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Walking away from Lydia was harder than I had ever imagined. I had to accept that it might also mean walking away from the project in Brookdale.
I did not like accepting defeat, and this felt entirely too much like that was what was about to happen.
I hit the intercom on my phone. “Get Diego,” I told my assistant.
She confirmed my request, and about ten minutes later, Diego stepped into my office.
“What took you so long?” I asked.
“I assumed you were going to ask questions about our property research. I wanted to get that information for you.” He held up his phone and shook it at me. “I also emailed it to you, so it’s already on your computer.”
“Well?” I asked, gesturing at him, or more specifically, at his phone, where I assumed he kept the information.
With a few taps and swipe motions, he began review the information out loud for my benefit.
“As you know, Jackson is making zero progress in Brookdale.”
I grumbled deep in my throat. Jackson and Brookdale were both turning out to be such disappointments.
“Harris and I have split up the region, and I’ve actually started looking a little further afield into Vermont, even.
“I don’t want to build in Vermont,” I snapped.
“We want to be an easy day’s drive out of the city so that we can take advantage of people looking to get away for the weekend. Going into Vermont means changing freeways, longer drive time…”
“I get that you don’t go to Vermont, but there are trains that go up through the area. It’s not going to change our demographic to move over a state.”
“No, I want to keep it in New York,” I said.
Diego shrugged. “Fine. We can do that.”
“Tell me what Harris has found.”
“There’s a little town about another forty minutes north,” Diego started.
“That’s too far,” I complained.
“What do you want?”
I stared at him long and hard.
“What do you want? So far, everything either Harris or I have suggested, you’ve shot down. What do you want?”
I stared at him long and hard. What I wanted was Brookdale. Brookdale was perfect. Brookdale looked like a postcard from another time. Brookdale had Lydia.
“I don’t know, but this isn’t it. Keep looking,” I demanded.
What I really wanted was a reason to go back to Brookdale. I wanted to see Lydia, make her listen to me. If she would only listen to me, she would see reason. I could make her understand.
I also needed to know about the baby. Had she had the child yet? I couldn’t find any information on the Brookdale social media pages. There were updates for the Historical Society. There were pumpkin pie baking contests. There were apple pie eating contests. There was a front porch Christmas decorating contest.
Mayor Dan shared so many random details about Brookdale. Pictures from people happily walking down the street to pictures of the librarian holding up new books in her collection. But there was nothing that was helpful to me. No news, no birth announcements. No pictures with Lydia or the baby or the inn, nothing.
I pressed the intercom again. “Call my lawyer,” I demanded.
“I’ll ring him through.”
I paced like a caged tiger in my office, waiting for the phone to ring.