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Chapter Thirteen
The trip to Californiafeels like an eternity. As soon as I get settled on one flight and feel like I might get even an ounce of sleep, the flight lands and I’m stuck in a crowded airport for nearly two hours waiting for the next one. How Westin did this so many times is beyond me. Yet another thing I didn't give him credit for until now.
I shoot Kari a quick text message, checking in before boarding my last flight. The one that will land in California and put me that much closer to getting the answers I’m hoping this trip will provide.
Even though Kari drove me to the airport and ensured me that she has things covered, I still can't shake the guilt I feel for leaving her like this.Layersisourbusiness and she has stepped up more than she should have recently. I owe her so much.
She is someone that wants the best for me. Not because it benefits her or helps her in any way, but because she loves me. She loves me the way my mother should have loved me and never did.
Powering down my phone, I hand the attendant my ticket before boarding the plane. No matter how many times I have flown, I never can quite get a grasp on the fear I feel walking down the aisle and finding my seat.
When the plane finally takes off down the runway, I watch as the world disappears below me, knowing full well that when it comes back into view, I will need to be prepared to face the one thing I have been running from my whole life. My father.
——
I’M NOT PREPARED FORthe temperature difference as I step out of the airport in Sacramento. Not that it's hot here, but given how cold it’s gotten in Maine, the sixty degree weather feels incredible against my skin.
I feel like I haven't seen daylight in days, though I know it's only been a few hours since I left Maine.
I shoot Kari another quick text and then one to Jamie, letting them both know that I have arrived safely. I wish I would have thought to invite Jamie along. She would have made a great support system and I know how much she loves the West Coast. But that's not why I’m here and if I'm lucky, I will be back on a plane by this time tomorrow, hopefully having successfully mended things with Westin before that time.
I catch a cab rather quickly. Mid-day airport traffic is not nearly as bad as I have seen it before, and for that I’m extremely grateful. We don't hit much traffic on our way across the city either, which is equally unusual. Feeling like maybe the fates are on my side, I hang onto the small thread of hope I have that everything will be okay.
When we pull up outside ofRyan & Associates, my stomach instantly knots. Wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I pay the cab driver and exit onto the busy sidewalk. I knew coming here I would be nervous, I just didn't realize how nervous.
Being here, taking in the large glass building in front of me, it feels like I hit rewind on my life and am now the same scared eighteen year old I was the last time I was here. I remember that day so clearly. The day I told my father I was leaving. The day he told me that if I left I was no longer his daughter. The day I accepted that I didn't want to be his daughter. When I left here that day, I swore I would never come back. And yet, here I am.
Walking into the large open lobby, one thing is perfectly clear; the building has had some major remodeling in the last decade. Looks like my father has really outdone himself.
The once semi-bare lobby has been transformed into a garden of fountains, trees, and glossy marbled floors. The split stairwell leading to the second floor now has glass walls on each side, and a glass wall acts as the barrier to the upper level, giving anyone on the first or second floor a perfect view of the space above and below.
Three different waiting areas line the right wall as I make my way to the first floor receptionist. Each area is targeted at a specific clientele. There is a more comfortable area with lush couches and a television mounted on the wall, followed by a sterile looking area with glass tables and magazines. And the last area is more family oriented. Not that there are toys or anything, because my father would never allow that. But the space is more colorful and I can see that the television in that area is playing cartoons.
My heeled boots click against the floor as I approach the receptionist desk. I’m sure it's my paranoia, but I can hear each step echo off the walls around me as if somehow announcing my arrival.
I grab the hem of my black sweater and pull it down, straightening my clothes as I stop in front of a large desk with two women sitting behind it. Both woman are young, I would guess maybe mid-twenties, and each is equally beautiful. The woman on the right looks up the moment I arrive. Her eyes dance across my face and she smiles the most non-genuine smile I think I have ever seen.
“Can I help you?” she asks, her tone as unfriendly as her smile.
“Westin Carver, please,” I say, trying my best not to fidget under her judging gaze.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, turning her attention to her computer as she begins typing something into the keyboard.
“No. I was hoping I could speak to him for a moment.” I try to keep the nervous quiver from my voice, but I can't stop my eyes from darting around me. Any moment my father could come walking out and spot me.
“Sorry. You have to have an appointment.” Her eyes don’t leave the computer screen as she types.
“Is he here?” I ask, my tone is as equally shitty, as my patience starts to wear thin. I need to get out of the lobby. I'm too visible here.
“I can't give you that information. If you would like to see Mr. Carver, you will need to make an appointment.” She finally meets my gaze again.
The red headed girl next to her looks up, and the moment I see her eyes widen I know she recognizes me. Though I'm not sure how.
“Scarlett?” the girl says, shock registering on her face. “Oh my god, how are you?” She smiles sweetly at me and quickly stands, making her way around the desk in a matter of seconds before wrapping me in a brief hug. “It's been years. Where have you been?” she asks. I breathe a small sigh of relief when I see her name displayed on a shiny metal tag across her chest.
“Teasa Nickels, how are you?” I’m completely beside myself that I didn't recognize her until I saw her name.
“Me? How are you?” She seems a little too excited to see me. I mean sure, we went to high school together, but it's not like we were super close. We had a different group of friends and rarely spoke, which is probably why I didn't recognize her.
