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Layla raised an eyebrow at our disheveled clothes, thrown on in such a hurry that Simon was fastening his shirt buttons as we stepped off the elevator. Our flushed, relaxed faces confirmed her suspicions.
“Glad you got that out of your system,” she said. “One less distraction for your meeting. Sadie, you may want this. Otherwise, you may come undone in the middle of negotiations.”
With a small smile she handed me an elastic band which I fastened at the end of my braid. Then I sat in Simon’s office and took some calming breaths, trying to wipe the just-fucked look off my face.
Simon came in behind me, tucked in his shirt, and pulled on a sport jacket as a concession to it being a business meeting. He kept a small wardrobe in his office which Layla looked after for him. Because it was Sunday, he stayed in his jeans. Then Layla came in with the materials she’d assembled for the meeting and the two of them reviewed the file.
I was scarfing down a sandwich and an iced tea in Simon’s office when the Latinos arrived. I checked my teeth quickly for food remnants before following the group into the boardroom. The prospective investors were three men and a woman. They were all about my height, five nine and of slim build. I pegged them as being in their mid-forties.
Simon directed them to the far end of the table with its expansive, distracting views of the harbor and North Shore mountains. Layla moved like a shadow behind them, handing out papers, asking if anyone wanted coffee or something stronger.
I took my position at the seat nearest the door and folded my hands over my laptop while preliminary courtesies were exchanged. When the negotiations started to flow in rapid Spanish, I waited a few minutes before powering up my laptop. After two days of being off the air, I opened my email. On Seguro Island all electronic signals had been jammed until today. By the time Wi-Fi had been restored at Château Simon, my personal crisis had pushed everything else in the universe off my radar.
I hadn’t checked messages since Friday.
An email popped up from CindyLou4You, my mother’s personal account. A red flag marked it as urgent. Subject:where r u.
My pulse raced as I read.I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of hours Grandpa picked me up at the airport and on the way home a drunk ran a red light and t boned us Pa isn’t good and I’ve hurt my back and head and got a sprained wrist please phone as soon as you get this mom xoxoxo.
She wrote the way she talked, without pause or punctuation. The kisses and hugs were new.
I forwarded it to Simon who had his laptop open in front of him. He nodded at something the Columbian woman said while his eyes scanned my message. He looked up at me, and I signaled that I was going to make a phone call.
He frowned, tapped something out on his keyboard, and nodded slightly. Then he turned back to the visitors and said something in a waterfall of Spanish. The volume of the conversation rose at the other end of the table suggesting the negotiations were heating up. Simon smiled at the lawyer, his attention totally focused on the business at hand.
His message said:wait to discuss with me b4 u decide what u r going 2 do.
I closed my laptop, hitched it under my arm, and left the room.
In Simon’s office across from the boardroom, I called Mom.
She sobbed into the phone, “Sadie, baby, you’ve got to come home.”
“How’s D2?” I asked, breathless with worry, sweat rising on my neck and trickling down my back. I’d called Grandpa D2 ever since I saw my first Star Wars movie. His name was Donald Donohue. DD. D2. I was young at the time and thought D2 an extremely clever nickname. But it was my name for him. No one else was allowed to use it.
“He had a stroke. Sadie, please, please, please come home. What if he dies? What am I going to do?” Her voice was vulnerable and childlike. I’d never heard her sound so fragile, and I shook with dread. I’d never known life without him. The ground beneath my feet fell away, and I was falling.Stop it,I told myself.Your family needs you to be strong.
“I’ll get there as fast as I can. Where are you now?”
“In the ER at Lac St Louis.”
“Where’s D2?”
“In surgery.”
“Mom, I’ll be there by tomorrow. I promise.” As I ended the call, she was still sobbing.
Layla was coming out of the boardroom with an empty water carafe as I walked into the reception area.
“My god, what’s wrong?” she asked and touched my arm.
Layla was as small as a butterfly and as powerful as a typhoon. Not much escaped her notice, and if she wanted answers, she normally got them.
I tucked my laptop under one arm and picked up my purse. I hit the call button on the elevator. “Mom and D2–my grandfather–have been in a car accident. Can you get me to Montreal tonight?”
“If I can’t, no one else can.” Her vibrant violet eyes clouded with concern.
“I don’t want to stop Simon’s meeting.” My voice was shaky. “Will you give him my travel details?”
