Chapter 21

Nice Things and Secrets

Catherine had never stepped inside The Waterfront until attending the Halloween party held there a month ago, never imagined she would have a reason to, but the hotel had lived up to the hype, and that it was such a draw for vacationers, business travelers, and event planners alike was completely understandable. While at the party, she had tried to curb her excitement, to downplay just how impressed she was by the establishment, the cherry on top of the opportunity to hobnob with elite members of the local horse community. Tonight, the hotel lobby looked just as sleek and elegant as it had been that night; however, at this late hour, all was quiet save for the faint, unobtrusive Muzak drifting from somewhere within. Everything was nice and normal and luxe, no signs of the chaos that had taken place earlier. Certainly, she had never dreamt her next visit to The Waterfront would be under tonight's circumstances, but life had thrown her all sorts of curveballs these past few months.

Trevor had left for home as soon as Catherine made it back to the ER. It irritated her that he had not offered to fetch Chip's personal items himself or at least help her bypass security and find her way to Chip's locker. She wanted to do it herself and would have refused anyway, but it would have been nice. She did not know why she was so upset with Chip's manager; it must have been a challenging and stressful night for him and others at The Waterfront. Still, she could not help it.

She had taken Trevor's abandonment way more to heart than Chip, who preferred to complain about his ruined clothes.

"Of all the ties to bleed out on, why did it have to be the fricken Armani?" he said as she helped him change into a too-large white tee and thermal bottoms, a result of the slim pickings at the pharmacy. "I should've taken that two-fifty and burned it."

"Or bought, like, a dozen other ties," she said with exasperation, briefly forgetting she needed to keep him calm. "Why in the hell would you spend that kind of money on a tie?"

"I still like nice things, even if I can't always afford them," he mumbled defensively. "You know that. I budget and make sacrifices for the things I want. And it was a birthday present…to myself."

Catherine thought about how sorry she was for bringing it up as she waited at the front desk for the hotel's night manager. A passing porter gave her faded sweats and messy hair a side eye, as did the better-dressed guest standing next to her, a middle-aged male monkey who wore a tired look on his face and a brown leather duffel on one shoulder, obviously a late check-in. Whatever they thought of her, she ignored them both.

The night manager, a young, black-haired aardvark woman named Theresa, escorted Catherine down a narrow corridor meant for staff members so they could travel behind the scenes, out of sight unless they were being of service to guests, as Chip had once explained.

"Trevor didn't say much," Theresa said, her concern sounding genuine, adding, "about Charlie's condition, I mean."

"He really is kind of a wiener, isn't he?" Catherine had not been able to stop herself. "Trevor, I mean."

Theresa looked taken aback but said, "I'm sure it has to do with policy. There are a lot of rules we have to follow here. How is he doing, if you don't mind my asking?"

"He'll be fine, we think," Catherine said. "With time. Just a cut, a concussion, and a really bad bruise on the back of his head."

"Ouch… Poor guy. I don't really know Charlie all that well. We run into each other in here from time to time." Theresa gestured to the break area they were now passing through, which housed vending machines for snacks and sodas, a fridge, a sink, a coffee maker and microwave, as well as a handful of small table and chair setups. Catherine took note of this and wondered if Chip had ever texted her from this room as they headed straight to the opposite side of it, where there was another short hallway that turned left and out of sight. "He's nice, though—knows a lot about movies and gives me suggestions sometimes. He has interesting taste."

"Yeah..." Knowing Chip, Catherine bet he had recommended a bunch of Lynch or Kubrick.

"My shift didn't start until after the ambulance took him away. I was completely shocked when I heard. Things like that just don't happen at The Waterfront. The lounge has been roped off—with velvet, of course, so as not to raise alarm—so I haven't seen it, but Marcus said it looks like a crime scene in there. We've been worried, so it's good to hear things aren't as grim as we imagined. Well, here we are…"

They entered another room, the walls of which were lined with full-size lockers made of pale and polished wood. A row of lockers stood squarely in the middle, back-to-back. She wanted to tell Theresa that the lounge was a crime scene, and that Rachel woman should have gone to jail tonight, but she reined in her hostility this time. Theresa had nothing to do with this. Just because she was on edge, that was no reason for Catherine to lash out at someone who really cared about Chip's well-being.

"Do me a favor?" Catherine said. "Don't let anyone start crazy rumors, okay?"

"Not if I can help it. Do you know his number?"

"Eleven."

"On the other side." Theresa pointed to the middle row. "I can wait for you in the breakroom if you feel you need help finding your way back."

