“What in the hell are you trying to say?”
He shrugged. “Look, I don’t give a shit what your motivation is, okay? I plan to do my best work on this project—like I do with all of my projects. So you don’t need to try and sell me some line about providing for your employees.” He barked out a short laugh. “I’m sure it takes quite a bit of money coming in to keep the two of you in the lifestyle that you’ve become accustomed to.” His next words were practically a snarl. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t do anything to threaten your shoe budget.”
I could have killed him. I really could. What right did he have to sweep in here after ten years and judge me? He knew nothing about me, nothing about my so-called lifestyle, nothing about the state of our company. My hands were shaking so much, I had to grip the straps of my backpack to keep him from noticing—which sent a sharp stinging pain through my sore hands. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice low. “You have no idea what my life is like—” I stopped myself with a serious effort, swallowing hard. “You have no idea what my priorities are or why.”
He watched me for a long moment before finally shrugging. “Fine.”
“I just wanted to try to smooth things over, since you’re obviously so uncomfortable to be within ten feet of me—”
“I’m uncomfortable?” He looked so incredulous, I might have laughed in any other circumstance. “You’re the one who glared at me that entire meeting—”
“I did not!” I cried. I was starting to imagine what it would be like to shove a nearby cactus up his—
“Look,” he interrupted, holding up his hands. “It’s fine, okay? You don’t need to smooth anything over. I plan to do my job. That’s all you have to worry about.”
I was breathing hard, much harder than I had been during my hike. “Fine,” I snapped.
“Besides,” his eyes met mine, full of anger. “It’s not a big deal, anyhow. None of this matters anymore.”
His meaning couldn’t have been clearer. I wasn’t worth getting uncomfortable over, wasn’t worth being upset about. All of my anger wilted away in an instant, replaced with a strange ache in my chest.
“Good.” I was surprised that my voice could somehow remain calm and unshaken. I felt like throwing up. “Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”
“Good.”
We stood there for a long moment, not meeting the other’s eyes. There was a steady pulse in his jaw, like a tick. Before I could wonder what it was, he turned back the way he had come. “I’ll leave you to your hike.”
“What about your hike?”
He shrugged, his back to me. “I don’t want to disturb you.” Translation: you couldn’t pay me to take that hike with you.
I sighed. “Look, you go up. My hands are shot anyhow, I’m not going to get very far.”
He turned back, his expression hinting at concern. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, feeling a wave of disappointment. I had been looking forward to this all week, counting on the chance to clear my head a little. Now I was going to have to go home with my brain spinning even worse than it had been before. “Thanks for the first aid.”
I slipped past him on the trail, not realizing how close I would have to get in order to miss the large boulder to my left. I caught a whiff of aftershave and nearly closed my eyes at the sense memory. Sandalwood, leather, a tiny hint of mint. Why in the hell did he have to smell the same?
Then I was past him, heading back down the trail. I refused to turn, refused to look back to see whether he was continuing on or had paused to watch me go. Why would he watch you go? I asked myself. He couldn’t have made it more clear that he doesn’t give a single shit about you.
At the bottom of the hill, I turned along the path, my movement bringing me momentarily perpendicular to the site where we had stood. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a dark shape, motionless, back on the path. But then I was completing the turn around the bend, and it was lost behind the rocks.
Chapter Nine
Instead of heading all the way back to the trailhead, I took a turn about a quarter of a mile down to head up one of the easier treks. There was a rock formation nearby that I had always liked, and I had a bagged lunch in my pack. There was no reason to make the day a total waste. I found the formation easily and pulled myself up onto a smooth ledge. From here, I had a great view of the surrounding canyon, the red rocks appearing even darker in the brightness of the mid-afternoon sun. I pulled out my lunch and a bottle of water before checking my phone for the time.
The email notification was lit up. I debated for a long moment whether to click it. Sunday was supposed to be my free day, no work responsibilities whatsoever. And, believe it or not, I usually stuck to that. But we weren’t usually in the fight of our lives for a make-or-break bid, either. With a sigh, I clicked the notification and opened the email.
My chest lightened immediately when I realized it wasn’t work, after all, then seemed to fall again as the name fully registered. My dad.
I scrolled down the email, the weight of guilt in my chest only increasing as I read his words.
Hey, pumpkin!
How’s it going out there in sunny Vegas? We’ve been getting rain by the bucketful all week. The shop is doing well. I think I might actually get to take a vacation this summer—you’re shocked, aren’t you? I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere together? Or maybe you could come home for a few days? It would be really great to see you. I know you’re busy though. How’s work treating you? Any exciting new projects? I hope you and Emma are both doing well. Please call soon, if you get the chance. Shirley gives her love.
Love, Dad.
I stared at the email, feeling like I might actually start crying. I hadn’t talked to my dad in several weeks. His last email had gone unanswered, as we were in the middle of getting the initial hotel presentation together. I had told myself that I’d get to it when things calmed down, that my dad would understand.
I was the worst daughter in the world.
