"Sometimes on Tuesdays."
That made her smile despite herself.
Sam smiled too.
"My mom hates that I'm doing this."
"She says I'm going to make myself sick."
"She sounds sensible."
"Very annoying woman."
There was affection in every word.
Margaret lifted her tea.
"And yet you brought tea to an old stranger while working a double."
Sam shrugged.
"My mom would kill me if I didn't."
"Because?"
He thought.
"She says no matter how little you have, you never have too little to be kind."
Margaret repeated the sentence silently.
No matter how little you have.
Never too little to be kind.
Her father would have liked Sam.
"My mother used to say something similar."
"What?"
Margaret looked at the cup.
"She said manners are what you give people when they have nothing you want."
Sam nodded slowly.
"That's good."
"She was terrifying."
"So is mine."
They both laughed.
Then Sam straightened.
"I should go."
"Sam."
He paused.
"Thank you."
"For the tea?"
"For seeing me."
He looked almost confused.
Then nodded.
"Good night, Mrs..."
Margaret considered.
"Whitfield."
Sam did not react to the name.
"Good night, Mrs. Whitfield."
When he left, Margaret sat beside the window.
Boston blurred behind rain.
She thought about Derek.
Chloe.
Sam.
The reviews.
Then she thought about herself.
For years, Whitfield Hospitality had printed words in employee handbooks.
Respect.
Service.
Dignity.
Belonging.
She had approved them.
Posted them.
Quoted them at conferences.
And then delegated the actual culture to people like Derek Cole.
What did ownership mean if she knew the marble cost but not what happened on top of it?
Margaret slept badly.
At six-thirty, she woke.
The rain had stopped.
Gray morning light covered the city.
She showered, put on the same old clothes, and went downstairs.
Derek had apparently gone home.
Chloe was still working because the night auditor had called out.
She saw Margaret and frowned.
"Checking out?"
"Not yet."
"Checkout is eleven."
"I know."
Margaret walked toward the restaurant.
A sign outside read:
BREAKFAST 6:30–10:30
CONTINENTAL | AMERICAN | FULL ENGLISH
The Aurelia had added the English breakfast years earlier for international guests.
Margaret entered.
Half the tables were empty.
A hostess looked at her room key.
"214."
The hostess's expression changed slightly.
Margaret wondered whether Derek had added notes to the reservation.
"Sit anywhere?"
"No."
The hostess pointed toward a table near the kitchen doors.
Margaret sat.
Twenty minutes passed.
No server.
Another couple entered.
Menus arrived.
Coffee.
Juice.
Margaret waited.
Thirty-five minutes.
She raised a hand.
A young server looked directly at her and walked past.
Forty-five.
Margaret got up.
"Excuse me."
A waiter carrying plates sighed.
"Yes?"
"I ordered nothing because nobody has taken my order."
"We're busy."
"I've been here forty-five minutes."
"You'll get served."
"When?"
He shrugged.