Page 24

S unny’s voice grumbles from somewhere above me, pulling me out of a deep sleep. “Joe?” Her sleep-roughened voice cuts through the darkness. “It's so late…er, early.”

It finally registers that I’m in my childhood bunk bed and last night Sunny told me she loves me. Or maybe it was tonight. It's hard to gauge the time in the dark. Either way, the memory of Sunny’s words and the way it felt having her pressed against me kickstarts my heart.

I’m sweating in this tiny bed. Imogen is a heater and her warm, pudgy toes are smooshed into my cheek. She does tumbling routines in her sleep. I push her foot away with a groan. Between thoughts of Sunny and the sporadic kicks to the face, I didn’t sleep well. I swipe my phone to check the time. It’s five in the morning. I’ve missed some calls from Oliver, Christopher, and some unknown Utah numbers.

“What?” Sunny shrieks. “No!” She clambers down the wobbly ladder. “Anders. Anders, wake up! ”

I bolt upright, whacking my head on the unforgiving bottom side of the top bunk. Sunny drags me up from the bed with strength I didn’t know she had.

“What?” I’m fighting to stay calm, but her tone is making my fight or flight response engage. I’ve never seen her lose it like this. She’s stuffing everything into her bag—dirty clothes, shoes, her charger, and a familiar cottage cheese container. Chokladbollar ?

She hisses into the phone, “Yes, I’m with Anders. Lecture me later! How bad is it?” Her rushed question shoots through the quiet bedroom. Immy rolls over and curls into a ball. “Did they get it out? Is it even out yet?”

I can almost make out Joe’s sharp response, but what I think I heard can’t be right. Fire? There’s no way. Sunny joked about the resort burning down a few times before we left. Joe has to be messing with her.

“Sunny.” I put a comforting hand on her arm to slow her down. I’m sure whatever it is isn’t as bad as it sounds. “What’s going on?”

Her dark eyes flash to mine, panicked and wide. “A fire…” she trails off, blinking. She still has her phone pressed to her ear and I can hear her brother barking her name to get her attention. She’s zoning out. She looks like she’s going into shock. I pull her phone away from her and she lets me.

“Joe?” I lower Sunny to sit on the bed and she stares blankly at the wall. “Sunny is kinda freaking out. What’s going on?”

“Anders?” He spits out my name like he’s sure I personally hired an arsonist or something. “We had a fire at Nizhóní. It’s almost out now. There’s…” He curses and shouts something to someone on his end. “She needs to get home. Can you get her here?”

“Yeah. As fast as I can.”

We should’ve brought the jet .

Naturally, we pass through the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced on our flight back to Utah. Between Immy’s tearful whining, Sunny’s dazed stare out the window, and the bumpy ride, it’s a long and nightmarish trip. In my rush to file a flight plan, pack up Immy, and scramble to the airport, I haven’t returned a single one of the many calls I missed this morning. You’d think I really did hire an arsonist, given the number of calls I’ve missed. I kind of don’t want to land the plane. I know things are only going to get worse before they get better. I have enough gas to circle for an extra hour or so. It's tempting.

But later that afternoon, I do land the plane. I load a silent Sunny and sleeping Immy into my SUV. We make the short drive from the small airport surrounded by an eerie peace that I can barely stand. It’s exactly like that moment in every horror film when the girl walks alone into the dark, quiet house and you know there’s a monster waiting for her. Don’t go in there, you idiot .

Only we’re the idiots this time.

When we finally reach the entrance of the resort I expect to see smoldering remains, smoke, ashes, and fire trucks. Instead, there are policemen holding off a small line of cars, all with California and Nevada plates. The entrance is blocked by squad cars with their lights flashing. There are barricades closing the walking entrance and holding back a small crowd of photographers. Paparazzi.

A word flies out of my mouth that I never allow myself to say, especially around my daughter. Sunny straightens in the passenger seat, anger and stress etched in the lines between her eyebrows. Her gaze darts to Imogen. I know, I know. She doesn’t need to say anything.

I pull into the drive and we’re stopped briefly by one of the officers guarding the entrance. He sees my face, nods, and lets us through before we’re stopped for too long. But still, a group of photographers rushes my SUV, clamoring and hollering at us and each other. A few of them smack their meaty hands on the windows. Thankfully, the police handle them efficiently. A short, kind of pudgy officer even pulls out a nightstick. Geez. These small town cops don’t mess around.

