Fractured

A soft and smooth voice brought me back out of my reverie. I seemed to have been daydreaming of a sort. Or maybe I was nodding off to sleep? However long I looked at the elegant and beautiful woman standing in the hotel. “Pardon, Madam?” Said the voice again.

“Oh hello! I’m sorry but I don’t speak French” Surprisingly, you understood her though. Said a voice in my head. I suppose I did, but wrote if off that it is a common greeting that one would encounter at one point of their lifetime. As I began to rise, I took note of the surroundings I found myself in. A plush yet cozy hotel. Noticeably bigger and more open than a bed and breakfast ,but still not as cavernous as a grand hotel. That is when I realized that a notebook was on the side table beside me. Glancing down, I picked up a little black book. No bigger than a journal and soft leather binding. It was obviously worn and the soft black leather was indented and pages slightly tattered as if it had been handled and read many times in many places for many years. A sudden gush of feelings washed over me like a gentle lapping wave. Comfort and significance being the first of a color of different emotions and a smattering of half memories and moments flitted through my mind like an errant moth.

I have all the answers to your questions was delicately scribbled on the first page followed by a IF FOUND RETURN TO: Jennifer L. Wotherton; Compass Hotel and Estates. Flipping the next page was just a table of what looked like a quick ledger of an expense account of checks and balances. A bit of shame heated my cheeks as I inwardly reprimanded myself for the snooping. Peeking at the bottom line the book held a massive total in the black at the end of the balance. Alarmed ,I scanned the lobby to see if anyone around could be the owner of such a book. Then I noticed the handwriting below at the end of the page different from the previous hand.

If you find this notebook please see to the front desk and ask for William.

How odd, but perhaps William is a connoisseur that she trusts. I gathered my purse and jacket and headed towards the front desk. Noticing the decor of the place it had an English cottage feel throughout the area with bright sand and white colors. Feminine yet simple furnishings ,and real flowers in all vases gave a warm and heady welcome. As I tentatively approached the tall warm mahogany front desk I lightly tapped a bell and a few moments later a middle aged man in his mid twenties approached. Very politely asked how he could help me today. I explained to him about the book and seen his eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Oh, I see, well let me see the book for a moment if you may?”

At first a sudden rush of possessiveness washed over me as I clutched the book to my chest. Feeling ridiculous and silly I mentally shook my head and handed over the book. Smiling, he gently took the book and also looked at the first page.

“You do not know Ms. Wotherton?” inquired the young man.

I shook my head and said I had just only found it sitting on the side table in the lounge. Going to the computer screen he punched some keys and then looked up at me.

“Since you are trustworthy enough to bring this notebook, I would ask if you would mind taking it up to Ms. Wotherton’s room if it isn’t too much to ask? I seem to have a large family coming in soon for lodging and wouldn’t want to be missed."

Worrying my lip ,I thought a moment then replied, “Of course, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Looking relieved, he said, “ Thank you madam ,she is on the fourth floor in seventeen B.”

With notebook back in possession I physically relaxed and heading to the elevator. On the way, up I pondered how I could feel such a strong attachment to something that is so temporary in my life. Knowing that it will be out of my life as quickly as it had entered it ;made me feel an overwhelming feeling of melancholy and confusion. It was then that I decided the the owner of the notebook must possibly feel even more distraught. I perchance would speak to her about this strange turn of events. As the ding of the elevator brought me out once again my ponder. I did take note of how I seem to be walking through cobwebs of daydreams today. Perhaps I didn’t get enough sleep the night before. As I tried to recall I thought to myself that I couldn’t say otherwise, and figured I had fallen asleep quick and dreamless. Coming upon my destination I could see a delicate card stock note sticking out of the door jam. Deciding to take a look; it read in the delicate handwriting in the book: If I’m not here to inquire about; please look for me in the rose garden, I am likely there for my afternoon stroll. J.W Hmn, This is quite out of the ordinary. I thought for moment of just putting the book in front of the doorstep for her to return and then promptly dropped the notebook in my purse and decided to head to the gardens.