"Thanks, but I'll manage."

Theresa bid Catherine goodnight and asked that she tell Charlie they were all thinking of him before leaving her alone.

"Charlie…" she parroted under her breath as she dialed the combination Chip had given her. From the top shelf inside the locker, she grabbed and pocketed his lanyard and his phone, a Portolex 360X refurb, its green message light blinking steadily. But where were his keys? They were nowhere to be found among the lip balm, granola bars, and a small collection of products for hair emergencies, which reminded her of how, after begging that his hair not be cut to accommodate stitching his forehead, Chip had been allowed to pin his locks out of the way using clips Catherine kept in her purse. She took his coat from the locker's hook and rooted around in the left pocket first, coming up empty-handed, then the right, where she was relieved to find them, along with a narrow strip of what felt like card stock. She extracted the strip out of curiosity and examined it. It was a receipt, not unlike the ones that came with theatre tickets, but the tickets Chip had purchased were not for any play. As perplexing and perturbing as this was, Catherine could not leave Chip alone any longer. She had to hurry.

"Please don't do that," Catherine said sharply as she got behind the wheel of her car. "I don't want you sleeping unless I'm with you."

Chip had startled awake when she opened the back door to throw his coat inside, but he had been dozing in the passenger seat before that, elbow propped next to the window, palm supporting his head.

"I didn't mean to," he said groggily, repositioning the small fleece blankie bearing the Cars characters, another pharmacy find and the best Catherine could do in terms of keeping Chip warm while leaving the hospital. "I just got comfortable. I can't wait to go to bed."

Catherine looked him over. "I know. Hang— Just one more stop."

They continued on to Avalon at Belmont. As quickly as possible, Catherine flitted around Chip's darkened apartment. From his closet's top shelf, she took a duffel that reminded her of the one the snooty Waterfront guest had been carrying, only this one was older, worn and scuffed in places, and she stuffed it with everything Chip had told her to get as well as anything else she thought he might need. In went his prescription antihistamine and a bottle of Flonase as she silently prayed he would be able to withstand prolonged exposure to hay and horses, along with his tooth brush, deodorant, a comb, track pants, pajama bottoms, t-shirts, a couple of Henleys, and a hoodie that zipped in the front. "Dammit," she sighed after locking up, realizing she had forgotten socks, underwear, and a pair of slides, then she unlocked the door and dashed back inside.

Tarver was still and quiet when they arrived. It was also cold. Catherine left Chip in the car with the heater running while she loaded his bag and the rest of the pharmacy goods into the small dumbwaiter leading to her apartment above the rescue stables. The challenging part was getting Chip up the stairs. He could walk but he was unsteady, and it terrified her to walk behind him, bracing his sides as he ascended, wobbly, step by torturous step. She called the dumbwaiter up before leading him to sit down on her bed.

"Finally," he said.

"Not finally."

She helped him change into warmer clothes as well as washed his face despite his protests that his face had already been cleaned at the hospital.

"Trust me, your face is still a shit show. Now, zip it. You'll feel better. I'll feel better…"

He sat quietly as she lathered up a washcloth in the sink of her en-suite bathroom. Gently, staying far away from his stitches, she wiped at the dried blood that still clung to his eyebrows and eyelashes, that lingered around his nostrils and in the creases of his neck. She showed him the cloth, its foam now a weak brown, flecked with bits of rust-red crust, and he uttered an impressed, "Damn".

Once settled in bed on his side with an ice pack, Catherine lowered the lights and took her place next to Chip, bringing her laptop and phone with her.

"Can't sleep?" he said.

"Honestly, it may take a while for me to wind down, plus I'll need to check on you periodically." She unlocked her phone. "I'll set some alarms to keep me on track."

"Sorry to be such a pain in the ass."

"Well, you're my pain in the ass."

"Really dig it when you talk dirty… If I had known this is what it took for you to pay me so much attention, I would've bashed my brains in a long time ago."

"Don't even joke."

"I love you. Do you know that?"

What was she supposed to say to that? What could she say? She leaned over and kissed him softly.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said, pained by the way his expectant look had faltered ever so slightly. "Rest up. The more you get, the sooner you'll be back to normal."

Within minutes, Chip was asleep. Catherine gave it a couple of minutes to make sure before booting up her computer and setting to work. She searched "Erie Botanical Gardens" and "October, 2009". She wanted to know why Chip had spent five hundred and thirty dollars. More importantly, why had she never found out about it?

To be continued…