Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Cecelia had a number in her purse.
The woman who owned the Bloom Shop building had given it to her over the phone, along with the terms, the deposit, and an opinion about radiators.
Cecelia had written it on a lodge napkin and folded the napkin twice.
It was more than she’d hoped and less than she’d feared.
She hadn’t said yes. She’d said she’d call back by noon, and the woman had said that was the right answer, and hung up.
Her father’s bags were by the door when he let her in. Two of them, the leather ones, packed and zipped and standing side by side.
“Flight’s out of Billings this afternoon,” he said. “Car’s coming at ten.”
“You could have left a note.”
“I could have.” He went to the window, then didn’t stay there. He came and sat on the end of the bed instead, which she had never once known him to do in a hotel room, and put his hands on his knees. “Sit down, Cecelia.”
She took the desk chair.
He looked at the carpet for a while. The suite was already stripped of him. No laptop on the desk. No glass on the coaster. The envelope was gone from the desk, and she didn’t ask where.
“The company’s going to look at Idaho,” he said. “There’s a parcel outside Driggs the board’s had its eye on for two years. I’ll fly out next month and start the process.”
“Properly.”
“Properly.” He said it without any edge on it. “Every notice. Every mailbox. I’ll have the attorneys draft a procedure and I’ll follow it, and if the town says no, the town says no.”
She didn’t answer right away. She wanted to be sure it had been said.
“That’s new.”
“It’s expensive. I lost a great deal of money here.” He rubbed one thumb over the other knuckle. “I’d like not to lose it the same way twice.”
“You won’t.”
“No.” He looked up. “I’d like to hire you.”
Cecelia sat back in the chair.
“Not through the trust. Not through the company payroll. A retainer, at your rate, whatever you decide that is. You’ll bill me monthly and I’ll pay it on time.
” He held up a hand before she could speak.
“I have four projects in three states and every one of them has a town attached to it, and every one of those towns is going to hear my name and think of this one. I need somebody who can walk into a room full of people who don’t want me there and tell them the truth about what I’m building.
I know exactly one person who does that. ”
“You know one person who did it to you.”
“Same skill.”
She looked at him for a long time. He let her.
“My firm won’t bury a notice,” she said. “It won’t manage a story you don’t want told. If you hire me, you get the version of this where the town knows everything before you do.”
“That’s the version I’m buying.”
“You’ll hate it.”
“Probably.” He almost smiled. “Draw up the terms. I’ll sign what you send me.”
She’d walked into this room ready for a lot of things. An argument. A second envelope. The silence he used when he’d decided a conversation was over. She hadn’t been ready for him to be her first client, and it took her a moment before she said yes.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He stood up. He straightened his jacket, and then he stood there with nothing in his hands and seemingly nowhere to put them. His bags were by the door, she guessed, so must have been up early getting his things packed.
“Dad, say it.”
He knew what she meant. It was on his face. He went to the window after all, and this time he stayed.
“Your mother left in March,” he said. “You were six. She left while you were at school, and she left the papers on the kitchen table with her rings on top of them. I found them when I came home and you were already asleep. I didn’t wake you.
I sat at that table until morning, and then I made your lunch, and I drove you to school, and I went to work.
” He stopped. “I’ve never said it out loud.
I told your cowboy a piece of it across a table because he was a stranger and it was easier.
You should have heard it before he did.”
Cecelia didn’t move. She’d waited so long to hear it and now she didn’t know what to do with her hands either.
“I thought if I built enough,” her father said, “you’d never have a reason to go.
Then you left anyway. And you did it the honest way, which I never really managed to do.
Standing up for your own future happened in front of everyone, and while I watched it happen I was so proud of you.
But I felt like I lost at the same time.
” He turned around. “I don’t know how to be a father to someone who doesn’t need one. I’m going to have to learn.”
“You looked at the rooms.” It wasn’t a question.
“I heard a rumor. I’ve made it a habit to know about the real estate in every place I’ve developed. Not so hard in this place with the rumor mill in a small town like this.” He shrugged and didn’t apologize for asking questions.
“Fair point. What do you think?”
Cecelia took the napkin out of her purse and unfolded it and put it on the desk. He picked it up. He read it as he read a term sheet, once, fast, and then again.
“The rent’s a little high,” he said.
“I know.”
“Pay it.” He set the napkin down. “Don’t negotiate year one. You need her to like you more than you need two hundred dollars a month. Negotiate the second year, when you’ve been a good tenant and she’s used to the money.” He looked at her. “That’s all I’m going to say about it. It’s your lease.”
It was the most useful advice he’d ever given her, and he’d said it in under a minute, and he hadn’t offered to pay a cent of it.
“You could start by not leaving at ten.”
“The car’s booked.”
“Cars can be unbooked.”
He looked at her. Then he took his phone out of his jacket, and he made a call. “Push it to noon,” he said and hung up. It was the smallest favor he’d ever done her. She’d remember it longer than the rest.
There was a knock at the door.
Jason had his hat in his hand and his coat still buttoned, and he’d come up the stairs instead of the elevator. His color was up. He looked at Cecelia, then at her father, then at the bags.
“Sir.”
“Mr. Dennison. Come in. She’s just hired herself a client and I’d like a witness.”
Jason came in. He didn’t sit. He stood beside her chair with one hand on the back of it, not on her, and waited to be told what the room was.
Her father told him. The retainer. The towns. The version of the story where everybody knew everything before he did. Jason listened without a word, and when it was done he looked down at Cecelia.
“You said yes.”
“I said yes.”
“Good.”
That was all he had to say about it, and it was enough.
Her father looked at the two of them, and his face settled. He crossed to the bags and picked up the smaller one and set it down again, and then he held out his hand.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “For the dinner. I’m not going to make it, because I’d do it again to any man who came near her, and you’d know I was lying. But I’ll tell you what I told her. I’ve bought a great many people in thirty years. You’re the only one who ever handed it back.”
Jason took the hand. “I’d do it again too, sir.”
“I know. It’s why I’m shaking it.” Her father didn’t let go right away. “How many head?”
“Six on the books. Eleven if the phone keeps up.”
“Get a bookkeeper before you get to twenty. Not your brother.”
“Yes, sir.”
They let go. Her father looked at his watch, which he did when he needed somewhere to look, and then at his daughter.
“You’ll keep seeing him.”
“Dad.”
“I’m asking. I’d like to hear it.”
Cecelia stood up. She put her hand in Jason’s, and he closed his fingers around hers. She looked at her father across a hotel suite that had been home for long enough for her to become attached to the place and the people.
“I’m going to do more than that,” she said. “One day, I’m going to marry him.”
Her father’s eyebrows went up a fraction. He looked at Jason.
“He hasn’t asked.”
“He will.”
Jason didn’t take his eyes off her. “I will.”