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Getting into the driver's seat, I look out the windshield and see his car. Refusing to let it get to me, I drive off, not even glancing back. The car is silent on the trip back. Zoe reaches over and squeezes my knee gently, letting me know I am not alone.
Pulling up at the hotel, I finally exhale. I am home. This is home and it's all I need.
All I need is Valarian and our small village family. A family we made, not blood. My father proved there is more to family than just blood. Family is those that are there for you when the rest of the world turns their backs on you. That is family. Unclipping my seatbelt, we got back to work. Suddenly, I feel even more determined to prove I can do this without his help.
ChapterSixteen
Two months later,
Today is the day, the last inspection to decide whether all our hard work has paid off. Macey, Zoe, and I watch from the balcony as Valarie talks to the health and safety inspector. He had walked around the entire building with his measuring tape and flashlight, clipboard tucked under his arm, and pen behind his ear as he went over every nook and cranny in the place.
We secretly call him 'the birdman'; his nose looks more like a beak and his beady little eyes are too far apart. Macey snorts when a gust of wind has him clutching his toupee. It's chocolate brown and not even close to matching the graying areas on the sides of his head. Down on the front lawn, Valarie watches over his shoulder as he makes notes on his clipboard, giving the place one last scrutinizing look before shaking his head in disbelief.
Finally, he tears off the piece of paper and hands it to Valarie. He walks over to his red sedan and takes off while Valarie stares at the form.
“Come on, we should go see what birdman says needs to be done this time,” says Macey. Zoe and I go to retrieve our kids—who are playing happily in their playpen with their blocks—from our room. Scooping up Valarian, I set his feet on the ground and hold his little hands while we carefully walk down the steps to the first floor. He started walking earlier than expected. Last month, he just stood up and took his first steps. He's smart for his age, which is impressive given all the trauma he's been through.
Valarie is still standing in the yard, staring up at the hotel. I can’t quite decipher the look on her face, and we approach cautiously.
“He said four rogue women would never accomplish anything on our own without help, ladies,” Valarie says, and I sigh, wondering what he's told her needs fixing.
We stop beside her and look back at the huge building; no more peeling paint—the exterior is a beautiful white with blue and light gray trims, the roof painted a deep gray—the hedges are cut to perfection, and flowers hang from the top of the huge porch and along the hand railings. It looks like a brand-new place.
I lost track of the number of times doubts rained down on us, but now, standing out the front looking upon the building a year later, I realize all the blood, sweat, tears, frustration and anger when people refused to help, were all worth it. Four rogue women with no future, no help, and just pure determination gave this run-down hotel a new life.
Every callous, every blister, every cut and graze was all worth it, along with every sleepless night. It all paid off and seeing the look on Valarie’s face is priceless. She is a tough woman, with an even tougher exterior, yet not even she can hide her emotion as we stare at what we accomplished.
“So, what’s the verdict?” I ask, looking our hard work up and down.
“The verdict, ladies, is we are now open for business,” Valarie says casually.
“Well, we will get it done. We can-” Macey starts to say before stopping. I look at Valarie, her lips tugging up at the corners, and Macey looks around me at her. It takes a few seconds for her words to register.
“Wait, you said…” Macey asks before stopping.
“I said we are open for business; we did it, girls,” Valarie says, and we all erupt in squeals of joy, jumping up and down excitedly. Macey howls loudly, and we join her.
It must be a sight from the road to see four women standing near the street howling at the sun and cheering, but we don’t care. We did it. We did the impossible. But most of all, we proved to ourselves that we could do anything with a bit of determination, probably stubbornness, and hard work.
We have proven to everyone who said it was impossible that they were wrong and that we are more than just four 'rogue whores' with an unrealistic idea. That unrealistic idea is now very real and standing in front of us, showing us we are capable of so much more than anyone believed of us.
Laughing and walking back to celebrate with the kids, we talk about advertising and hiring. I had an idea about hiring and ran it past Valarie last month.
Four rogue single mothers made this place what it is, so sticking to that, we decided that everyone we hire will be rogue women. A hotel owned and run by rogues, the city’s less desirable. Valarie loved the idea, so Macey, Zoe, and I went to every community center and put out word last month that Valarie was hiring.
The next day, the lineup went halfway down the street. It was hard work interviewing everyone, but once we opened, we had fifty staff on rotational shifts. All we have left to find is a head chef. Valarie is an excellent cook and has been teaching me, so for now, that will have to be good enough until we find someone.
We all head into the restaurant and Valarie walks out back to grab a bottle of wine while I gather the glasses. Hearing a cough, I pause, looking out the doors leading to the storerooms.
“Are you okay, Val?” I ask before I hear more coughing.
“Val?” I repeat, walking into the storerooms. I see Valarie hunched over, having a coughing fit—the worst one I've seen her have—as she gasps for air. The wine glasses slip from my hands, shattering on the tiled floor when I see her collapse.
It's like watching everything in slow motion.
I see her clutch the steel shelf, her hand covered in blood; she turns to look at me, no doubt to tell me not to worry, when she coughs again; blood sprays from her lips and dribbles down her chin as her eyes glaze over; before I know it, she is falling, her skin pasty and covered in a cold sweat. I scream as I see her tumble to the floor and I race toward her, trying to get to her in time, but she crashes to the floor.
“Valarie!” I shriek as I clutch her. Her hand weakly grabs my arm as I pull her head into my lap.