My eyes flash to Imogen in her booster seat, praying that she’s still asleep. She’s not. She’s dragging in short, hiccupping breaths and blinking hard. Trying not to cry. My heart rips open. How can I keep doing this to her? I can’t.

Before I can say anything, Sunny reaches around her seat and takes Imogen’s hand. “Shhh. Hey. Look at me, Im.” She pauses and I hear my daughter’s breathing slow. “We’re okay. See? Your dad is here. I’m here. We’re about to see Hairy. Keep looking at me, kiddo.”

She calms Immy with chatter while I navigate the parking area in the direction of my suite, confused. Where was the fire? Everything looks normal if you don’t count the crowd at the entrance. It isn’t until I turn the last corner that I see it.

Black soot stains white stucco above the broken windows and door to my suite, as well as a few suites on either side. The landscaping is smashed and muddy, and trash is scattered here and there. The whole area is closed off with yellow tape.

That’s it?

I’m glad that the fire was contained in this small area, and that Sunny, Imogen, and I were not around when it started. The point of origin is definitely my suite, the door of which is ominously open wide.

“What in the world?” Sunny asks no one, whipping out her phone and punching a few buttons. We stare through the windshield in disbelief while her call connects. “I’m here. Where are you?” she asks whoever is on the other end of the line. “Yeah, we’re right outside. Coming in.”

I throw the SUV into park and Sunny moves to help me unload Imogen. “I’ve got this. Go ahead.” I wave her away .

When Imogen and I finally make it inside, the first words out of her mouth are, “Where’s Hairy?”

I’m less concerned about the dog, and more perplexed by the scene in front of us. Sunny, Sarah, and Joe are lined up on one side of the soggy, ashy mess, faced off against Mercer and Oliver, who are standing oddly close to one another. The entire room is coated in a layer of some kind of foam.

“She’s with Goldie,” Mercer finally answers my daughter. “She’s okay. Want me to go get her for you? I can go.”

Joe snaps. “No, you don’t. And bring her where? You burned their suite to the ground, Mercer.”

Sarah puts a hand on his arm with a barely perceptible shake of her head. She gestures subtly toward Imogen with red-rimmed eyes, a gentle reminder from an experienced mother.

Meanwhile, Oliver takes Mercer’s hand. She yanks it away. “Read the room, dude.”

Sarah holds out a hand to Imogen. She looks to me for approval and I nod. “Why don’t we go see Hairy and get some dinner? I bet you’re hungry after your long trip, huh?” I haven't thought about dinner and I'm relieved by Sarah’s thoughtfulness.

There’s a moment of tense silence while my daughter and Sarah leave, but Sunny’s voice slices through it the moment the door clicks. “How did this happen?” Her voice breaks, and it undoes me.

“You get to tell them, pal. I’m done talking,” Joe barks at Oliver. I’ve never seen anyone speak to him like that and live to tell the tale.

Oliver faces Sunny, clearly avoiding eye contact with me. “We had a fire.”

“How?” She sounds so tired.

I stand beside her, lacing our fingers together. She has to know that this is fixable and everything will be okay. I squeeze her hand to reassure her. But she slides her fingers out of mine, stepping closer to her brother. Something about her movement feels off. A knot forms in my stomach.

“How did the fire start?” Her monotone question doesn’t sound like the radiant ray of sunshine I’ve come to love and I feel a protective anger growing inside my chest.

Mercer sighs. “Oliver and I came here to get some stuff for the dog.”

“You guys were together?” I ask Oliver. “Why?”

Oliver’s chagrined look to Mercer tells me everything I need to know, but don’t want to know. “We’ve been hanging out.” There’s a phrase I’ve never heard Oliver use. “We came here to grab some things. Things escalated. We got—”

“Busy,” Mercer cuts in.

“I was going to say distracted,” Oliver corrects her with an awkward smile.

Disgusting .

Sunny is cringing. “Mercer!” she moans the name in the same tone a person would use if they found a toenail clipping in their pasta.

