16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
D eclan
The headache at the base of my skull hasn’t diminished, not even slightly.
At this point, I’m starting to accept it as a natural way of being.
It might have been triggered by a whole host of things. The conversation with Micah two days ago was probably one of them. He tried very hard to convince me of his simple plan which was apparently the answer to our predicament...
"You don’t have to do much," he said. "I’ll take care of most of the details."
"And what are these details?"
He smirks. "The less you know about the specifics the better. Plausible deniability and all that. But all you need to know is that we can slowly sabotage the development and make it more frustrating for both of our fathers to continue this insanity. I’m talking about missing equipment, delayed paperwork, etc. I have a guy high up in the county who can make all this an excruciating process."
I raised an eyebrow. "So you mean to waste even more of our money?"
"Don’t worry about the money," he said. "It’ll come out of my end. If our parents have their way, trust me, this place will shut down within the first years. That would be after millions of dollars got sunk into marketing and launching this hotel, money that we might never recoup. Better to waste a little bit of money now than to waste a lot of money later."
I watch the devious gleam grow in his eyes, but he's without his usual irritating smile.
He's dead serious about this.
And I can’t lie, the idea is tempting. I also had to agree with him: this entire project feels like money down a sink. Even if we managed to build the lodge, there is no guarantee that we can attract people with money to such a remote area, in such a small town, especially when there are far more interesting places within driving distance.
So Micah's plan isn't a bad one, per se.
But I still hesitated.
Whenever I think about agreeing to it, all I can see is Emma taking my hand, her big eyes pleading with me, her scent surrounded by the lake, or perhaps so subsumed by it, merging with her until it becomes one with her.
I sigh now, rubbing my temples. Despite the chaos in my mind, the thought of Emma flows to me like a gentle waterfall, soothing and calm. She reminds me of the lake outside the Pink Hotel, where I usually walk when I need to think. It's where I find myself at noon, taking in the air as the cicadas chirp.
I turn back to the Pink Hotel, which seems to almost gleam in the sun and for a moment I have an image of its former glory.
Who knew this place would become like my second home?
It seems I now spend more time here than at the Marriot Hotel, especially since Amelia left. The hotel suite somehow feels very empty now and there’s nothing there for me, other than a place to sleep.
Sleep and work. My daily routine.
I guess, without my daughter, I don’t have much of a life.
And usually, I don’t mind. I had plenty of fun in my younger days and perhaps part of maturing is accepting the daily boredom of existence, the subtle hollowness that never quite leaves.
I only have to remind myself that my life isn't a bad one. It’s good enough.
And good enough is good enough
Speaking of Amelia...
I slip the phone from my pocket and slide to unlock it, noting the lack of missed calls. Amelia calls most days to complain about her mother's neuroticism, but she hasn't called me today and it's evening in Paris.
I decide to call her instead.
"Hello?" Amelia sounds surly when she picks up.
"You sound like you’re in a good mood," I quip.
She sighs. "Mom is freaking everyone out. Last night's show was a disaster because one of the models puked on the runway all over her dress and some lady from Vogue got hit too. Mom says it’s sabotage, but I think it’s probably because the girl hasn’t eaten for days. And according to Esther, mom's assistant, the model took some laxatives the night before to get rid of some extra bloat. Mom's lucky she didn’t shit herself."
I chuckle. "Sounds pretty eventful."
"Yeah. And today, Mom is like a drill sergeant making sure that no one eats anything before going on the runway. She’s confiscated food from even the staff and security. So now, everyone is cranky, including me." She lets out a heavy breath. "Anyway, I wanna come home."
"You'll be home before you know it. It's only a few days left of fashion week."
"I don't know if I'll last that long."
"Do you want me to talk to your mother?"
Amelia considers it for a few seconds and then sighs. "No. I don't want to stress her out even more. Plus, at least this is more fun than being locked in a hotel room all day."
"I’m sure it is." Guilt pricks my conscience, as I consider life from my daughter’s perspective.
I've been thinking about what she said during our argument, that she hated that I had custody of her.
Although I gave her some freedom, I can see now why she can feel so stifled. I took it for granted because I bought her everything she wanted and gave her access to endless luxuries. I kept her safe. That was what I thought being a good parent was about.
But at the same time, my protectiveness kept her cooped up. The problem was exacerbated by her hybrid school program, which made it hard for her to make friends her age.
All because of me.
"I’m sorry, Amelia," I say. "For everything."
I know the exact second my daughter registers the statement. There’s silence for a few beats on the other end of the phone. The shock is loud when she says, "Did you just apologize?"
