Carol Cail

Morning rang the travel clock. I untangled from the blankets and my husband, and shuffled to the bathroom. I used the toilet and showered and put on my glasses to find my toothbrush and that’s when I saw the hole in the wall. My reflection and I clutched the sink and considered the football-sized empty space near the ceiling where solid drywall should be. The light coming through flickered as shoes walked past. A black canine snout poked in and out and disappeared. I snatched up the clammy towel and swathed myself while backing into the bedroom by way of a door with a bad case of the sticks.

I agitated Edmund’s shoulder. “Wake up. There’s a big hole in the outside wall of the bathroom.”

“Mff.”

“Wake up, Edmund. People could see me on the commode.”

I churned him for a quarter of a minute till his eyes opened and he swatted my hands away. “Whassit?”

“I’m going to be late for work. Get up so we can go have breakfast and tell the hotel people there’s a hole in our wall.”

“‘Kay.” He propped up on his elbows. His yawn segued into his morning smile, half sexy, half stupid.

I gathered my clothes and crowded into a corner out of view of the bathroom door to dress. “Edmund, we have to go--now.”

He smacked his lips and dropped onto his back, eyes shut.

I used the weakly lit mirror over the desk to slap on makeup.

“Edmund, I’m ready.”

“Coming,” he mumbled.

I grabbed up my shoulder bag and charged into the hall, not slamming the door, out of respect for other guests. The elevator didn’t come in twenty seconds, so I used the stairs up to the spacious, plant- and fountain-infested lobby. I had time to either eat breakfast or stand in line at the desk to register my hole-in-the-wall complaint.

My stomach growled. “Right,” I said, heading toward the sound of dishes clinking. The hostess put me at one of those tiny tables with a common bench that lined the length of the wall, accessed by a measly foot of space between each table. She turned the top sideways to let me in without my bottom dragging over my neighbor’s omelet.

I ordered toast, juice and coffee before checking my watch. Edmund would be snoring again. He can’t help it. He has narcolepsy. To read a book, he has to stand beside a wall, and he’ll fall asleep even then if the wall’s the least bit comfortable.

The woman beside me on the community bench leaned forward to snarl at her male companion, sending a wave through my cushion seat. The man, on a chair opposite us, winced at whatever she’d said--it sounded German--and stabbed at his blackened pancakes.

Apparently the chef was Cajun--my toast arrived blackened, too. I trimmed off the worst which still left me plenty of extra crispy. I wondered if the couple beside me was the same pair that had kept me awake after midnight, arguing loudly just beyond the wall in front of my nose. But no, they’d been speaking English, very definitely Anglo-Saxon.

Shortly, the German couple left, the woman careful to step on my toe en route. I used my cell phone to call our room. It rang fifteen times before Edmund grunted into it.

“Are you awake?”

“Yerr.”

It’s prudent to test him. “What’s my middle name?”

“Liss--Eliss--Elizab--”

“Close enough. Okay, listen. I have to go now or I’ll miss my bus. You need to get up and tell the front desk about the hole in our bathroom wall.”

“Right. The hole in the wall. Tell the desk.”

I sighed with relief. “I’ll see you about four,” I said in a softer tone. “Love you. Wish me luck.”

“Love. Luck.”

From across the dining room, the hostess was leading two portly gentlemen, one with a cast on his arm, resolutely toward me. I wriggled free of the twin tables before they arrived.

The line at the front desk hadn’t diminished. Edmund could deal with it. He didn’t have any other chores today. I struck out toward the doors to the street. Ten feet away from the brass and glass exit, I skirted yellow caution tape which fenced off a section of polished white slate floor. Inside the tape boundary gaped a ragged-edged hole, manhole-sized. If I leaned a little, I could see an empty, rumpled bed below.

No one else seemed interested, not the guests sweeping past me in or out, not the seniors tour group crowded by the gleaming doors, not the red-jacketed valets stationed outside. I set off to catch my bus.

The bus was late. While I waited, I squared my shoulders. New job. New town. First day of the rest of my life.

The middle school building was ancient, and my room in the basement smelled like a nursing home. I wasn’t late. Most of the kids were. They scuffed in, zombie bored, or burst in, loud and exuberant.

The drawers of my desk were all locked and I didn’t have a key. While I went to the office, someone deposited fake vomit on my swivel chair. Five minutes after the bell, there was a fire drill, followed by a lock-down exercise, followed by a locker search. The police came and took away one of my students--female. School let out before we could have a life jacket check.

The bus was late. I tried to notify Edmund, but the cell phone battery had bled out. The rest of my life was ticking away while I stood on the hard pavement, being jostled by strangers, straining to see up the street, breathing carbon monoxide seasoned with dust. In the end, I just hiked the dozen blocks to the hotel, worrying the whole time that I’d turned the wrong direction.

The canopy in front of the hotel appeared, half a block distant. Closer to, I saw something was amiss. People milled about on the drive-up apron. The entire curb seethed with luggage--hundreds of bags, a train wreck of gear.

“What’s happening?” I called to a young woman striding past me, but she shrugged and answered in Spanish.

I stepped over a pothole in the driveway--had that been there before?--and browsed the baggage until I recognized our three blue cases. I sat down on the largest one, facing the street, and waited for Edmund to come so I could live happily ever after.

Behind me, something rattled like hail, slow and steady.


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