whenever he was in Seattle for client meetings.
He wasn't supposed to be in Seattle that week. He had told me he was in Denver. But at 9:17 PM, while I was waiting in the lobby for the elevator, I saw him walk through the glass entrance doors.
He was wearing the charcoal coat I had given him for his birthday. He had one hand in his pocket and the other around a paper coffee cup. He was alone.
I froze beside a tall arrangement of white lilies. My first thought was that his trip had changed. My second was that I should surprise him. My third, quieter and more honest, was that I wanted to see what he did when he thought no one was watching.
I didn't call his name. I watched him cross the lobby and walk to the front desk. The receptionist greeted him by his first name.
"Good evening, Mr. Mercer," she said. "Would you like the usual room?"
Adrian smiled. "That would be great, thanks."
I felt my pulse in my fingertips. I moved behind a stone column as he took the keycard envelope and headed for the elevators.
For
the next forty minutes, I stood in my room with the curtains open, looking down at the porte-cochère. I told myself I had misunderstood. Maybe he had flown back to Seattle for an emergency meeting. Maybe his company had changed the schedule. Maybe the receptionist had mistaken him for someone else.
At 10:06 PM, a rideshare pulled up. A woman stepped out and went straight through the lobby without stopping at the desk. She wore a camel coat, dark jeans, and a small gold hoop in one ear.
I recognized the way she walked before I saw her face.
Marissa.
My sister crossed the lobby, pressed the elevator button, and disappeared upstairs.
I didn't move. I couldn't. The whole world shrank to the brass elevator doors closing behind her.
My phone buzzed. A text from Adrian: 'Denver is freezing. Wish you and June were here.'
I read it once, then again. I looked down at the street where Marissa's car had already pulled away. I looked at the message. Then I took a screenshot.
I wanted to storm upstairs. I wanted to knock on every door until I found them. I wanted to hear one of
them say it was a mistake, a misunderstanding, a bizarre coincidence.
Instead, I called the front desk from my room and asked if they could print me a duplicate folio for the reservation I had made months earlier. I told them I had misplaced the paper copy and needed to confirm the checkout date for my employer.
The receptionist was kind. She sent up the invoice under my name, then called back ten minutes later.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Mercer," she said. "The system is showing a duplicate profile and I want to make sure I'm not mixing your folio with another guest's. You have an older corporate reservation under your husband's account. Would you like me to send the key history and room charges to your email?"
I said yes before I could talk myself out of it.
The email came through at 10:28 PM. I opened the attachment and found a spreadsheet of room nights, guest names, and replacement keycard requests. For six months, Adrian had reserved a room under the company account. The listed guest was always Adrian Mercer. The second keycard was always requested between 9:30 and 10:30 PM.
The keycard log didn't