"Is that surprising?"
"Uh, yeah. You never apologize. What’s going on? Are you okay? You’re not sick are you?"
"No I’m not sick," I say, smiling at the genuine concern in her voice. "I just miss you."
"And now you’re being sappy too? Dad, I’m getting seriously worried now."
"I swear I’m not sick."
"If you say so. I miss you too." There’s a crash in the background and she says. "Dad, I have to go. Mom may or may not be having a panic attack."
"Alright. Call me if you need anything."
"Will do." I hang up and feel a little lighter. I love talking to my daughter, and I know that despite her histrionics, Rachel will take care of her. So I’m not too worried.
But I do hate how I've been treating Amelia so far.
An apology is one thing, but I want to get her something to make up for it. Suddenly, I get an idea.
My first stop is Emma’s house, but after two rounds of knocking with no answer, I finally relent. She’s not home. Then I head to the Tiki Bar. I figure she's probably either at work, or in the hospital at her grandfather's side. The Tiki Bar is closer, so I head there first.
When I get there, a handful of customers sit at the bar. I frown. Typically, a time like this would be a rush hour for any restaurant. Do things work differently in Laketown, or is this the typical number of patrons they have during rush hour? How on earth do they sustain this business model with such few customers?
A glance around shows that Emma is nowhere to be found. There is a larger, older man behind the counter staring pointedly at me, with an expression I can only describe as unfriendly.
As I approach, he raises an eyebrow, "Can I help you?"
"I’m looking for Emma."
"Who's looking?"
"Declan." I eye the man, wondering at the clear animosity emanating from him.
"The five-burger guy."
Five-burger....ah. Now his hatred makes sense. The cook or Emma must have told him about me.
"Well, if you would teach your cook to make it right the first time, we wouldn’t be having that problem," I comment, unable to help myself.
Anger flashes through his eyes, and his lips press together for a split second before he says. "Why are you looking for Emma?"
Instead of answering I ask, "Is she here?"
"How about you answer my question before I answer yours."
His tone immediately sparks my temper. I'm not used to taking orders from anyone, especially in that tone, not even my father.
But I bite back the fighting words, deciding to let the antagonism die. If this man is Emma’s boss, then being rude to him might make it difficult for her. On the other hand, if he’s someone who cares about her and is protective of her, I earn nothing by annoying him.
I’m probably just being an ass anyway.
That was old Declan coming to the surface.
"I need her help," I admit. "I want to get a gift for my daughter, something she would like. Maybe a book about the Pink Pearl or some souvenir or something. Emma seems to know everything about this town, and she's good with Amelia so I figured she would know what to get for her."
The man nods and some of the animosity bleeds from his expression. But he's still stiff when he answers. "There's a gift shop on Fifth Street. Emma is with her grandfather."
"Oh." It would be stupidly selfish of me to bother her now. "How is he doing?" Last night, I called to ask about him, and Emma told me her Grandpa was awake. She was ecstatic about it.
Even though I only just met the man, I was relieved too.
"As well as one can be doing after a heart attack," the man answers.
"Something tells me that won't hold him down for long though."
"No, it won't." A small smile finally breaks his stern demeanor. "I'm Rick by the way."
"Nice to meet you. And thanks," I say. "For the tip about the gift shop." I'm about to leave, then I decide to impart one more thing. "And sorry about the burgers. If it makes you feel any better, the fries weren't half bad."
He snorts and adds another sound that could be a laugh or a cough. "Yule is known for his fries." Then he brushes his chin, a gleam appearing in his gaze. "You know, there’s a better option than the gift shop if you're up to it."
"Which is…"
"Ashton Woods. Close to the Pink Hotel, but you take a right turn a few miles out and keep on going. It's a hill and you gotta be careful when you climb it."
"And what's on top of the hill?"
Rick shakes his head. "It's not what's on top of it, it's what you might find right before you get to the top. There are a lot of little streams there and people have been said to find Rainbow Pearls once in a while."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Rainbow Pearls."
"Yes," he says and raises an eyebrow. "And I know that look means you think I'm blowing smoke up your ass, but I'm not. I didn't believe in the damn things until I saw for myself. Me and a pal of mine used to go hunting and we would stay overnight. Sometimes we make it a three-day trip. On one such trip, when I stopped by the stream to refill my bottle, I saw a glittering little bastard there."
"A Rainbow Pearl?"
"Yup." He shrugs. "Look I'm not guaranteeing anything, but it might be worth a shot if you're looking for a rare gift for your little one."
I think about it, drumming my hands on the table for a few seconds. Then, I conclude, "It's worth a shot."