The Red Spruce Inn and Wellness Center - Part Two

My innkeeper, Maple, slid another document in front of me, this one to sign, acknowledging the rules. She explained, “People are here to give peaceful license to their . . . oh, we don’t like the word ‘hate,’ Jeremy. We say ‘animosity.’ People need to feel like they’ve stepped up to the line. We give them a weekend in the country . . . Beautiful landscape,” gesturing as if the landscape were inclusive of the cluttered office, “. . . And a new kind of safari,” now sounding like she was ushering me through a showroom. “It’s a safari weekend, you understand. Very much adventure travel!”

I followed her back to the front of the house and into a drawing room, stepping around the velvet rope to where the younger women and man were sitting. They stiffened as we walked through. Maple offered a ‘cheerio!’ while they looked at me carefully.

“How are you surviving?” she asked them. “All quiet on the western front?” I stole a glance into the drawing room across the hall where the two men were hunched, absently, over the backgammon board.

“Several young people from fundamentalist organizations in East House the past few days,” Maple explained as we passed through the room and walked down a hallway. “West House filled with mostly gay men, a couple of lesbians. No trans, this time, which is a shame. Having them around helps amplify the tension.”