And hootch and cootch with whatever’s left over! the bidet fellow cried.
They drank again to that, as did Ursula, who in the end didn’t seem to mind very much, if at all. In the counties you better have it while you have it, is what Quig and Glynnis were realizing, and they gamely tried some of the homemade booze, too, though neither of them liked it, as it tasted like turpentine. When the others asked what they did and where they were heading, Glynnis simply blurted, We’re visiting a supplier back east, a reply that was sufficiently nonsensical and blunting that no one inquired any further. The striking gray-eyed Danes, who had been observing the proceedings with a scholarly detachment, were now drinking and joking with great enthusiasm, their English not spoken as cleanly as before but rather lustily and with a more pronounced foreign accent, the father animated enough that the odd Danish word elided into his phrases and his rectangular-framed glasses kept steaming up and needed blotting. For dessert Dale brought out a platter of individual mini-cheesecakes topped with wild blackberries, and when the coffee was served, Landon emerged from the kitchen in a clean white apron and modestly acknowledged the compliments from the table, before retiring for the night. Dale then told them how Landon’s parents were well-respected Charter chefs who were killed by carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty gas-powered refrigerator in their restaurant while Landon was away at summer camp. He lived with foster families until he was of age, when he left the Charter for good. They had met at a counties LGBT roadhouse where Landon was cooking short-order, Dale commenting to the bartender how the cheeseburger was the best he’d ever had, though he couldn’t exactly say why, which is when there was a murmur from the pass-through that it was the catsup, which was made from scratch, along with the mayonnaise and pickle relish. Dale peeked back and there was Landon, a skinny, prematurely balding kid working alone in a tiny but spotless kitchen, the pans and utensils organized by size and kind. It was love at an instant, at least for Dale — Landon was not one to be swept away emotionally — and here they were all these years later, growing older together, if somewhat now in a rut.
The other woman said they were obviously doing a good business, judging from the quality of the rooms and furnishings, and Dale admitted that it wasn’t terribly profitable, though could be if they didn’t always spend so much on doing everything “right,” which was a point of contention between them. With a different emphasis, someone else could make a good living, and they were considering selling and moving on to something new, a possibility that Quig and Glynnis ruminated that night in their huge plush bed, imagining how they might settle right here, where everything was already set up, learning the hospitality business while homeschooling Trish. Glynnis was not the cook Landon was, but she was definitely good enough to make simple, satisfying fare for their guests. Dealing with strangers all the time, they’d rarely be alone, which seemed a vulnerable situation but was likely safer than homesteading or living in some anarchic, lawless settlement.
The problem was the money; there was no way they could purchase the inn, not with their pathetic store of cash, not with their car, which wasn’t as good as the one Dale and Landon already owned, not even, they coldly calculated, with their lives, i.e., giving one of themselves over to be done with as the innkeepers wished. Glynnis was obviously not of interest to them but neither was Quig, for Dale and Landon would probably never countenance such a thing, which was not unheard of out here in the counties but clearly not truck for decent fellows like them. The only scenario they could come up with was that Dale and Landon mortgage the business to them and that Quig and Glynnis agree to pay all the profits until a certain sum was satisfied. For as long as they could feed and clothe themselves and maintain the property to an acceptable level, what more could they hope for?
They slept late and while the others were having the breakfast buffet (freshly baked scones, soft-boiled eggs and toast, good strong coffee), Quig and Glynnis and Trish sat down with Dale and Landon in the office and made their pitch. Surprisingly, it was Dale who was sour on the idea, his face screwing up as they outlined their proposal. Landon asked what they were thinking in terms of a price, but Dale immediately pointed out that they had zero experience and stood up, saying he had to go clear the dining room. Glynnis started to cry and Quig, realizing that within a mere hour they’d be out on the road again, clueless and wandering, said they had no idea and that he should just name one, that they’d agree to anything that was doable. They would work for free while getting tutored in the operation to show that they could do it, clean the rooms and wash the linens and do whatever else was needed around the property.
Landon asked them to wait outside while he and Dale discussed it. This is going to be history’s shortest conversation, they heard Dale say, as Landon shut the armored security door. They could only hear faint murmurings through the fortified panel but the murmurings went on, taking a higher pitch before they went silent for what seemed a telling amount of time. Almost but not. Quig regarded his wife’s desiccated expression and thought he could see in her widened eyes the darkened wells of their future. But it was also clarifying; immediately he felt that they should quickly gather their things and leave behind forever this lovely but false dream. This was not their station because such a station was not to be bestowed or bought or discovered. It was up to them to fashion one, this was the only way. They would either forge a living according with their character and capability, or soon suffer.
The office door opened and the two men emerged, Dale going straight for Glynnis and embracing her.
It’s all yours if you wish, he said, holding her by the shoulders, and seeing her face light up, he embraced her again.
We will have to discuss terms, Landon said to Quig, who was speechless. Quig needed to pry Glynnis from Dale but she was shuddering with tears of exultant relief and his present resolve was now dissipating in his own eyes that were welling with gratitude and love for his fragile wife. In fact, he was about to collapse fully inside and take her up in his arms when they heard a blast, like a backfire, and then a sharp, yawing scream coming from the other end of the building: it was the voice of the Danish girl, Caroline, whose name Trish now muttered.
Trish instinctively rose to go toward the ruckus, but her mother cuffed her. Trish begged for someone to go see what was wrong and Quig said he would, Landon already retrieving an old pistol from the office desk and ordering Dale to lock himself inside, along with Glynnis and Trish. Glynnis didn’t want Quig to go but they both knew that he probably should, given what they’d bargained for.
Landon and Quig stopped and crouched in the corridor before reaching the dining area. Through its wide opening they could see the salesman, or what was left of him, shot in the neck and lower face and slumped backward in his chair. Caroline sat beside him, her face and shirt brightly flecked with blood and bits of flesh, as a lean, bearded young man pushed the nose of a shotgun barrel into her temple, manically threatening to shoot her and everyone else if she didn’t shut up, while his accomplice, similarly scraggly and youthful, picked through the jewelry and handbags and wallets that had been tossed into the center of the table, a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans.
But Caroline couldn’t stop spastically huffing and crying, and her father, Jørgen, was going on in what came across like a clipped, haughty tone (it was his accent plus high breeding plus extreme duress expressing themselves in this unfortunate way), arguing that the gunman think about what he was doing, that there was no reason for further violence, that they were all “in compliance,” but the young man was clearly drugged up and getting unhinged by the girl’s crying, and perhaps even more so by her father.