TWENTY-TWO
Max
It rains for three days.
Not a Florida shower that blows through in twenty minutes, but a real, settled, gray rain that turns the Starlight River silver and keeps the contractors home and fills my suite with the kind of quiet that has a specific texture.
I send Lauren a text on the first morning.
I'm sorry. Genuinely. No expectations. I'm sorry.
She reads it. She doesn't respond.
I go to my parents' house on the third day to bring some documents to Dad and walk into the kitchen to find Kate eating cinnamon cookies at the island.
“Oh,” I say. “Hey.”
She looks at me. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you.” I reach for a cookie. We stand there for a moment, the rain steady against the kitchen window.
“I don't know what I did,” I say finally. “Or why she won't answer my texts.”
Kate looks at me steadily. “Yes you do.”
A beat.
“She overreacted,” she says, almost to herself. “And she didn't. Both things are true.” She picks up her coffee. “You asked her to handle the resort's social media.”
“Because she's good at it —”
“And you went to the gallery about her photographs.”
“I was trying —”
“You made a decision about her art. Without asking her,” Kate says, not unkindly. “The one thing she guards most carefully. And in the same conversation you asked her to use her platform for free advertising.” She looks at me. “Do you see how that landed?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
“Lauren has spent her entire life being useful,” Kate says. “To her parents, to brands, to me. She learned a long time ago that people adore her only when she’s giving them something, doing something for them. Her dad texts when he needs money. The brands get in touch when they need content. In my opinion, she’s in the entirely wrong profession as an influencer, but that’s a conversation for another day. And then you —” She pauses. “You asked her to do your social media. And you'd already called the gallery. You treated her like the help.”
“I wasn't using her.”
“I know that. You know that.” She turns her coffee cup. “She knows it too, somewhere underneath. She needs unconditional love that’s not tied to what she can do for someone.”
“Of course she does,” I say, but immediately know it comes off as defensive.
Steve shuffles over and sits on my foot. I look down at him.
“I was excited,” I say. “About the resort. About her staying. About all of it. I thought we were already a team.”
“She also got a text from her father that night. Asking for money.” Kate turns her coffee cup. “Her family has alwaysleaned on her. It’s part of why she left. And then some brand guy texted. And then you.”
Steve sneezes on my foot.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“At the resort. She’s not running.” Kate looks at me. “She goes to the springs. Early mornings. With her camera. Last I heard she was there getting shots in the rain.”