Oliver finishes the story almost in one breath. “We were making out” — Sunny and I wince in unison, which would be comical in any other circumstance — “and I don’t know for sure, but the fire department seemed to think it started with the curtains. I’m guessing the dog knocked the candles into them.”

I’m not thinking about why there were lit candles.

But making out with a woman during a critical film shoot? Unattended candles? Major property damage? After the years of nagging, reminders, and unending check-ins from Oliver, this happens? I know this is no time for gloating, but I can’t stop myself.

“Well, well, well…” I goad my best friend, dragging out the words while I smirk at the odd pairing.

Mercer looks like she’s going to shank me in my sleep .

Meanwhile, Sunny has covered her face with her hands, like that will undo the fire, or erase the mental image of her best friend getting frisky with a cyborg. She pulls her hands away, crossing her arms with a look to me that I don’t recognize. She turns to Joe. “How bad is it? How far did it spread?”

Joe pauses before he answers, taking her in. “Why don’t we get you home so you can rest? There’s nothing else to do today. The insurance company is sending someone over in the morning. I’ll need you for that.” He turns to Oliver. “I’ll talk to Christopher when I know more. For now, we’re moving Anders and his daughter to a room on the opposite end of the property. Problem is, that area is less isolated and harder to secure. You’ll have to be a lot more careful coming and going.” His gusty sigh says more than his words. “We had so many people on the property today—first responders, the local news. I’m not sure who tipped them off…”

Them . The paparazzi. It doesn't matter who alerted the vultures and how they found us. It doesn’t change anything. Our lives and this film shoot just got infinitely more difficult. I feel the weight of my phone in my back pocket, knowing now that the calls I haven’t returned are likely bad news.

All of that can wait. Sunny and Imogen are my priority. Now she’s pacing the room, peppering her brother with questions about the extent of the damage. Oliver and Mercer fill in with their first-hand accounts that make me wonder if there’s some kind of memory-erasing hypnosis treatment available anywhere. Other than that, I’m relieved to hear that no one was injured. Nothing we left behind in the suite was irreplaceable. Everything will be fine.

When I say as much to the room—just thinking out loud—all eyes whip my direction.

“What?” I ask.

“What?” Sunny whispers, her eyes squinting like she must have misheard me .

“I think I said everything will be fine?” I honestly don’t remember. “I expected worse, but this isn’t so bad. Everything is replaceable, right?”

“No, you’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Sunny gives me a defeated look, then turns to her brother. “Can you take me home?”

He nods and he follows her out the door.

“Everything okay?” I say to their backs, turning back to Oliver and Mercer. “Did I say something wrong?” I ask the fire-starting perverts still standing in front of me.

Mercer makes a face at me. “Really?”

I’m tired and this snarky blonde person just ruined the day of the woman I love. As far as I can tell, we’re both on Sunny’s crap list. I don’t deserve her ire. “Yeah. What?”

Mercer shakes her head. “Her parents opened this place before she was born. She was raised here. It’s as much a part of her family as she is. On top of that, this resort is her pride and joy. She lives to make it perfect.” Now Mercer looks tired, or maybe a little guilty. “I know everything works out for you. You think nothing is a big deal. You have all of the money you need and a team of people who take care of you.” She has been hanging out with Oliver. “But this is a huge deal to her—to all of us. This isn’t just our livelihood. It’s our home. And yeah, maybe everything will be fine. This stuff is replaceable, and even if it’s not, it’s just stuff. But would it kill you to console her for five seconds before you brush it off?” She sucks in a breath. “Sorry,” she says half-heartedly at the end of her rant.

The truth of her words slices through me like a knife. I absolutely did do that. I mean, yeah—things do usually work out. I’m a big believer in manifesting, the power of positive thinking, optimism, whatever you want to call it. I still am. But seeing those attitudes from another angle—from the perspective of someone who needs compassion, someone to mourn with her—makes me realize optimism isn’t so simple and I’ve unwittingly hurt the woman I love. “You’re—”

“Right.” Oliver butts in. “She’s right. I know it’s hard to say the word.”

“Shut up.” I push back like I’m his twelve-year-old brother. “I can admit when I’ve screwed up.” I let the room fall silent while I think about how to make this right. I hate that I’ve hurt Sunny. I settle my gaze on Mercer. “How do I fix this?”