Finding Reese (Tremont Lodge Series Book 1) Read online

  Finding Reese

  Book 1

  Tremont Lodge Series

  Marcy Blesy

  Finding Reese

  By: Marcy Blesy

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are a result of the imagination of the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locations is a coincidence.

  No part of the text may be reproduced without the written permission of the author, except for brief passages in reviews.

  Copyright © 2014 by Marcy Blesy. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Cormar Covers

  Follow my blog for information about upcoming books or short stories. www.marcyblesy.com

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2:

  Chapter 3:

  Chapter 4:

  Chapter 5:

  Chapter 6:

  Chapter 7:

  Chapter 8:

  Chapter 9:

  Chapter 10:

  Chapter 11:

  Chapter 12:

  Chapter 13:

  Chapter 14:

  Chapter 15:

  Chapter 16:

  Chapter 17:

  Chapter 18:

  Chapter 1

  Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I’d be back. I didn’t know how or when, as certainly my grandparents would never bring me, no matter how many times I’ve begged over the years. In some ways I’ve spent my whole life looking for an excuse to go back to that day when my life had changed forever, but it wasn’t until I saw the ad in the university student center that I finally had the excuse I needed.

  Now, when the opportunity is but a turn of the doorknob away, I freeze, my hand shaking atop the brass knob. The red light returns to the safety lock outside the door, the seconds for entry having passed along with my courage. “Reese, wrong floor, hun. Anyway, this side of the hall is done. You’re supposed to be on Floor 9. Start at the other end of the hallway by the stairwell. It’s easier to clean the rooms in order.” I look from my shaking hand into the eyes of the floor supervisor Helen. “What is wrong with you?” she asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I blink back the tears that well just under the surface.

  “N…nothing. Sorry. I just wanted to see…to see what a perfect room looked like when it’s clean to kind of have a model for what to do.” Helen gives me a suspicious look but shakes her head as if she understands.

  “Never in my decades working here have I ever had a college kid who gave a damn about making up the perfect room.”

  “But…but it’s true…”

  “Reese, I’m only messing with you. We’ll go over this one more time but in a dirty room. We’ve got a busload of senior citizens arriving for an early check-in this afternoon and not a minute to spare.” Helen waddles down the hall as if she’s prepping for a 5K. It’s a wonder she’s not super svelte the way she’s always moving. “Come on, dear. Chop! Chop!” I follow her down one set of stairs to the ninth floor of Tremont Lodge.

  I wish I could keep the door to that room closed in my mind for perpetuity, but then why did I choose to give up my summer to work with a bunch of strangers cleaning other people’s messes? Because there have to be answers here. There has to be something that will trigger memories suppressed so deep that no amount of therapy has been able to pull to the surface.

  “Helen!”

  “That girl is going to run me ragged this summer,” says Helen as I fall in step behind her. She turns into the next room near the end of the hall.

  “I will not clean that toilet. I most certainly will not.”

  “Tinley, dear. You have to use your inside voice. There are still guests sleeping.” A tall, leggy blonde snaps her head up at Helen’s admonishing. “What is the problem?”

  “That,” says the girl named Tinley, pointing at the bathroom.

  “That’s what the plunger is for on your cart. Surely you’ve used a plunger before,” says Helen. Tinley scrunches her face so tight she looks like my pug Baxter after he’s scarfed down his breakfast. I brush the back of my hand over my mouth so I don’t laugh. I know Tinley’s type without having to be formerly introduced. She’s the typical spoiled rich girl whose parents have decided, most likely, that sending their daughter away for the summer to live in northern Michigan at a ski resort before she goes back to her pedigree college, is the last attempt they have at curing their spoiled daughter. And right now she’s being told to unclog the crap in somebody’s toilet. I find that hilarious. Maybe this summer won’t be so bad after all.

