She turned full circle. Not a hotel in sight. No signs for apartments for rent. There were a couple of little stores, but they were closed.
Worse was that there were no people anywhere. She thought it was like a sci-fi movie where a spaceship had invaded and taken away all the people.
She pulled out her phone, tapped the GPS and asked where the nearest hotel was. A mere mile away. She tried to make a reservation, but the site said it was full but maybe they weren’t accepting guests online.
Etta walked toward where her phone said another hotel was, but she didn’t find it. Her plan was to beg and plead. Midwesterners were known for being nice so maybe she’d succeed in getting them to give her a room.
But she saw no hotels, no open stores, and only a few cars. Twice she waved to get a driver to stop but no one did.
She called her father and asked how he was doing. He said he was fine, not worried about anything, and promised to eat well and not stay up late. He chuckled at her hovering. “You’re the one who’s the concern,” he said. “You have no chicks to tend to so what will you do? Tell me when you’re settled.” She promised she would, then said goodbye. Introverts like her father were not scared by the idea of isolation. Actually, she doubted if he’d notice.
With a sigh, she looked around. Still, no people anywhere. She kept walking.
Maybe we should have listened to the news, she thought. When she was at home, after a long day with people, Etta was glad to spend quiet time with her father. They read or gardened and cooked. They both disliked network TV so if they watched something, it was an old movie. Thomas loved Westerns, and Etta liked black and whites from the forties.
Since Etta had been off work for weeks, they hadn’t heard of the fear generated by the virus.
Again, Etta stopped and looked around. To her left was a pretty little street with mature trees and old houses. Maybe she could knock on a door and ask for directions. Maybe someone would give her a glass of water. She was hungry and thirsty and starting to get worried.
She passed four well-groomed residences, then she halted. Before her was the prettiest house she’d ever seen. Some people gushed over Victorians with their turrets and eyebrow windows, but Etta liked plainer, more simple. She knew this house was Italianate. It was two story, with a flat roof, and three tall, narrow windows on the second floor. The ground floor had a porch that wrapped around two sides, with thin columns with pretty headers. The front door was double wide and painted a deep marine blue.
Etta stood there looking at the house and admiring it. It was so simple yet so beautiful.
The front door opened and out came a man carrying a tray with a frosty pitcher. He was older, seventies, maybe more, but he had a face that was unlined, and he had a wonderful mustache. It was mostly gray but still had some dark in it.
It was a full minute before Etta realized he was watching her and she was staring. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry.” She turned away to keep rolling her case down the sidewalk.
“Will you join me?” he asked.
Etta hesitated. He had a nice voice. But from birth, females were indoctrinated about Stranger Danger.
He seemed to understand. “I’m here alone.” He put the tray down on a table between two chairs. “The babysitter my son hired to look after me didn’t show up. Do you know how to work a washing machine? I can’t figure out where the wringer is. And the clothesline seems to be missing.”
Etta laughed and thought what was more bonding than laughter? “You wouldn’t know where a hotel is, would you?”
“I could look in the phone book.”
This second anachronism made her laugh more.
He smiled. “I have chocolate chip cookies that I just took out of the oven and cold lemonade. I squeezed the lemons myself.” He made a gesture of using one of those tall, old-fashioned presses.
Etta had one at home. He was a man of her own heart.
He held up a big fat cookie and took a bite out of it.
That was the last straw. She pulled her case down the short brick path, then up the few stairs to the porch. The man was taller than she’d thought and older. He looked pale. For all his joking about a “babysitter,” she could see that he probably did need care.
He motioned for her to take the chair on the far side of the table, and he took the other one. “Help yourself,” he said.
She drank deeply of the lemonade and was on her second cookie when he said, “I’m Henry Logan.”
“Henrietta Wilmont,” she answered. “But everyone calls me Etta.”
“We are two Henrys.” He nodded at her suitcase. “So what brings you to Kansas City? Or were you planning to fly somewhere else?”
“I was.” She found herself telling him about her sister getting a job in Pasadena and moving there. “I miss them so much! I know it’s no longer fashionable for extended families to live together, but we did. Dad and Alicia and her husband, Phillip, and their daughter, dear Nola. We all lived in one big old house and got along perfectly. I cooked and Phillip fixed things and Dad took care of anything with numbers. And Nola... Well, she kept us young. When they moved out six months ago, Dad and I...” Etta trailed off. “I’m sorry. I’m blabbing.” She stood up. “Thank you so much for this. Could you point me toward a hotel?”
Henry didn’t move. “Denver.”
“What?”
“I grew up in this house. My great-great-grandfather built it in 1874. When I got married, Martha and I moved in here. Our son, Ben, spent his whole life here. When he married, his wife, Caroline, moved in. She’s an architect and she converted the carriage barn in the back into a house for me.” He looked up at Etta with eyes full of sadness. “But she got a job in Denver. A forever job. She’s going to have a baby at any minute. A little girl.”
Etta sat back down. “Oh.” She took a breath. “And you’re living here.”
He nodded. “I’m afraid I’m not made for city high-rises, not physically or mentally.”
She understood his deeper meaning. “Your granddaughter won’t grow up in this glorious house. And you won’t see her every day.”
“No, I won’t.”
Etta’s voice came out as a whisper. “Will they sell this house?” They both knew she meant after Henry was gone.
He started to speak but didn’t. He just nodded.
For a moment they sat in silence. Generations in one house, she thought. And all about to end.
A wave of sadness and understanding seemed to pass between them. Both of them had recently had huge life changes. Neither of them believed they were for the better.
“Ben called me an hour ago,” Henry said. “Everything all over the country is closing, even grocery stores. People are panicking. They’re frightened. I don’t think you’re going to find a place to stay.”