I guess that was silly to think—I knew from experience that there was a whole slew of girls my age who were too spoiled to see their parents as anything other than an endless ATM account. At least I didn’t expect anything from him.
And he clearly didn’t expect anything from me. A feeble plea to get together, a request that I call, but only if I got the chance. He had clearly learned, from years of experience, that I was too busy, too important to be relied on. I had made a habit of skipping even holidays lately, choosing instead to travel with friends. When that lost its appeal, I had actually spent last Christmas alone on a beach in Aruba—too tired of dealing with my friends and too guilty to go home.
He had never asked for much, my dad. Only that I did my best in school. That I worked hard to get that scholarship. That I made something out of myself. He had been over the moon when I got into the private boarding school—so happy, in fact, that I had felt bad letting on that I was sad to be leaving home. He didn’t seem the slightest bit sad to be losing me, going on and on about the opportunities that I was going to have. When I first broached the subject of spending a school break with Emma’s family, his reaction had been exactly the same—excited for what the opportunity meant for me.
It was easy to convince myself that he didn’t mind all that much, me being gone. And the longer I stayed away, the stranger it felt to come home. To be in that little, slightly run-down house on that very run-down street. And then, after Rick… I hadn’t wanted to come home much at all, after that. I could count on two hands the number of times I had been in Michigan in the last ten years.
I found my eyes drawn to the peak of the Turtlehead trail, wondering idly if Rick had reached it yet. Was he sitting there, like I was, eating a quick lunch? Looking out over the scenery, taking in the sites. Had the events of the morning affected him at all? Or was he sitting calmly, no thought in his mind except for the superiority of the view from the top?
Suddenly,
I was struck with the strongest desire to see my dad. Like I needed a reminder of why I was doing all that I was doing—why I worked so hard, why it was so essential that I made a success of the business. What I might have to look forward to if I could actually pull off my plans and get out.
Maybe it was seeing Rick again, bringing back all those memories of that summer. It was the last time I remembered being truly happy at home—I tried to ignore the voice in my head that whispered it was the last time I had been truly happy anywhere.
I was dialing his number before I even realized what I was going to say to him. He picked up on the second ring, his familiar voice deep and slightly raspy. “Annabelle?”
I had to swallow three times to clear the inexplicable lump in my throat.
“Annabelle?” he asked again. “Is that you, hon?”
“Hi, Daddy.”
“It is you! Shirley set up this caller ID box, but half the time, I can’t even read the damn thing. Anyhow. How are you, pumpkin?”
“I’m good, Daddy.” I took a deep breath, trying to get myself together. “I just got your email. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to the last one.”
“Don’t be silly. I know how busy you girls are out there.” There was unmistakable pride in his voice that somehow made me feel even worse.
“How’s the shop? It sounds like things are going good?”
“I think we’re having our best year ever,” he said, the pride still there for a totally different reason now. “Probably the recession—lots of folks keeping their older cars, I bet.”
“Well, regardless of the reason, I’m glad to hear things are going well.” I swallowed again, trying not to sound awkward at the next question. “And, uh, Shirley? She’s doing good?”
Shirley was my father’s hairdresser, a fifty-year-old widow with an orange perma-tan and hair with more highlights that I thought possible to fit on one head. The last time I had seen her, more than a year ago now, she was supporting maroon streaks in her auburn hair. She was loud and had a propensity for gossip, which she shared with anyone listening, whether the listener knew the subject or not. And she reeked of cigarette smoke and ammonia from the hair salon. But my dad seemed happy enough with her, and she seemed to have the magic ability to somehow get him to keep his house tidy and eat food not from the freezer aisle at least a few times a week. I guess I couldn’t have asked for much more in his first real girlfriend since my mom left.
“Shirley is great,” he replied. “Just got a promotion—they’re making her a manager.”
“Wow. That’s great.” I hated myself for the condescending hint in my voice. I didn’t want to look down on Shirley. I thought of Rick’s eyes back on the trail, the judgment there. I could envision his face if he were listening to me now—satisfied and righteous. Yup, just like I thought. A snob. What was wrong with me?
“Is she going on vacation with you?” I asked, relieved when I sounded genuinely interested.
“I’m not sure, pumpkin. Has a lot more responsibility at work now, you know. And she was off two months ago to visit her son in Flagstaff.”
Flagstaff. Only a few hours from Vegas. I should have visited her.
“So a manly vacation, huh?” I asked, and he chuckled. “What are you thinking, fishing?”
“Maybe. A few buddies were talking about going up north, doing some gambling at one of the reservations. There’s good hunting up there.”
Suddenly, I knew exactly where he should spend his vacation—where I wanted him to spend his vacation. The desire to spend time with him was nearly overwhelming. “You should come here,” I blurted. “To Vegas. Why go to a dinky reservation casino when you can come to the Strip?”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, the raw hope in his voice sent a pain through my chest. “Yeah? You want me to come out?”
