“Or,” Gabby starts. “You can try to maybe work with him to find a solution to everything.”
She takes a sip of her drink, her eyes still pinned to mine, letting her statement just hang there in the air between us like it’s the answer to everything.
“And how am I supposed to do that?” I finally ask.
“You feel so much for these people you defend that you’re always on the attack, hon. And while that’s not always a bad thing, it makes you overlook certain things,” she starts. “Namely, like identifying who the enemies are – and who your allies might be.”
“Okay, now you sound like you’ve been reading fortune cookies all day,” I laugh wryly.
“I’m saying there is a middle ground you two can find if you’d stop taking a scorched earth approach to things,” she fires back. “You want more affordable housing. He’s a developer whose company builds – homes. Surely, if you put those two things together, you can create something that makes the both of you happy, yes?”
I sit back in my seat, stunned to the point of breathlessness. I never thought about it like that. It’s an answer that seems so simple that I feel stupid for not thinking of it before. But then, then I realize that maybe it’s not as simple as all that. Sawyer is a man whose business dealings are driven by profit. And the truth is, there is little to no profit to be had in building low-income housing for a company like Compass. Unless…
I look up at Gabby, smiling wide. “You are brilliant,” I say. “You are utterly brilliant.”
“I know,” she chirps.
“You’ve given me an idea about how to turn him into an ally,” I grin.
“See? Me kicking your ass the way I do pays dividends,” she smiles.
“Yes it does.”
I jump out of my seat and throw my arms around her. She giggles as I squeeze her tight. I am more grateful for this woman than I can even begin to express. I think she’s given me an idea about how to make the both of us happy and save a relationship that an hour ago, I thought was doomed.
“I have a lot of work to do.” I plant a kiss on Gabby’s cheek.
“Then get to it, girl.”
Chapter Thirty-Six Sawyer
It’s been almost a week since I last spoke to Berlin – which seems fucking ridiculous since she lives right next door to me. But there have been no calls, no texts, no – nothing. I’ve even stopped by her place a couple of times but got no answer. It’s been nothing but radio silence from her.
I get that she needs some space, so I want to give it to her. Our last conversation didn’t exactly go over too well. Forcing her to talk to me would only guarantee things between us would get even worse. She can be stubborn as hell when she gets her mind set on something.
With nothing better to do, I decided to stop by Rose Hills to spend a little time with her dad. On his more lucid days, I enjoy spending time with him. He’s a good guy and has a lot of great stories – about Berlin, mostly. And I enjoy hearing those. Especially now that she’s freezing me out.
Part of me thinks I should take the hint. She hasn’t shown the slightest interest in talking to me, and I don’t know if that’s going to change. We are different in so many ways. But most of those we can get past since in the grand scheme of things, they’re minor. And yet there’s one major issue between us, and it’s one I don’t know can be resolved. We just see the world in two very different ways, and they very well may not be compatible with each other.
“Good afternoon, Mr. West,” the woman at the desk greets me brightly. “Lovely to see you again.”
“You as well, Emma.”
With a floor made of marble, furniture upholstered in high-end fabrics, and appointed with antiques and prints of Van Gogh, Monet, and some of the past masters, the reception area of Rose Hills looks more like a four-star hotel than a hospital. It’s by design, of course. The administrators want people to feel comfortable here. They want people to feel like their relatives are on vacation rather than in a facility.
“How is Mr. Roth doing today?” I ask.
“Well, let me see,” she replies, tapping a few keys and consulting her computer. “As of two hours ago, he was having a good day. Responding to stimuli, lucid and coherent, conversational.”
“That’s good.” I nod. “I’m very glad to hear that.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” she replies with a sly grin. “And the – ahem – medicine you’ve brought along.”
I return her grin and give her a conspiratorial wink. I’m not supposed to bring in outside food, but the nurses here are good enough to look the other way as long as I’m discreet about it. She issues me a visitor’s badge and smiles.
“You can head on back,” she says.
“Thanks, Emma.”
“Anytime, honey.”
Keeping the bag under my coat, I head down the corridor that will lead me back to the resident’s rooms. I follow the path that’s familiar to me now, passing through a courtyard that’s got a pond, lush foliage, and colorful flowering bushes. Now covered in a thin dusting of snow, it projects an air of peace and tranquility.
The automatic doors slide open for me, and my footfalls echo through the silent corridor all around me. I find my way to Robert’s door and give it a firm knock.
“Come in,” I hear the muffled voice on the other side of the door.
I
