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And then... she's gone, but she somehow manages to get me set up in her room."I don't understand," I said. "How can the room be free, and how does Katie manage to keep her job if she's going to be gone for a month?" Sir," the girl said, fighting hard to stifle a laugh. "Miss Stewart doesn't work here!" I've seen her, though... she's been working... here... behind the counter. I don't understand."Even as I was saying it, I happened to glance at a brochure on the front counter. "Welcome to the Bridger Trail Inn," it said, "Part of the fine family of Stewart Hotels." It went on to name and give a short bio of the corporate owner of a half dozen large hotel chains. Suddenly everything fell into place. Why Katie was staying at a hotel instead of a dorm. Why she was able to pay for things at the drop of a hat. Why she was able to be gone and why she was able to sign off on my room.If I'd been staying in a Stewart Suites, I might have made the connection far earlier. As it was, I felt like. But I did not dare venture outside for too long. A fine dust hung in the air. It dried my lips and gave me a constant thirst. A young newspaper seller hollered the headline."Nazi bombers turn on London."I didn’t need to buy a newspaper to tell me that. The evidence sat on the opposite side of the street. It was a strange feeling as I joined the group of bewildered onlookers. We gazed at the smouldering wreckage of my local dancehall.The pain still raw, I wiped a tear from my eye. Just like the masonry, so many of my memoires now lay in pieces. I hadn’t expected to mourn for bricks and mortar. But seeing its rubble corpse caused me much heartache.This constant in my life was now gone. Gone forever. I was brought from reliving my memories by a hand on my shoulder. My heart skipped at seeing my husband, Bobbie. His eyes hidden in the shade from his flat cap. I leaned into his comforting arms. “I still can’t believe it, Bobbie.”“I know, the local tax office is just two doors down, ‘n’.
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