Chapter 4 - The Vanishing Guest
Navigating the bustling terminal of the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport was an exercise in patience. Crowds surged around baggage carousels, families shouted over cell phones, and the muggy, tropical Florida air hit us like a warm towel the moment the automatic sliding glass doors parted.
Victoria had insisted on waiting with us until Daniel helped Grandma off the plane with a transport wheelchair. She had apologized to Grandma Rose at least five more times before a private town car pulled up to the curb to take her straight to the hospice facility.
""I won't ever forget you, Rose,"" Victoria had said, kissing Grandma's papery cheek right there in the passenger pickup lane. ""You saved me from doing something I could never take back.""
""You go give your mama a kiss from me,"" Grandma had instructed, pointing a firm, loving finger at her. ""And don't you dare leave that room until she knows she did a good job raising you.""
With a tearful wave, Victoria climbed into the back of the sleek black sedan, her ruined cream trousers hidden beneath the airline blanket Daniel had let her keep.
""Well, darling,"" Grandma sighed happily, leaning back against the vinyl seat of the airport wheelchair as I pushed her toward the taxi stand. ""Where is this famous ocean of yours?""
""First, we check into the motel and get you settled, Grandma,"" I laughed, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. ""The beach isn't going anywhere.""
We hailed a yellow cab and drove thirty minutes north along the coastal highway toward Pompano Beach. I had booked a room at the 'Sun-N-Sand Budget Inn'—a two-story, pastel-pink motel that had clearly seen its glory days during the Carter administration. It wasn't fancy; the carpet smelled faintly of cleaning solution and damp air conditioning, and the pool in the courtyard had a crack running along the shallow end, but it was three blocks from the public beach access and within my carefully calculated budget.
Grandma Rose, however, treated the room like the penthouse suite of the Ritz-Carlton.
""Look at this, Emily!"" she gasped, touching the faded floral bedspread with reverence. ""Two double beds, and there's a little coffee maker right on the counter! Look out the window—you can see palm trees! Real palm trees growing right out of the dirt!""
""I'm glad you like it, Grandma,"" I smiled, unpacking her small suitcase. I placed her father's framed photo on the nightstand, along with her medicine organizer and her tin of peppermint candies. ""Let's take an hour to rest your legs, and then around five o'clock, when the sun isn't so scorching, we'll walk down to the shore.""
Grandma agreed, kicking off her orthopedic walking shoes and curling up on top of the floral covers. Within five minutes, the rhythm of her soft, gentle snores filled the room.
Exhausted from the travel and the emotional rollercoaster on the plane, I sat down at the small laminate desk to check our bank balance on my phone. After the flights, the cab fare, and the motel deposit, I had exactly two hundred and fourteen dollars left for meals, souvenirs, and our return transit. It was tight, but we could make it work. Grandma loved diner grilled cheeses anyway.
At four-fifteen, I slipped into the tiny bathroom to splash cold water on my face and change into my shorts.
When I opened the bathroom door three minutes later, my heart stopped.
The floral bedspread was tossed aside. Grandma's orthopedic shoes were gone from the floor. Her cane, which normally never left her grip, was missing from the corner by the dresser.
May you like
""Grandma?"" I called out, my voice cracking with panic.
The room was dead silent. The heavy wooden front door of the motel room was cracked open by two inches, the safety chain swinging gently in the hot breeze blowing in from the outside corridor.