  Chapter 2:

  “What are you wearing tonight?” asks Tinley who is throwing clothes from her multiple suitcases all over the room she shares with me in the dormitory across the back lot from Tremont Lodge. With all the rooms cleaned on the 7th, 8th, and 9th floors of the lodge, for which we are responsible, we have one of the easier schedules at the resort. This will leave more time for a social life, I suppose, though my idea of a social life seems counter to the California socialite I’m bunking with this summer.

  “Maybe just shorts and a tank,” I say, comparing my measly one suitcase and makeup bag with Tinley’s luggage that takes up every inch of her small half of the room.

  “Come on, Reese. First impressions are everything. You can’t expect to get dates with anyone worthy if you don’t say the right thing with your clothes.”

  “And what does a pair of shorts and tank top say about me?” I ask, smirking at the tiny bubble of energy who shares this space.

  “Well, no offense, but to me it says, “I don’t care about my appearance. Therefore I don’t care about you. I’m lazy and unmotivated and, quite frankly, not worth your time.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to say those things.” I roll my eyes as I survey Tinley’s choices: a sleeveless tube dress with sparkly embellishment along her chest and complimentary gold sequined heels. “Yeah, I’d rather say, “I’m easy. Sleep with me. Here’s my room number.”

  Tinley arches her eyebrows and pinches her mouth shut from the words she wants to say and throws the dress back in her suitcase. “So, where did you come from with your impeccable manners?” she asks as she piles more clothes around the bed.

  “Michigan.”

  “Michigan?” asked Tinley. “But we’re in Michigan now. Why on earth would you stay in your own state if you were going to be away for the summer?”

  “It’s not like I live next door to the lodge,” I say, slipping a necklace with a letter F around my neck. It had been my mother’s, and she’d been wearing it the last time she was at Tremont Lodge. “Why’d you come from California?”

  “My parents were traveling to Italy for the summer. My mom’s half Italian, and I didn’t want to go again. There’s only so much I can handle of her family and once you’ve been to Italy three or four times, it gets kind of stale, you know?” I nod my head like I understand, though the reality is that except for a Spanish club trip in high school, I’ve never traveled beyond the borders of Michigan, since crossing the Mackinac Bridge into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan doesn’t count.

  After Tinley has settled on a short, but not too short white halter dress and red wedge sandals, she declares that we are ready to go to the welcome party for the college students that are staffing Tremont Lodge for the summer. One might not think that a ski resort in the summer is a happening place, but it is. We walk down the back stairwell of the motel-style dorm and into the private courtyard which includes a sm
all pool unlike the year-round heated pool at the lodge that will greet weary skiers with 90 degree water after a day of skiing during peak season. A small bar overlooks the beach volleyball court that adjoins the property. A couple dozen people sit in loungers around the pool or stand talking in small groups as we survey the crowd.

  “Drinks, ladies?” asks a guy who stands beside Tinley, giving her the once-over while holding two red drinks in his hand.

  “Hell, yes,” says Tinley, grabbing the drink from his hand. “I’m parched. I haven’t worked this hard in my whole life.” She bats her long blonde lashes at the drink bearer. He smiles and encourages her to drink up by pointing at the glass in her hand, which she acknowledges by downing the drink in seconds. He walks away, presumably to get Tinley another drink.

  “Well, you surely were thirsty, weren’t you?” I ask.

  “Gosh, you are full of judgments, aren’t you?” she says.

  “I’m simply observant.”

  “Well, what do you observe about that guy over there at the table with the umbrella, because he hasn’t stopped staring at me since we got here?”

  I not-so-subtly turn my attention to the table in the corner of the courtyard pointed out by Tinley. The guy looks away the minute I try to capture his eyes with my stare. He has brown hair cut short with a very put-together look except for a large tattoo at the base of his neck.

  “Well,” I say, “He’s a college student, too, like us, or he wouldn’t be here, right? And he’s tall.”

  “How do you know that? He’s sitting down.”

  “His knees are touching the table.”

  “Oh, yeah, I see that,” says Tinley.

