Anger streaks across my chest. Logic with logic, I remind myself. Emotions get me nowhere with these two. “So, this was your plan all along? Let the property go to hell?”
“There’s no reason to sink money into it,” my father says, “when whoever buys it will level it to build new.”
“And Grandpa’s house? You didn’t think I’d want to know about that? That showing up with nowhere to stay was no big deal?”
“Oh, dear,” my mother says. “I had no idea you were planning on staying in that cabin. I thought you and your friends would get a hotel.”
She knows there are no hotels close to the lake. “You know that was partly my house too. I spent a lot of time there, and I loved it.”
“We can’t control Mother Nature, sweetheart,” my dad says. “The mudslide wasn’t our fault.”
Beside the point, but I know better than to argue with them. “When you said you had someone looking after the property, I trusted that you would keep it up, not let it die.”
“Honey,” my dad uses that you-silly-girl tone, “that place has been dying a slow death for decades.”
“Your father and I are still willing to buy the property from you. The lake would be a nice place for one of our hotels, don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t disagree more,” I tell her.
“I know you have emotional ties to that place,” my mother says, “but if you give it some real thought, I’m sure you’ll see selling it to us is your best option. That way, we can keep it in the family.”
Fat fucking chance. “Thanks, guys. You’ve just solidified my decision.”
I get off the phone without saying goodbye and grit my teeth as I pace the dock. I can’t remember the last time I left a conversation with my parents feeling good, which makes me feel guilty, because they’ve always given me every material thing I’ve ever wanted—good schools, nice clothes, a new car on my sixteenth birthday. But all I ever wanted was unconditional love.
I tilt my head back and study the swath of stars in the sky. It reminds me of the nights Grandpa and I used to lie out here while he pointed out constellations or told me stories or just talked about my day or my dreams.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa.” I close my eyes against the sting of tears. “I’m gonna make it right.”
6
Laiyla
My nerves are buzzing as I pace the lobby of the bank where my grandfather kept his accounts while he was alive, waiting for the big guns to come out from a cluster of offices in the back.
I look at the clock on the wall behind the tellers again. It’s been a full thirty minutes since the bank’s loan officer took my information back to the general manager.
I stayed up all night creating a business plan for the marina renovation, because the more I thought about it, the more I knew KT and Chloe were right. I am ready to put Saxon Hotels behind me and start my own venture.
I won’t lie, the thought of telling my parents I’m leaving the company makes me sick to my stomach in the same way walking a tightrope would. They won’t flip out, I know that. Most likely there will be a lot of disappointment and fear-mongering, which makes my excitement over this project a little shocking, even to myself. But this is a chance to be accountable to no one but me. A chance to see my ideas brought into reality.
This loan will get the project off the ground with a fleet of new houseboats and cash to renovate and expand as well as build a five-star restaurant. A retreat worthy of Hollywood stars and Santa Barbara millionaires. Best of all, I won’t have to use my own money to do it.
I glance at my phone. Nothing from KT or Chloe. They must still be asleep. Excitement bubbles up inside me when I think of telling them I’ve jumped in with both feet. They’re going to be so happy for me.
Movement in the hallway leading to the offices catches my eye. I recognize Mr. Gunderson, Erin Gunderson’s father. Erin was part of the crowd I ran with as a kid. Sweet girl. I didn’t realize her father still worked here.
He’s shorter than I remember, and he’s got a bigger gut, but still has a head full of salt-and-pepper hair and wears a warm smile.
I tug on the hem of my black suit jacket and smile through the nerves. When I got dressed this morning, I was glad to have come straight to Wildfire from a work conference. But now, seeing all these small-town bankers dressed down like it’s casual Friday, I’m feeling a little awkward. Like I’m trying too hard. Probably because I am.
Mr. Gunderson smiles and offers his hand. “Laiyla, good to see you again.”
“You too. How’s Erin?”
“Oh, she’s good. Married now with two little ones.”
As are all my friends my age. “Congratulations.”