I close my eyes and take a deep breath before speaking. “I’m sorry, Ma, I don’t mean to hurt you. Just—please. Don’t try to help me here. Go back to your rooms and I’ll handle this. I love you all, but it’s time for me to grow up and clean up my own mess.”
Ma’s eyes meet mine, and despite the hurt creasing her face, I see understanding dawn in her eyes. But it’s underneath a blanket of sorrow and anger. She doesn’t say a word, merely shakes her head in disappointment and lets my aunties escort her away. Big Aunt glares at me, Second Aunt is busy cooing over Ma, and even Fourth Aunt doesn’t have anything mean to say to Ma, which is how I know for sure that Ma’s heart is broken.
Still, I harden myself against going after them. Because I’ve always gone after them, and then I end up apologizing and assuring them that I’ll be a less shitty daughter, and that’s how I find myself at twenty-six still living at home and spending my weekends shooting huge weddings and pretending I love the whole production.
No. I have more pressing things to attend to. Like Nathan. The thought of him fires me up even more. I stride toward the main building, climbing the impressive stone steps up to the lobby. There, I corner a receptionist and ask where Nathan’s been taken.
“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am,” he says smoothly, but I catch a glimmer of hesitation in him. Unbidden, an image of Big Aunt comes to mind. Big Aunt, who carries herself with her back ramrod straight and her chin always up. Big Aunt, who always manages to get people to listen to her. What would she say? I lift my chin and glare at him imperiously. “I’ve been in touch with LAPD and they’ve said that the sheriff has no jurisdiction to arrest anyone. I am not going to stand aside and let that idiot make a mockery of the justice system, and neither are you. You’re not going to obstruct me. Now lead me to where he’s keeping Nathan.” Obviously I don’t give a tiny rat’s fart about the justice system, but it seemed like a good term to throw in.
After a moment’s hesitation, the receptionist says, “He took him upstairs. To Mr. Chan’s office. Said the storm’s getting too bad for him to drive in.”
“Good. Take me there. Now,” I add, when the receptionist opens his mouth.
“Right away, ma’am.” He hurries out from behind his desk and nods at me to follow him. As soon as his back is turned, I sag a little. I can’t believe it worked. I channeled my inner Big Aunt, and now I’m being led to Nathan. Phew, I should try that more often. This feeling is honestly pretty addictive.
He leads me through a side door to an employee elevator. We get inside, and he uses his key card to get to the top floor. I try to keep looking imperious, which is a lot harder to do in the dead silence of the elevator. I have to stop myself from sighing with obvious relief when the doors finally whoosh open.
The top floor is taken up by numerous offices. I’ve never been to this part of any hotel before, but I guess it makes sense that large resorts would have offices to oversee the running of things. The receptionist leads me past half a dozen offices until he gets to the end. There’s a security guard standing outside. When he sees us approaching, he shifts his stance so that he looks like he’s standing to attention.
“Hey, Dave,” the receptionist says. “This is—uh—”
“I’m Meddy, Nat—Mr. Chan’s lawyer.”
The guard’s eyes widen. “Thank god you’re here,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t even—why was I asked to guard his office? I don’t believe for a second that Mr. Chan did it.”
I nod at him, take a deep breath, and stride through the door.
Sheriff McConnell’s seated behind Nathan’s desk, with Nathan perched on a chair opposite him.
“What’s this?” Sheriff McConnell says, eyeing me from top to bottom with a languorous leer that makes me want to take a long, hot shower.
“This is Mr. Chan’s attorney,” the guard says.
Sheriff McConnell’s eyebrows raise. He looks me over again, but this time, the look is several degrees less lecherous and shows more disbelief, as in how the hell can someone who looks like me be an attorney? I’m about to be affronted when I realize that, welp, I’m still in my all-black photographer’s outfit and I’m as wet as a drowned rat. My hair is dripping water onto my towel. Ugh, Ma and my aunties were right. I need their help. I have always needed their help. They haven’t been holding me back. I’ve reached my potential. This is it, this is where I peak—as a wedding photographer for the family business, always protected from the world by my family.