Everlasting Daylights

Chapter 1-2

“Concierge.” A man’s pleasant voice rings out.

“This is Mrs. Philips in 57. Do you guys turn your clocks ahead one hour in the spring?”

The odd request heralds a pause, then he says, “No. Daylight Savings Time is purely an American idea. Is something wrong?”

Drissa feels a bit embarrassed and wonders if she is fretting over nothing, offering the man a cautious reply, “Isn’t the sun supposed to be up already? I mean, I checked the local weather forecast and it reported sunrise at quarter of six. I’m out on my balcony with coffee and no sunshine.”

“Well,” the man begins then stops to clear his throat, politely, “I’m sure if you wait a bit the sun will make a show.”

“Okay, then. Thank you.”

Feeling no better for the brief chat with the concierge, she pulls up the weather page using her cell phone with the hotel’s wifi. It quickly brings up the weather stats and sure enough her memory was correct. The sun is now twenty minutes overdue. She stands and walks to the railing and looks out across the beachy grounds. She finds no-one hurrying about or talking in excited voices. Nothing going on. Still, the sensations in the middle of her belly belies her sense of inward mild panic, almost like she can spiritually detect that something is wrong.

Presently, she hears dogs barking, lots of dogs spread out across the city. Then, even the yapping dies down seemingly as it had begun, without cause. The gravity of the situation begins weighing down upon her. Minutes pile upon one another as her mind frets over possibilities of what all may happen when the people find out that the sun is not going to come up today. She grips the rail more tightly, as if she can thus grab hold of her runaway imagination. Imposing upon herself to calm down, she revisits the coffee services, pours a fourth, full cup and doctors it up with the sweet creamy goodness she enjoys so much. She sucks hard on the surface of the coffee to afford herself several, enabling gulps of caffeine. It is nearly scalding hot but under the circumstances it is a welcome shock to her senses.

Sitting down, Drissa turns her eyes once again to the sea, seeing nothing but relative blackness. While waiting still, she recalls her night and finds no thing so out of the ordinary that might make her hallucinate over the sun, obsessively. The kids, Dana and Deanne, were both pacified with a movie so she and Drew took an evening dinner out, where she did not eat or drink anything exotic. They made love, a lot, and turned in close to midnight. No, not one thing out of the ordinary for vacationers.

“Where is the sun?” She mutters to herself, the pang of anxiety pools in her abdomen once more, harder.

Drissa calls downstairs again.

“Concierge.”

“This is Mrs. Philips, again. I don’t mean to be a bother, but don’t you think it should be getting light outside by now? It’s six thirty.” She was demanding and it was the first time she had been terse in her words to any of the staff.

“I really cannot see outside,” he begins and it is the same man as before, who then excitedly says, “Hold on a minute.”

She hears muffled voices talking then instinctively finds and caresses the St. Christopher metal on a chain about her neck. Although she and her family have not practiced Catholicism for many years, she finds some comfort there.

“I’m back. The hostess tells me it is still dark outside. She wonders whether a morning storm is about to blow ashore. Not really the time of year for storms but it…”

Drissa interrupts him, urging, “You need to go outside and take a look because the stars are out and there aren’t any storms blowing in, either.”

“Hold on, Miss.”

She withstands the loud clung as the phone on his end is dropped down on the desktop then some voices too distant to make out what is being said. Drifting in from the balcony, she approaches a sleeping Drew as she waits for the concierge to return. Her fingers tenderly rake through his curly, blonde hair, not really wanting to disturb his dreams but needing to.

“Drew? You need to wake up. Something’s wrong.”

She turns on the bedside lamp and sees that he is rousing in his usual self-centered manner, his tumble of blond hair fades down his face and becomes a brown shadow.

“What’s the matter?” he says in a dry throat, his sky blue eyes fighting the light.

“The sun’s not coming up,” she says flatly, giving all the information she has, continues, “it’s already forty-five minutes late.”

“What? Are you kidding me?” He speaks a little sarcastically while giving her the eye, then closes down for more slumber.

She gently pulls the covers and as he is lying on his back she briskly slaps his tummy to wake him. “I’m serious, dear. Either someone’s playing a bad trick on me or there will be no sunshine today.”

The tummy s******g is an understood communication of ‘I’m not kidding’ between them so he obediently sits up beside her, countering, “But it’s still dark outside. Did you get the time right, Drissa?”

“Drew,” she says, trying to be patient as he passes through the threshold of consciousness. “That’s just my point. I checked it twice. Sunrise was supposed to be at quarter of six. It’s now thirty-one minutes past the hour. I’d call that pretty damn late.”

Her husband springs out of bed, noting the time on the bedside table clock over his shoulder, then is out the sliding glass door and onto the patio. Thank goodness he sleeps in pajama pants. Drissa sees him stroking his hands through his hair then coming just inside, implants fists on his waist though his back to her and he is still surveying the outer blackness.

He turns towards his wife, demanding, “What the hell’s going on?”