Down the hall I saw a cleaning maid’s cart that was parked in front of a room and decided to ask them for the quickest way to the gardens. Inside the room I could hear good-hearted laughing and conversation wafting out of the doorway. Two young women in uniform were inside. A delicate looking one with a short hairstyle busily flit about with a small hand duster and washcloth while the other, willowy and long honey colored hair in a braid, was sitting and having conversation with the elderly gentlemen of the room. I stood for a moment listening and watching the kind attentiveness of both maids and was instantly drawn into the scene. I knocked on the door slightly disappointed to disrupt the joyous and kind seen. All three turned to look up at me.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to bother, but would any of you know the quickest way to the rose gardens. I’m….expecting to meet someone there. “

The two maids glanced a look at each other and the pixie with the dusters came to the doorway.

“But of course, Madam” tinkled Pixie with a strong French accent and a soft smile.. “If you would take the farthest elevators on the right down to the first floor and make a left you will see two french doors leading straight out to the rose garden.”

With a nodded with thanks then I quickly left as not to be late and catch up to Ms. Wotherton. The elevators opened up to the same lounge , but a different section. And off to the right like the pixie said was a set of white french doors. Walking through I had a sudden and strong sense of deje vu. I’ve been here before. I thought to myself quietly. I couldn’t quite recall when or where but I knew I had been here and cautiously headed along the path of a variety of flowers. The heady scent of roses was getting stronger as I went farther down the pathway, and I had a feeling of the whole scene was coming to climax. Breathing heavily with adrenaline mixed with anxiety and for some reason a taste of sadness ,I came to a cul de sac of roses and patio with two old benches. Sitting there I felt a sudden tiredness in myself as if I had been a racehorse barreling through a finish line. Breathing heavily and hands shaking, I take out the black notebook and the feeling of comfort came over me again. As I tentatively opened it, I leafed through some of the pages of the ledger. Really reading it past the numbers. There were notes jotted through out the ledger for dinners at the French Riviera. A trip down to Monaco. Two shows in Paris and even a side trip to Greece. In the back of the notebook was a built in pocket sleeve of railway ticket stubs, Autobahn toll tickets Germany and stamped receipts in Rome.

This woman really lived. All these places and memories they were far richer than the bottom total of the millions scribbled in the bottom. Hearing light footsteps I looked up into a pretty heart-shaped face and big hazel eyes. Something was very familiar about them, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“I’m sorry, but you wouldn’t happen to be Ms. Wotherton?”

The woman smiled and looked kind of sad a moment. “Yes that’s me but you can call me Jenny. My mother goes by Ms. Wotherton or Jennifer. I’m named after her, you know.”

“Please have a seat. I have a notebook that belongs to you.” I said as I recalled the day. Surprise flitted across her face and a smile appeared on her face as she took the book from me.

“Thank you very much, I appreciate you bringing it to me. It was my mother’s and I would have felt terrible to lose such a thing. Did you look in it? She looked at me questioningly.

Cheeks burning with slight embarrassment I nodded yes. “ I apologize, I hadn’t meant to ,but that something drawn me to it and took me on quite the little adventure. You seem familiar to me. I swear I know you from somewhere

Sighing softly with a smile, the woman nodded, “ Yes, we have met many times, in fact. Look at the last page of the book.” Handing the book back she leafed to the last page.

Scribbled in the delicate writing was: I’ll always be waiting in the roses for you my darling Jenny.

Suddenly, as if a dam broke all the memories came flooding back to me. Like a movie in fast forward of me getting married, fast-forward to teaching at University to then finding out my diagnosis and….Jenny. My beautiful daughter. With the last of my addled mind and fractured lighted pieces of memory it came back into the light. We bought, built and opened up Compass Hotel for doctors and nurses to run it discreetly as hotel workers and the guests all here with fractured minds of Alzheimer's and dementia. It was the last thing I did with the large funds and estates I had managed in my earlier years.

Looking at my beautiful girl with the same hazel eyes now shining with tears she looks at me.

“Hi mom, I’ve missed you”

“I’ve missed you too, my darling Jenny but I’m here with you in the roses.”