I closed my eyes. Maybe he cared a little more about me being gone than I had let myself believe. “Absolutely,” I said firmly. “I would love for you to come out. I can’t believe you’ve never been here.” Yeah, because you’ve never invited him, I thought. In four years here, I’d never thought to bring him out to stay. What a little brat.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to distract you from your work…”
“You wouldn’t, Daddy. I would love to show you around.” I paused, trying to push the thought of the work ahead from my mind. “Maybe we could even go out to the Grand Canyon—you’d love it.”
“I have always wanted to see the Grand Canyon,” he said, his voice a notch more excited than before. “And the Hoover Dam…”
“We can do both,” I assured him, liking the idea more and more. Maybe this was exactly what I needed. A little break from the people and the circumstances in my life that put so much pressure on me. The chance to just relax with the one person who had always wanted the best for me. “You should do it, Dad. I can send you a plane ticket—”
“Now, you don’t need to do that,” he said sternly. “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own air fare.”
“I want to.” A trip to Vegas was a lot more expensive than a short ride up to one of the reservation casinos. “Save your money for the blackjack table.”
He chuckled. “We’ll see.”
“But you’ll come? You promise?”
“I would love to come, pumpkin. I really would.”
I realized I was beaming broadly out at the desert. If I had known I would feel so good about asking him to come out, I would have down it ages ago.
“You’ll have to give me some advice on hotels,” he was saying. “Shirley says you can book all of that on the computer these days, but I’m not sure I trust that.”
“You’ll stay with me,” I said firmly. “I have an extra room, and there’s a pool and a restaurant right in the building, so it will practically feel like you’re at a hotel.”
He whistled. “You really do live large out there, don’t you? You sure you want to be seen in that fancy condo building with an old grease monkey like me?”
I giggled. “I would be honored.”
“Well, then it’s a date, pumpkin. How’s two months from now?”
I felt a momentary pang. In two months, we’d be a week away from the final bid, assuming we made it that far. Screw it, I thought. I could manage some free time for my dad. Maybe it would actually improve the quality of my work, keep me from being so stressed.
“Two months is perfect.”
“Well, I gotta say, Annabelle. I wasn’t expecting this at all.”
I knew he didn’t mean it, but his words sent another wave of guilt through me. “We should have done it ages ago, Daddy.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve been setting up the company. I’m just glad we can do it now.” He paused. “You girls are doing pretty good for yourselves, huh?”
I clenched my bandaged fist. I was so tempted to tell him everything, to unload it all on his listening ears. That we were going broke. That the Russells were in trouble. That there was no white knight on the horizon to come to our rescue.
But then he would worry. And he would lose that little note of pride in his voice when he talked about my successes. So, like the coward that I am, I plastered a bright smile on my face. “Absolutely, Daddy.”
Chapter Ten
On Wednesday, we all met in the conference room first thing in the morning. Lucy and Etta served coffee and baked goods while we waited for Jim and Rick to arrive. They had let us know the evening before that they wanted us to reserve the morning for them, but hadn’t clued us in as to why.
“What do you think they want?” Mary asked, looking cross as she examined her nails. “Do you think they expect us to sit in a boring meeting all morning?”
“If it helps the company, you’ll sit in a boring meeting all damn day,” Emma muttered.
“I’m just saying,” Mary argued petulantly, clearly embarrassed by being reprimanded by Emma, “they could have told us what it’s about.”
“But that would have spoiled the
surprise¸” a jovial voice said from the doorway. We all turned to see Jim standing there, smiling at us, a slightly more taciturn Rick behind him. Immediately, Mary’s face lit up in her brightest smile. “Jim! Rick! Good morning! It’s so good to see you again.”
“They were here all day yesterday,” I muttered, but no one paid me any attention. Rick and Jim had spent the day with our in-house architects team yesterday, going over various building codes and zoning issues that might impact their design. I was happy to see the design team working with them so well—if they had any hard feelings that we’d brought in outside help, they weren’t showing it.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jim said, moving to the head of the table. He took the proffered mug of coffee from Lucy with a smile. “Thanks.”
Etta managed to reach Rick first, practically shoving a plate of muffins in his face as she batted her eyelashes up at him. “I, uh, no thanks,” he said, sounding distracted as he set his briefcase down. “Just a coffee please.”
Lucy appeared at his side, coffee in hand, and he smiled politely down at her. “Thanks, Luce.”
She grinned as if he had just paid her the world’s greatest compliment. I lost the battle in not rolling my eyes, but, again, no one seemed to be paying any attention to me. This was a creative meeting, and I was just the numbers girl.
“We have a fun morning planned,” Jim said, taking a stack of papers from Rick. “We’ve made appointments with the concierges at a few select hotels. We thought it might help to get a good sense of what everyone likes and dislikes, give us a feel for what you’re going for in this design.”
“You want us to copy ideas from other hotels?” Emma asked, her eyebrows high. I smiled to myself. She had done quite the 180 on these guys since she realized who Rick was.
“Absolutely not,” Rick said, his smooth voice firm. “We just want to get a sense for the school of design you’re going for.”
“I thought we went over all of that at the meeting the other day,” Emma pressed.
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