Before she can answer, “Concierge back with you!”

She holds a hand up to her husband, speaks on the phone, “So what did you find out?”

“You were right,” he prattles on. “I don’t know what to say, Miss. What am I supposed to tell all our guests? There’ll be so many questions. I just don’t have any answers.”

“One thing you can to is to get our bill ready,” Drissa says and her husband nods in agreement. “We’re checking out immediately. And please hail us a cab to the airport.”

She didn’t even say goodbye to the concierge, but quickly spoke to Drew, “I’m so glad we prepacked most of our clothes last night. Get dressed and pack our carry-on bags. I’ll get the girls up!”

He was already in motion before she left the room on the way to rouse the teenagers but she hears a car horn and diverts to the balcony. In checking, she finds nothing out of the ordinary but two cars discombobulated at a traffic light. Breathing a slight relief, she hurries on to find the girls dead to the world so she turns on the lights.

“Gotta go, girls. Up and at ‘em!”

She gives no mercy to the incoherent moans of resistance and rapidly strips the top covers from both queen beds.

Deanne, the thirteen year-old with long, blonde hair and blue eyes like her father, is the first to open her eyes but remains prostate, querying, “What’s wrong?”

The fourteen and a half one gets a leg s***k, their mother saying only, “I’ll explain in the cab. This is really urgent. So, pack up your carry-on bags in like a minute!”

Knowing she means business by her vocal tone, Dena suddenly sits up in bed while her sister has already grabbed her own luggage, choosing and dropping items from the vanity inside.

“Don’t pick out just your stuff, Deanne. Grab it all!”

“Mom, okay,” she says in mild protest. “But Dena didn’t pre-pack her clothes last night.”

“Evil snitch,” Dena hisses at her sister, also sporting long, blonde hair but with green eyes like the mother.

“Don’t take the time to argue! Dena, just shove all your clothes and stuff into your suitcase. We’ll iron them when we get back. You both have one slim minute, so let’s get with it!”

“But what about Johnny,” Dena protests. “We were supposed to have breakfast together at eight!”

“There won’t be an eight o’clock, not here anyways. Just trust me on this, girls! I need you downstairs in less than a minute, so glad you two slept in your clothes. So move!”

“No eight o’clock?” The two girls stare at each other in stark disbelief of their own mother but only for a moment.

She has an afterthought while heading back towards Drew, calling out, “You can text Johnny from the cab!”

There is no Drew when she returns but both their suitcases and his carry-on are gone. Obviously, he had placed her carry-on with wallet peeking out of the front compartment and her cell phone next to in on their bed. She knows that he must be down stairs already, settling the bill. She internally sings his praises as a go-getter husband while she double verifies that all drawers are empty. She recalls there are some items in the refrigerator but those can be taken care of by housekeeping. Out of her pee-jays in an instant, she is into the resort wear she had laid aside last night and did this before the girls were done packing. The nighties go deep inside her carry-on.

One more visit to the balcony, gazing down among the halos of street lights she scans near and far for any signs of excited activity. She shakes her head to herself, so caught up in the overwhelming panic to get home. She cannot let the fear of being stranded in Australia, and God only knows what else may come, get to her and thus slow her down. Not right now. She’ll be better once they are on the plane and heading home. Then she can have a breakdown.

“Mom?”

Deanne is in the doorway to the balcony bearing the most frightened appearance Drissa has ever seen. She invests the time for a hug and a touch of gentle swaying back and forth.

“It’ll be okay, sweetie. You just let me and your father worry, okay?”

She sees Dena wrestling with her luggage, heading to the suite’s front door, then addressing them both, “Let’s grab the elevator. Your dad’s already downstairs.”

Dena grumbles while muscling her suitcase out the door and down the hallway, “I’d like to know what the hurry is. It’s not even daylight outside.”

The thirty second elevator ride to the lobby seems infuriatingly long. She gives Drew an unseen smile as she finds him engaged with the taxi driver and bellhop who are loading the first two suitcases into the cab’s deck. He points to the group of his ladies and the two men meet them at the door, assuming their loads. Drissa digs into her carry-on and produces three bills.

She looks at her husband and calls out to him across the way, “What did they say at the front desk?”

“The girl wanted to know what was wrong, why we a leaving early. I asked her if she has looked outside.” He shrugged his shoulders, adding, “She just didn’t get it.”

“I’m so glad that you do.”

Drew chuckles dryly, taking Drissa with his forearms, “When you said the sun wasn’t coming up, my very first thought was they’ll close the airports.

She touches his arms, “One of many reasons I married you.”

The bell hop had finished loading their gear first and Drissa peals away from her husband and confronts him, holding out a hundred dollar bill, “Split this with your concierge.”

With thanks he was gone and the five of them get into the taxi. Once there, Drissa hangs her arms across the back seat as to address the driver, “Here’s a two hundred dollar fare and tip. Get us to the airport faster than you ever have in your life.”