Writings of Recovery

I AM A GUESTHOUSE

The shingle was placed a few months ago. ‘Lily’s Guesthouse. Plenty of rooms available for the big event. Inquire within.’ 

Lily recalls her hands slightly trembling as she attached the metal eyes to the metal hooks, securing the shingle to her front porch beam. She had been preparing for this event for what felt like a lifetime, but really, it only was in earnest the past year.

Lily loved serving as hostess in the past, and enjoyed preparing her home with beautiful things and her guests favorite activities and delicacies.  But each time, after the big event, she felt exhausted, deflated, numb, and empty. She questioned whether she should open up her house again for the upcoming event and again, suffer the consequences, or if she should just shutter everything up and either sequester herself to a back room in her shuttered home until the event was over, or get out of town and go on one of those trips she kept telling herself she would take before she died.

As she laid down for the night, she placed her head on the pillow and lamented out loud to the still air of the room, “I don’t have it in me to open up my guesthouse again. I have nothing left to offer. I am tired. I cannot manage this on my own. My heart’s desire is to serve others through hospitality, but I can’t sustain this. It’s too much. I need help.” And she fell asleep.

The next day, Lily was sweeping her front porch. It was one of those picture perfect postcard mornings with the sun shining, gentle breeze blowing, birds singing. A young man, sprightly in step and spirit, bounded up her walk, but stopped far enough so as not to alarm Lily. He placed his knapsack on the ground and removed his hat.

“Good morning, ma’am, I heard you might be looking for help for the big event coming up. I was wondering if I might be of service. We have plenty of time to prepare.”

“Uh, Good morning as well.” Lily stammered. ‘Um, I am not sure. What are your skills?” 

“Well, ma’am, my skills are vast and diverse. Whatever you need, I can do. I have a long list of references you can call. I am honest, I have integrity, and am willing to do whatever is needed.  I do not give up until the job is done and am grateful for the opportunity to serve.”

Lily liked what she was hearing, but was on alert. She had been scammed before and she was not about to let that happen again. Still, there was something about this man that, dare she say, attracted her. Not in a physical way, although he was not hard on the eyes. There was something else. Something she could not quite place. A peace? A presence? It was not cockiness, or even confidence, it was like a knowing of who he was, and, oddly, who she was.

“Well, this sounds good, but I don’t have money to pay you, and I am not comfortable putting you up in my home when others are not here.”

The young man answered, “That is not a problem. I heard that you are one of the best cooks in the county. How about three meals a day for my pay and I will do work on your garden and the exterior of your guesthouse for now.  And maybe down the road, I can come in.”

“That sounds like a deal’, Lily replied, ‘hey, I don’t think I got your name.’

‘Henry Peters, ma’am, but my friends call me, ‘HP’.