He was threatening me. The concierge told me to stay in my room for the rest of my stay. He can’t do that. That has to be some sort of violation.
“Daniel,” I call out, banging on his door again. When he doesn’t answer, I consider heading over to my father’s room to let him know about the situation. But then the door opens suddenly, making me stumble inside. I quickly catch my balance, then launch myself against the inside of the door, throwing the latch to lock it.
My brother stands there, his skin pale and his eyes wide. “Where were you earlier?” he asks. “I had the front desk call your room.”
“I was at the café with Elias,” I respond, pushing past him into the room. I’m surprised to find his clothes strewn about, the blankets piled on the floor next to the bed. I quickly smooth the bottom sheet and sit on the edge of the mattress. My hands are shaking and I clasp them in front of me. “Why were you looking for me?” I ask.
Daniel looks me over quizzically, then takes a long pause before speaking. “Why are you freaking out?” he asks. “Did something happen?”
“Yeah. I need you to kick someone’s ass for me.”
“Done,” he says automatically, and crosses the room to sit next to me. “Tell me what’s going on. Was it that guy?” He waits a beat. “Was it Dad?”
“No. It was the concierge.”
“Kenneth?” he says. I’m surprised he knows his name, but it’s possible he’s met him several times by now. It’s just that Daniel isn’t normally the observant type. “Is this about the party?” he asks.
“Sort of,” I say, “but that’s not what scared me. He’s terrorizing the staff here, and when I talked to him in the ballroom just now, he . . .” There’s no real explanation for my fear—none that would make sense. What can I tell my brother? That it felt like he was running up behind me, ready to attack me, even though he hadn’t moved? That he mentioned me talking with the staff, proving he’s been watching me? “The guy’s a creep,” I say finally. “He abuses his employees and he’s trying to intimidate me—I think we need to get out of here, Daniel. And then I want Dad to report his ass to his supervisors.”
Daniel lowers his eyes with a pained expression. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” His voice is low, making him hard to understand. He gets up and walks to his dresser, his back to me, his posture rigid. “I didn’t see it before,” he continues, “and then all of a sudden, right after I left you downstairs, I . . . remembered.”
“Remembered what?” I ask. I can’t explain the tightening in my chest. I remember, too, I think. Only I don’t. I have no idea what my brother is talking about. “Daniel, we have to go. This place is too weird.”
My brother turns, his features shifting into a gloom I haven’t seen on him before. “We’re not leaving,” he says. His words stick in my brain. He didn’t say “early.” Daniel didn’t say, “We’re not leaving early.” He said, “We’re not leaving.”
Once again that impending presence, the sense that something is close to me, makes the hairs stand up on my arms, goose bumps ripple my flesh. The hotel is listening to us.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. “Of course we are. Even if Dad decides he wants to spend his retirement playing tennis or going to ballroom parties at the Ruby, that doesn’t mean we’re stuck here. We can just take his car. We can leave whenever.”
Daniel curls up his lip, shaking his head. “I knew you wouldn’t listen. You never listen, Audrey.” He turns away and grips the edge of his dresser, his body rigid as silence fills the space between us. Panic and worry swirl inside my brain; my hands tremble.
“What’s going on?” I ask him. “I don’t understand what you’re—”
“Do you remember your birthday?” he asks quietly, ignoring my question. At first I think it’s a dig, but he goes on. “The one before Mom died. You didn’t want a party, but she decided to throw you a surprise one anyway. She wanted to do something special even though she knew you’d hate her for it.”
He devastates me. The entire world breaks open and hurt floods in. Daniel doesn’t talk about our mother. I didn’t know he still could. For the longest time I thought I wanted him to mention her in some way, acknowledge her. But I didn’t consider how desperate it would make me feel when he did. How much it would make me miss her again.
“It was the worst birthday party that’s ever been,” I say with a rush of sentimentality. We both choke out a laugh, but there’s agony in the sound.
“Seven of your closest friends,” he says, looking back at me. His face is wet with tears, his pale eyes bloodshot. He sniffles hard and brushes his fist over his cheek. “Which basically meant Ryan and a group of kids you hadn’t spoken to since junior high.”