“Are there other guests?” I blurted.
“You are the only human ones. I’m the only hotel employee,” he snickered, handing a room key.
We reached our room down the darkened hallway, passing an ancient piano with tarnished music sheets displayed.
Earlier, we strolled an ocean beach, toured a house made famous in literature, stopped at Cavendish cemetery.
Wind moved geranium petals on Lucy Maud Montgomery’s grave. It propelled us towards nightfall’s rest on a quiet road.
Tapping outside our window lured in sleep and inescapable dreams.