Ending of Chapter 18:
[Alden] turned to leave, but I had one more question. “Did all the others come here the same way we did?”
The look on his face was the same one my dad had when he called me a genius.
“No,” he said. “They came here in your baggage.”
And with that, he vanished behind the bookshelf.
Day 3: Chapter Nineteen
Looking up at the large clock on the wall, I realized it was almost noon and we were still sitting in our pajamas.
The organizer seemed to have the same realization and said, “Why don’t we all get dressed and then meet back here for lunch to make a plan. I think we may have some exploring to do.”
At that moment, we were glad to have the organizer plan for us. It had been a rather overwhelming morning—once again.
Walking back into my room, I wondered what clothes would now be available to me. It was remarkable how well the room knew me. Pulling out a pair of athletic pants and a matching top, I found socks to match, grabbed undergarments, and headed to the bathroom. We had planned enough time to relax, and I suddenly felt like a bath—that was odd because that was never a choice I would make. But the large clawfoot tub did look like fun.
While relaxing in the tub, I reflected on the fact that I did know the entire story I had seen on all the floors. I felt 61’s frustration that being brave hadn’t been enough to prevent us all from getting trapped in Hotel Candelabra. The fact that my clue was a small candelabra did seem to point to me having the answer. I agreed with 61 that ten years should have given us all enough wisdom to figure this out. Then I wondered, what the basement had to do with it all and if 60 truly did have the key to unlocking the door. And, how had we all managed to carry everything on those lower flowers into the hotel with us?
Realizing that my reflections had taken long enough for the water to get cold, I said goodbye to the tub and got dressed—just in time to hear Alden announce that lunch was ready. The lunch was another favorite—tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. There were several conversations about the Campbell Soup Kids tin on the shelf.
As we ate, it was evident that everyone else had also spent time reflecting. They all commented how they had a similar urge to take a bath. 60 was noticeably quiet during the conversation. I asked her if she too had taken a bath. She looked down and shook her head, no. I instantly realized it was not a wise question. Though 60 had ended up in the Hotel Candelabra, she arrived before 61 walked into the Victorian and began therapy. No, she would not want to take a bath. She needed help to access the healing that everyone else in the room had experienced. She held the key that would help us leave.
I turned to 69 who was sitting beside me. “We can’t move on until we help 60.”
“I think you are right. How do we do that?” she asked.
“She would have taken the same tour Alden took us on when we arrived, right?”
“Yes,” she responded. “But she only had her baggage and honestly, she hardly knew anything about her own story. Did you watch her this morning as we shared? It was mostly news to her. I was concerned that we were overwhelming her, but she seemed to be helped by it.”
“I wonder if there is a way for Alden and me to take her on a tour now that the lower floors are completely filled with what was in the baggage we brought?”
“We can do that.”
“Dang-it Alden, would you stop just appearing behind me like that? It is so unnerving. But never mind, you can do that? The three of us could take a tour?”
“Well, the four of us can. If 69 joins us, she knows all the stories and can bring 60 along.”
“Seriously,” I said with a sigh. “Alden! Is there a rule book for all this somewhere? That would be so helpful.”
Alden guffawed. “Nope, you can only understand the step you are on.”
I suppose he had a point. Now to convince 60 to go with us and give the others something productive to do for the afternoon.
Day 3: Chapter Twenty
60 seemed agreeable as long as we promised to not go to the basement. That made sense to me. We could figure out what was in the basement another time. The problem solver suggested that the others might be helped in considering solutions by working on a puzzle while we were gone. Alden said he happened to have one that would work and produced a 1000-piece puzzle of a Victorian house that looked remarkably like 61’s miniature.
With everyone settled, the four of us headed to the elevator. I had never ridden in it with three other people before and hoped it had the capacity. I was thankful I no longer expected Willie Wonka to step out of it.
Arriving on the lower floor, I realized I had been so mesmerized by the colorful graphics on the walls that I had not taken time to consider what the room contained. 60 was much more observant. She immediately went to the table and picked up two small stuffed animals—a white one and a black one. “These were mine!” she exclaimed.
Looking on a shelf, she found a set of books. Searching for the one she wanted, she opened it to the Mother Goose illustrations she loved. Continuing around the room, she found small clothing items that she remembered seeing in pictures. On one wall was a bulletin board that was filled with teenage memorabilia.
After some time, she said, “These are the good things I remember.” There were other things. I think those are in the basement. I am not ready to go there, but yes, I do have the key. Not now, let’s look at another floor.”
I was concerned that the chaos of the middle level would disturb her. I was not wrong.
When the door opened to the chaotic room, all three of us watched 60’s eyes fill with tears. This was far from the happy face bouncy ball in her tin! I noticed the pew was available and quickly took her hand and asked her to come sit with me. As soon as we were seated the room changed to shiny chaos. 60 sighed in relief.
“This is how I remember it. I know that it really wasn’t like this, but I couldn’t live like that—especially in the church. I was told that the other view resulted from a lack of faith. I had to see even the awful things as somehow good things. This is how it had to look for me to survive. And I certainly could never let anyone know about the basement.”
My heart hurt for her. I noticed that 69 and Alden had joined us on the pew. Alden was the first to speak.
“When you came to Hotel Candelabra, I had you close your eyes until you sat on the pew. You weren’t ready to see what your life was really like, and you didn’t have enough support. I protected you.”
60 murmured her gratitude and said, “But I can look at it now, can’t I?”
“Yes, you can,” I said. “Because all the others healed, and healing goes backward. We healed for you.”
Then 60 decided to be brave and said, “You all stay here. I am going to walk around the room. I am sad that there are parts of us locked in those rooms and I know I need to do this for them to come out here. This may take some time.”
It did take time because 60 didn’t merely walk around the room; she cleaned and organized the room. Watching her hold the objects from her past with compassion and peace was maybe the most beautiful thing I had ever watched. Sometimes she would ask us to help her, but unless asked, we didn’t interrupt.
The room was transformed. We occasionally stood up so we could see the changes without the lens of the pew. When we sat down again, the room became increasingly dull and lifeless compared to what 60 was accomplishing. At one point, I whispered to the other two, “This is what healing looks like isn’t it?” They nodded yes. We were in awe.
The baby carriage was the last item. She held out her arms and a shower of flowers dropped from the air. She placed them carefully in the carriage and turned to us. “This was the baby I lost. This baby should have lived, and it was not my fault he didn’t. I loved and wanted the child.”
The pew began to shake, and I realized we were all weeping. 60 walked over, picked up the jar of tears, and brought it to us. “Here God will gather these tears in honor of my precious baby.”
Suddenly, the pew vanished from underneath us and dumped us into an undignified heap on the floor. 60 laughed at our astonishment and confusion. “I don’t need that pew to tell me what to think about my life. I know what is in the basement and it was not my fault. Let’s go see what the upper floor will show us now.”