Page 75 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
“Yeah. As fast as I can.”
We should’ve brought the jet.
Naturally, we pass through the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced on our flight back to Utah. Between Immy’s tearful whining, Sunny’s dazed stare out the window, and the bumpy ride, it’s a long and nightmarish trip. In my rush to file a flight plan, pack up Immy, and scramble to the airport, I haven’t returned a single one of the many calls I missed this morning. You’d think I really did hire an arsonist, given the number of calls I’ve missed. I kind of don’t want to land the plane. I know things are only going to get worse before they get better. I have enough gas to circle for an extra hour or so. It's tempting.
But later that afternoon, I do land the plane. I load a silent Sunny and sleeping Immy into my SUV. We make the short drive from the small airport surrounded by an eerie peace that I can barely stand. It’s exactly like that moment in every horror film when the girl walks alone into the dark, quiet house and you know there’s a monster waiting for her.Don’t go in there, you idiot.
Only we’re the idiots this time.
When we finally reach the entrance of the resort I expect to see smoldering remains, smoke, ashes, and fire trucks. Instead, there are policemen holding off a small line of cars, all with California and Nevada plates. The entrance is blocked by squad cars with their lights flashing. There are barricades closing the walking entrance and holding back a small crowd of photographers. Paparazzi.
A word flies out of my mouth that I never allow myself to say, especially around my daughter. Sunny straightens in the passenger seat, anger and stress etched in the lines between her eyebrows. Her gaze darts to Imogen.I know, I know.She doesn’t need to say anything.
I pull into the drive and we’re stopped briefly by one of the officers guarding the entrance. He sees my face, nods, and lets us through before we’re stopped for too long. But still, a group of photographersrushes my SUV, clamoring and hollering at us and each other. A few of them smack their meaty hands on the windows. Thankfully, the police handle them efficiently. A short, kind of pudgy officer even pulls out a nightstick. Geez. These small town cops don’t mess around.
My eyes flash to Imogen in her booster seat, praying that she’s still asleep. She’s not. She’s dragging in short, hiccupping breaths and blinking hard. Trying not to cry. My heart rips open. How can I keep doing this to her? I can’t.
Before I can say anything, Sunny reaches around her seat and takes Imogen’s hand. “Shhh. Hey. Look at me, Im.” She pauses and I hear my daughter’s breathing slow. “We’re okay. See? Your dad is here. I’m here. We’re about to see Hairy. Keep looking at me, kiddo.”
She calms Immy with chatter while I navigate the parking area in the direction of my suite, confused. Where was the fire? Everything looks normal if you don’t count the crowd at the entrance. It isn’t until I turn the last corner that I see it.
Black soot stains white stucco above the broken windows and door to my suite, as well as a few suites on either side. The landscaping is smashed and muddy, and trash is scattered here and there. The whole area is closed off with yellow tape.
That’s it?
I’m glad that the fire was contained in this small area, and that Sunny, Imogen, and I were not around when it started. The point of origin is definitely my suite, the door of which is ominously open wide.
“What in the world?” Sunny asks no one, whipping out her phone and punching a few buttons. We stare through the windshield in disbelief while her call connects. “I’m here. Where are you?” she asks whoever is on the other end of the line. “Yeah, we’re right outside. Coming in.”
I throw the SUV into park and Sunny moves to help me unload Imogen. “I’ve got this. Go ahead.” I wave her away.
When Imogen and I finally make it inside, the first words out of her mouth are, “Where’s Hairy?”
I’m less concerned about the dog, and more perplexed by the scene in front of us. Sunny, Sarah, and Joe are lined up on one side of the soggy, ashy mess, faced off against Mercer and Oliver, who are standing oddly close to one another. The entire room is coated in a layer of some kind of foam.
“She’s with Goldie,” Mercer finally answers my daughter. “She’s okay. Want me to go get her for you? I can go.”
Joe snaps. “No, you don’t. And bring her where? You burned their suite to the ground, Mercer.”
Sarah puts a hand on his arm with a barely perceptible shake of her head. She gestures subtly toward Imogen with red-rimmed eyes, a gentle reminder from an experienced mother.
Meanwhile, Oliver takes Mercer’s hand. She yanks it away. “Read the room, dude.”
Sarah holds out a hand to Imogen. She looks to me for approval and I nod. “Why don’t we go see Hairy and get some dinner? I bet you’re hungry after your long trip, huh?” I haven't thought about dinner and I'm relieved by Sarah’s thoughtfulness.
There’s a moment of tense silence while my daughter and Sarah leave, but Sunny’s voice slices through it the moment the door clicks. “How did this happen?” Her voice breaks, and it undoes me.
“You get to tell them, pal. I’m done talking,” Joe barks at Oliver. I’ve never seen anyone speak to him like that and live to tell the tale.
Oliver faces Sunny, clearly avoiding eye contact with me. “We had a fire.”
“How?” She sounds so tired.
I stand beside her, lacing our fingers together. She has to know that this is fixable and everything will be okay. I squeeze her hand to reassure her. But she slides her fingers out of mine, stepping closerto her brother. Something about her movement feels off. A knot forms in my stomach.
“How did the fire start?” Her monotone question doesn’t sound like the radiant ray of sunshine I’ve come to love and I feel a protective anger growing inside my chest.
Mercer sighs. “Oliver and I came here to get some stuff for the dog.”
