roof, and lights from inside blaze through the expansive windows, lighting the walkways and paths and endless porches around the periphery. A dock extends off the eastern side, tethered small boats and canoes, stacks of kayaks, and the proper charter plane—obviously Miss Lily’s bigger and younger sister.
The mic clicks on in my ear again. “We’re going to circle back and come in along the eastern side, along those docks.”
I give him a thumbs up.
“It’s like landing on a runway at first. A bit bumpy, but then smooth under the pontoons. It’s still gonna be a little wobbly until we slow down. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be!”
“Welcome to Revelation Cove, Hollie Porter.”
9: Tablecloth Is My Best Color
9
Tablecloth Is My Best Color
Wobbly, my ass. I clenched so hard around that door handle, afraid it would fly open again, my knuckles froze in the four minutes it took us to actually coast to a stop. The mic was on during the descent, and Concierge Ryan talked me down, but still … wow. Maybe I should see about taking a boat back to Victoria when this adventure is over.
Ryan repeats the process at takeoff in reverse. Once he’s out and the plane is tethered, only then do I dare move. My ass is asleep. I try to look sturdy and completely in control when I step first onto the pontoon, black water licking the sides like fingers from hell reaching for my ankles, and onto the dock.
“Do you need help carrying this stuff?”
“This? Nah, you’re a guest. Don’t you worry. What you need is to get checked in and hop into a warm tub.” I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Do you say that to all of your guests?”
“Mostly the over-sixty crowd. They’re more my speed. The mature woman knows what she wants.” He leads the way up the lantern-lit wooden docks toward the spectacular lodge.
“I’m not over sixty, though.”
“I’ve made an exception for you. Considering my plane almost kicked you out midflight.”
“So chivalrous, Concierge Ryan.”
“Well, it is my job, being concierge and all.”
He pushes open one of the massive wooden double doors that look straight off a Middle Earth movie set. Inside is everything you’d hope it to be. Not some backwoods hunting lodge, Revelation Cove’s resort is full of raw wood, exposed beams, lush carpets accenting well-polished hardwood floors, modern, comfortable furniture with not a speck of flannel or cheap ’90s-era faux Indian print (my dad bought a whole living room set in the dark woodsy colors. Showed every ice cream stain). The walls are adorned with art, some reflective of local natural environs, some modern. No animal heads stare at me, glassy-eyed and sad their lives were cut short. The ceilings are massive, unreachable. This main entry is like every other fancy downtown hotel, open plan, airy, inviting. The aroma of something delicious wafts through—someone’s baking. Cookies? Bread? My mouth waters. Down one wall leading into undiscovered territory is a series of framed sports memorabilia. Jerseys for an undetermined sport. One looks like the red torn thing Concierge Ryan is wearing.
“You like sports?” Ryan says, nodding at the far wall. He drops my bag in front of what must be the check-in desk.
“Sure. I guess. I’ve been to a few Trailblazers games with my dad.”
“Basketball girl, then.”
“Not really. It’s fun because Bob—my dad—he gets really into it. There aren’t a lot of sports in Portland other than the Jailblazers.”
Concierge Ryan laughs. “Harsh. I’ve heard about that team’s reputation. Ever been to any Winterhawks games?”
“Baseball?”
His mouth drops open. “Oh, Hollie Porter, I’m not sure if you can stay here at Revelation Cove.” He picks up my bag from the floor.
“What? What did I say?”
“It’s hockey, little American girl. Don’t let anyone around here know that you’re not a hockey fan. You’re in Canada, remember?”
“So your jersey—hockey?”
He holds a
The mic clicks on in my ear again. “We’re going to circle back and come in along the eastern side, along those docks.”
I give him a thumbs up.
“It’s like landing on a runway at first. A bit bumpy, but then smooth under the pontoons. It’s still gonna be a little wobbly until we slow down. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be!”
“Welcome to Revelation Cove, Hollie Porter.”
9: Tablecloth Is My Best Color
9
Tablecloth Is My Best Color
Wobbly, my ass. I clenched so hard around that door handle, afraid it would fly open again, my knuckles froze in the four minutes it took us to actually coast to a stop. The mic was on during the descent, and Concierge Ryan talked me down, but still … wow. Maybe I should see about taking a boat back to Victoria when this adventure is over.
Ryan repeats the process at takeoff in reverse. Once he’s out and the plane is tethered, only then do I dare move. My ass is asleep. I try to look sturdy and completely in control when I step first onto the pontoon, black water licking the sides like fingers from hell reaching for my ankles, and onto the dock.
“Do you need help carrying this stuff?”
“This? Nah, you’re a guest. Don’t you worry. What you need is to get checked in and hop into a warm tub.” I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Do you say that to all of your guests?”
“Mostly the over-sixty crowd. They’re more my speed. The mature woman knows what she wants.” He leads the way up the lantern-lit wooden docks toward the spectacular lodge.
“I’m not over sixty, though.”
“I’ve made an exception for you. Considering my plane almost kicked you out midflight.”
“So chivalrous, Concierge Ryan.”
“Well, it is my job, being concierge and all.”
He pushes open one of the massive wooden double doors that look straight off a Middle Earth movie set. Inside is everything you’d hope it to be. Not some backwoods hunting lodge, Revelation Cove’s resort is full of raw wood, exposed beams, lush carpets accenting well-polished hardwood floors, modern, comfortable furniture with not a speck of flannel or cheap ’90s-era faux Indian print (my dad bought a whole living room set in the dark woodsy colors. Showed every ice cream stain). The walls are adorned with art, some reflective of local natural environs, some modern. No animal heads stare at me, glassy-eyed and sad their lives were cut short. The ceilings are massive, unreachable. This main entry is like every other fancy downtown hotel, open plan, airy, inviting. The aroma of something delicious wafts through—someone’s baking. Cookies? Bread? My mouth waters. Down one wall leading into undiscovered territory is a series of framed sports memorabilia. Jerseys for an undetermined sport. One looks like the red torn thing Concierge Ryan is wearing.
“You like sports?” Ryan says, nodding at the far wall. He drops my bag in front of what must be the check-in desk.
“Sure. I guess. I’ve been to a few Trailblazers games with my dad.”
“Basketball girl, then.”
“Not really. It’s fun because Bob—my dad—he gets really into it. There aren’t a lot of sports in Portland other than the Jailblazers.”
Concierge Ryan laughs. “Harsh. I’ve heard about that team’s reputation. Ever been to any Winterhawks games?”
“Baseball?”
His mouth drops open. “Oh, Hollie Porter, I’m not sure if you can stay here at Revelation Cove.” He picks up my bag from the floor.
“What? What did I say?”
“It’s hockey, little American girl. Don’t let anyone around here know that you’re not a hockey fan. You’re in Canada, remember?”
“So your jersey—hockey?”
He holds a
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