  “He’s shy.”

  “And just how in the world do you know that?” Tinley puts her hands on her hips as if I’m challenging her.

  “Because he hasn’t looked this direction since he learned we were observing him.” Drink guy returns with another red drink and places it in Tinley’s hand before she has a chance to say thank you, but the way she leans forward with a view down her dress is all the thanks she needs to give. It seems my You’re easy assessment was dead on.

  “Why are you lovely ladies wasting your time on that loser when you’ve got me?” says Drink Man.

  “For starters, all we know about you is that your pick-up move is to get a girl drunk.”

  “Geesh, Reese. Cut the guy some slack. And I am not drunk.”

  “Yeah, cut me some slack. And my name’s Murphy.” He extends his hand. I shake it, surprised to see that he has a firm handshake. He’s not completely a lost cause, I guess. “And you are?”

  “I’m Tinley,” she says, slipping her well-manicured hand into his. “And this piece of work is Reese. Forgive her manners. She’s from Michigan.”

  “Seriously, Tinley?” I say.

  “Well, the fact that you’re not well-traveled can have an influence on how you interact with others. There’s been some study done on it or something, I’m sure.” I just roll my eyes.

  “Okay, Dr. Tinley.”

  “So what are you lovely ladies doing here this summer?” asks Murphy.

  “Domestic engineers,” says Tinley.

  “Wow, that’s cool,” says Murphy. “Do you handle the electrical or something like that?”

  “We’re maids, imbecile,” I say, looking Murphy in the eye, our heights nearly identical. “I’m going to get a different drink.” I leave them both staring at me as I walk away. Good, they have something in common, a strong dislike for Reese Prentice. It’s always good to start a new relationship with some common ground.

  The bar is decorated like it’s on a Caribbean Island rather than in the middle of the country, complete with Tiki torches, a grass skirt, and a toy parrot that seems to be repeating the person standing closest to it. Right now it’s saying, “Two beers. Two beers.”

  “Coke, please,” I hear from behind (followed by Coke please, Coke please from the parrot).

  “Hey, I was next in line,” I say, turning around. “Are you blind?” I am startled to see the guy from the table we’d been staring at.

  “Yeah, but the bartender was asking you what you wanted, and when you didn’t take your turn, I figured you were still deciding.”

  “I didn’t know…” I didn’t know. I didn’t know. “Shut up!” Shut up! Shut up!

  “Nice to meet you, too. My name’s Finn.” Finn. Finn.

  “Ugh! Can we shut this stupid thing off?” I ask the bartender.

  “Sure,” he says, smiling. “We could.” He hands a can of Coca Cola and a glass to Finn and stares at me. “Well, have you decided what you’d like?” He finds this way too amusing.

  “Lemonade,” I say.

  “And vodka?” he asks.

  “Did I say vodka?” I ask. His smile disappears as he grabs a glass and fills it with my drink, spilling some on the bar when he slams it down. I grab the glass and turn back toward the party.

  Bitch. Bitch.

  “That is not cool,” I say to the bartender. “Maybe if you…”

  “I’ve got this, Tony. Thanks for the Coke.” Finn puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me away from the bar and toward the pool. I go, only because I’m liable to lose my job if I go off on the bartender, and I need to be here this summer. “Why don’t we cool off by the pool?” he says. He grabs a towel from the bin along the edge of the pool house, opens it up, and places it on the concrete by the pool. Then he pats the towel. “Won’t you join me?” he asks.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious. Come on. You’re having a rough night. I know that bird has the wrong impression of you.”

