’t see any sign of an adult. “Um. Hi?”
“Hi.” The kid looked up at me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Noelle. Who are you?” I shot back.
“I’m Trevor.” He had an adorable Australian accent.
“Hi Trevor. Do you know it's the middle of the night?”
“Yeah.” He scratched his head, making his fine brown hair stand up in all directions.
“Do you need something?” I prompted.
“Yeah. I’m hungry.”
“Um, okay.” I was really at a disadvantage here. I had no experience with children. “Where’s your mom?”
“My mom is dead.”
“Oh s.hit. I mean, shoot.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “Um, who takes care of you?”
“My nanny.”
“Okay, well maybe you should go wake her up?”
“She’s not here. She quit.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a problem isn’t it.” I sighed and opened the door further. “Why don’t you come in and sit down while we sort this out?”
“Okay.” He jogged right past me in his socks, flipped on the light switch like he was perfectly at home in my room, and climbed into one of the chairs.
“Anyone ever told you that it’s not safe to talk to strangers?” I asked as I sat in the chair across from him.
“Yeah.”
“Probably shouldn’t go in strangers’ rooms either.” I pointed out.
“You aren’t a stranger. You are Noelle.” He crossed his thin little arms over his skinny chest. “And I’m hungry.”
“Right, we’ve established that. But you aren’t here alone, right? Oh wait, is your dad the new manager? Robert Quinn?”
The kid nodded, and I actually heard his tummy rumble in protest. He was an odd looking little person. He was small and frail looking, with a pixie-like face, big, serious hazel eyes, a sharp little nose and a wide mouth.
“So where’s your dad?” I pressed.
“Sleeping.”
“Why don’t you wake him up?”
“He gets angry if I wake him up.”
“Fine,” I sighed and stood back up. “Let’s go down to the kitchen and get you a snack, then you have to go right back to your room, okay?”
He hopped up. “Okay.”
I fished around in the nightstand for the extra set of keys I’d been given that pretty much allowed me access to the whole resort, including the kitchen. I slipped on my fuzzy slippers and we slipped out into the hall. There was no one on duty because the resort was still closed to the public, but the night security guard, Glenn, was seated at the desk, watching videos on his phone. He raised an eyebrow at me.
“Just a little midnight snack,” I whispered. He nodded and went back to his phone.
As we went down the dark stairs to the lower level, Trevor stuck his little hand into mine. Weird. I looked down at him. “Are you scared of the dark?”
“No!” he denied it, but gripped my hand tighter.
I stopped at the service door to the kitchen and fumbled with the keys until I found the correct one. Once inside, I flipped on the lights, and we were at once blinded by the bright, industrial lighting glaring off the polished stainless steel counters and appliances. “So, what do you like?”
“Do you have TimTam?”
“Um, what’s a TimTam?” I pulled open the refrigerator.
He shot me an annoyed glance. “It’s like a choco biscuit.”
“I doubt you’ll find that here. And in America we call them cookies,” I pulled open the refrigerator. “There’s cheese? Apples? Olives?”
His face screwed up in distaste. “Don’t you have any real food?”
I opened the dry goods pantry. There were some wrapped loaves of french bread on the shelf. “How about some toast with jam? And a glass of warm milk?” Seems like I’d heard somewhere that warm milk was supposed to help kids sleep.
“Okay.”
I took out a loaf of bread, cut off slices. And what the hell, since I was in the kitchen at two in the morning, I cut two extra slices for myself. I popped them in the huge toaster, and pulled the butter and a jar of strawberry jelly out of the cooler. I then popped two mugs of milk into the microwave.
Not bad for a woman who doesn’t know how to cook.
I pulled a stool up to one of the stainless steel work counters, and plopped down the toast, served on a paper towel, in front of the kid. Along with the milk. I didn’t see another stool, so I just leaned against the counter to eat my share.
He took a small nibble, and then, apparently finding the toast satisfactory, proceeded to take a big bite, smearing jelly all around his lips. He took a slurp of the milk and continued to eat until he had polished off one piece and just a bite of the second. He pushed the paper towel aside. “I’m finished.”
It seemed a shame to throw away the second piece of toast, so I took it, and popped it in my mouth.
“So, um, you are all sticky. Maybe you should wash your face.”
He looked at me like I was an i***t. “I can’t reach the sink.”
“Oh.” I crumpled up the paper towels and gave the counter a quick swipe. Then I looked at the massive sinks that were made for huge pots and pans. I didn’t see any way I could lift the kid to wash his hands and face without dropping him in the wash tub. “Okay, forget that. You can wash up in your room, right?”
He shrugged those thin shoulders again.
I quickly put away the food we had used and cleaned up our mess before I switched off the lights and locked the door. As soon as we were plunged back into darkness, Trevor had a hold of my hand again. And his hand was sticky. But, I didn’t make him let go. We climbed back up the stairs, passed the distracted security guard, and went back down the hall to the security rooms. We stopped in front of the doors. I wasn’t exactly sure which one was his. He tried the handle of the one that was directly across from mine, but of course, without a key card, it didn’t open.
“Where’s your key?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have it?”
“No.”
I sighed. “Well, you will have to ring the bell and wake your dad up.”
“No! I can’t wake him up! He’ll be mad!”
I thought the dad would probably be mad anyway, when he found out his kid had left the room alone. “That’s the only way you are going to get back in the room, Trevor. You can’t open the door without the keycard. Just ring the bell. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“He won’t!” The kids big eyes started to get all watery and his lower lip trembled.
It was the most pathetic thing I had ever seen. “Are you going to cry?”
“No! Boys don’t cry.”
“Yes, they do.”
“Well, I don’t!” He insisted, even as the tears overflowed over his long lower eyelashes and made tracks down his cheeks. He sniffed and wiped his nose. “Can I sleep in your room?”
“I think your dad will be pretty upset if he wakes up and you aren’t in the room with him.”
More tears spilled down those thin, pale cheeks. “Please?”
- Writer
