Put It Out There. D. Graham R.

and saw the problem.

      Massive amounts of water poured from the ceiling through the light fixtures. It was already ankle deep. Not sure what to do, I stood stunned, motionless, and getting drenched until Trevor rushed down the hall and passed me. He leaned on the emergency-exit handle and pushed it outwards to let the water flow out into the parking lot. “Everything’s fine upstairs,” he said, not even out of breath. “But there is an elderly guest who needs help with the stairs. Ask your grandpa to turn the water off while I go back up and help her.”

      I nodded, but he was already gone before what he asked me to do sunk in. I sloshed through the water back towards the lobby. My granddad was out on the front porch and announced to the crowd, “It’s just a false alarm. The fire department will assess the situation and give us the all clear to go back in shortly. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

      They mumbled things like how they should have stayed in a modern place in Squamish.

      When Granddad saw me, his white caterpillar eyebrows angled together. “Why are you wet?”

      “It’s not a false alarm this time,” I whispered and glanced at the unhappy guests. “The sprinklers are going off in the hall by my room. It’s flooding.”

      “Did you see a fire?”

      “No.”

      “Did you smell smoke?”

      “No, and the sprinklers aren’t going off anywhere else.”

      We both ducked back inside. He waddled around to check the panel behind the front desk, pushed his glasses up his nose, and squinted at the little lights. “It looks like a pipe burst.” He turned and rushed towards the boiler room.

      Ten seconds later, the screeching and clunking sounds of the water being shut off echoed through the building. The alarm stopped. Granddad appeared, grumbling about the rusted-out pipes and cursing the building for not being worth saving. He shook his head as he dialled the phone to call a plumbing company. I waded down the hallway towards my room, hoping the damage wasn’t too bad.

      It was bad.

      Streams of water dripped out of the light fixtures, making them flicker. The floral wallpaper drooped over in heavy, sopping strips. The roof tiles were sagged in some areas, and broken in others. It looked horrible. Trevor and Murphy helped members of the volunteer fire department carry pieces of antique hallway furniture and my grandmother’s oil paintings out to the parking lot. I quickly collected some of the more valuable items to help. It was already too late for the silk flower arrangements, which was fine. I never liked those dust collectors anyway. I arranged everything on a dry part of the parking lot and rushed back to find more things. Nothing else could be saved. When Trevor stepped inside, he ran his hands through his wet hair to push it off his face and smiled.

      “Why are you happy?” I mumbled, fighting tears. “Everything’s ruined.”

      “Don’t worry. It can be fixed.”

      “We can’t afford to fix it,” I snapped, because if I didn’t get angry, I was going to burst out in full-blown tears.

      Knowing me as well as he did, he saw the panic underneath the frustration. “Insurance will cover it.”

      “Really?”

      “Yeah. Cheer up.” He mussed my hair and poked me in the ribs playfully. “You just got your renovations paid for.”

      I scanned the damage to the hallway, and a smile crept onto my face as I realized the disaster was potentially a great thing.

      Trevor laughed as he reached up, removed the glass, shell-shaped covers to the wall sconces and tipped the water out of them. “When did you start wearing make-up? You look like that racoon we saved from drowning when we were kids.”

      “Gee. Thanks.” I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, then swatted his arm. “What’s wrong with wearing make-up?”

      “Nothing.” He turned his back to peel back a corner of wallpaper. “You don’ need it, though.”

      Oh. Generally speaking, I was more interested in being respected for intelligence, and I didn’t really buy into stereotypical definitions of beauty, but it was a solid compliment coming from a guy who had high standards and only dated stunning women. My self-esteem didn’t hinge on what others thought of me, but I had to admit it felt pretty good to know Trevor thought I was pretty when I was au naturel.

      Murphy stepped in through the emergency exit with Trevor’s dad, Jim, following him. Behind them was a line of Search and Rescue guys who had come down for the barbecue, but took a detour to help the fire department volunteers and check out the damage. Jim inspected the ceiling and wood floorboards, then asked the guys to help Trevor pull down strips of the soggy wallpaper.

      “Did your room get wet?” Jim asked me.

      Shit. I hadn’t even thought to check. I didn’t have a lot of stuff, and almost none of it was expensive. But a few of my dad’s things were irreplaceable. I opened the door slowly and braced for the worst. To my complete relief it was perfectly dry, except for a little water that had seeped under the door seal.

      Trevor smiled and winked in his I-told-you-everything-was-going-to-be-okay way. Jim and my granddad met at the end of the hall and discussed what should be done to prevent mold and to check the other pipes. When I heard the fire engines finally arrive outside, I stepped inside my room, closed the door behind me, removed my wet sweater, and hung it on the bathroom door to let it dry. My suede boots were ruined. My mom was going to be choked. I struggled to kick them off, then pushed the sopping skirt over my hips and down my thighs. I managed to inch it only as far as my knees when the door opened.

      “Your grandpa wants you to —” Trevor stopped mid-sentence, still holding on to the doorknob. I froze mid-shimmy in an awkward semi-bent-over-knock-kneed stance. He stared at me for a second and grinned. I couldn’t move. Eventually, he blinked and shook his head, as if he were trying to wake himself up. “Sorry. I was. I didn’t know you were changing. Sorry. I should have knocked.” He spun around until his back faced me. “Your grandpa wants you to do damage control with the guests. When you’re finished changing.”

      He chuckled before he closed the door behind him. It was hard to tell if it was a Ha ha, you look like such a dork chuckle, an Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed chuckle, or a Wow, Derian’s not a little tomboyish girl anymore chuckle. I glanced down at my worn baby-pink bra and plain white cotton Jockeys. Boring and mismatched. I groaned when I realized it was a Ha ha, you look like such a dork chuckle.

      I flopped back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. As I lay there, a much bigger problem than the inadvertent peep show occurred to me. My granddad had asked me in July to mail the cheque to renew the insurance on the Inn. I couldn’t remember doing it. I bolted up, panicked.

      After I changed into dry clothes, I rushed to the front desk and rifled through the outgoing mail. The envelope wasn’t there. I was relieved for a second until I remembered I had put it in my bag several weeks earlier to take it to the mailbox. I honestly couldn’t remember actually dropping it into the mailbox, but it wasn’t in my bag either. The company would have contacted us if it hadn’t been received, right? I collected the mail every day and hadn’t noticed any overdue notices. I bit at my fingernails, trying to visualize myself dropping it in the mailbox. I couldn’t remember, so I tried to convince myself I must have mailed it because it wasn’t in my bag, and they hadn’t contacted us. The convincing wasn’t working. My phone buzzed with a text from Sophie:

       I heard Trevor and Murphy are having a Search and Rescue Party in Britannia tonight. You better get your ass next door and practice getting your flirt on.

       Trevor saw me in my ginch. Too embarrassed to be anywhere near him.

       I’m sure he was fine with the free show.

       Doubt it. Old bra. Boy shorts. Soaking wet. Possibly see-through.