  I bite my cheek because that’s what I do when I’m trying not to say something I’ll regret, but I sit down anyway. I can’t get through this summer in a bubble no matter how much I think I can. Blake’s voice rings through my head, Sis, try making friends. You never know when you might need someone. I know that more than anyone, but when everyone you love leaves, who can you trust to be there in a time of need? Of course my little brother doesn’t know the real reason I am spending the summer at Tremont Lodge and Ski Resort. He’d been way too young to remember our family vacation. We never talk about our parents. It’s some sort of taboo topic in our grandparents’ home. For Blake, that’s fine. He’s a sixteen and a half year old boy whose biggest worries are if he’s going to score a touchdown on Friday night or score a date for homecoming with the hottest girl in school.

  “It’s not a date, just a place to sit,” says Finn. I jerk up my head at the sound of his voice. “You sure are good at the whole getting lost in your own world thing.”

  “I…yeah…um…I’ll sit. I can do that.”

  He laughs out loud, at my expense, while I drop my legs in the warm pool water and splash away a dead bee that floats on the surface. “Let’s start over. I’m Finn,” he says, sticking out his hand. I sigh. “Is that a problem? Old boyfriend with the same name?”

  “You just don’t stop, do you?” I say.

  “If by that you mean that persistence is an endearing quality, then, yeah, that’s me.” I kick away a pink raft that’s floated near the deep end.

  “Well, I think you’re bipolar,” I say.

  “And that is…why?”

  “You were staring at Tinley, but the minute we looked in your direction, you bury your nose in your phone. That doesn’t jive with your whole persistent, extroverted persona you’re putting on now.”

  “First of all, I’m not putting on anything. Secondly, I wasn’t staring at Tinley, assuming you mean the girl you were standing with.”

  I wonder if my cheeks are the color of Tinley’s drink. “Whatever you were staring at…”

  “I was staring at you.”

  “That’s just creepy,” I say, kicking the raft away again.

  “And it wasn’t creepy when you stared back?”

  “I wasn’t staring. I observe people.”

  “And this time your assessment was all wrong, wasn’t it
?”

  “No matter.” I start to get up. Finn puts his hand on my arm.

  “Please don’t go.” Finn smiles, revealing a set of matching dimples below a set of emerald green eyes. “It might be nice to have some friends this summer.” Blake’s voice rings in my head. I inhale slowly and sit back down. “So what brings you here?” asks Finn.

  “I saw a job posting in the student center at school and thought it might be fun to do something different than work at my grandparent’s blueberry farm,” I say.

  “Blueberry farm? Are you from Florida?” I laugh.

  “No. Why does everyone think that all fruit is grown in Florida?”

  “Then enlighten me.” He smirks, but his dimples dancing on his face make me smile.

  “Southwestern Michigan.”

  “Like Michigan, Michigan?”

  “Now you sound like that dumb parrot.”

  “Ha. I just assumed that all the college kids that come here to work want to flee the nest as far away from their family as possible. Your family must not be that bad.” We both look up at the same time when we hear Cannonball!, but it’s too late to respond.

  “Crap!” I yell. Water drips down my hair onto my now soaking wet tank top, and water seeps into the towel drenching the rest of me.

  “You know, if you get up and walk away now,” says Finn, “everyone will think you peed your pants.”

  “And they wouldn’t think that about you, too?”

  “No. I’m wearing swim trunks.” He taps his shorts to point out the obvious.

  “Then we have a conundrum, don’t we?” I ask.

  “Oh, a smart girl, you are.”

  “And you’re auditioning for Star Wars?”

  “A nerdy smart girl.” That’s when I decide I’ve had enough. Taking both hands, I put them on Finn’s back and shove him into the pool.

  “No one calls me a nerd and gets away with it.”

  “Duly noted,” says Finn, backstroking toward the ladder of the pool. He flips his head backward and shakes water from his hair. The tattoo on his neck appears to be a butterfly, an odd choice for a guy. “You know!” he yells. “It’s kind of creepy to stare. Someone once told me that!” But before I turn away again, another cannonball sends a fresh load of pool water all over my head. Finn laughs and dives under the water. I walk in the direction of the buffet that has been set out, grab a hotdog and a bag of chips, and walk up the stairs and back to my room, dripping water along the way.