I relish in the taste of my fresh glass of orange juice. It’s taken me a whole week after coming back from the hospital to regain my taste buds. While I might have
been going a little stir crazy from all the bedrest, I was grateful for the break from Rowan and the Creator team. I wasn’t sure I would have had enough strength to be in the same room as him without crying or yelling.
Yesterday was a good test of my strength and I passed with flying colors. I was able to stay strong and look Rowan right in his dejected face without giving in to his request.
“This ended up in my stack of mail.” Claire drops an envelope in front of my plate.
“This is from two weeks ago!” I point at the date.
She shrugs. “I know, and I’m sorry. I promise to get more organized next week.”
I laugh without any pain today. “You always say that!” I yell at her back.
She chuckles under her breath as she walks back to her mess of a bedroom.
My fingers brush across my name written in cursive with an old ink pen. The return address is listed as The Kane Company.
That’s weird. I grab a knife from the kitchen and slice across the top.
My fingers shake as I pull out a folded piece of paper. I open it and my mouth drops open.
Brady Kane sent me a letter! It’s dated from before his accident, at around the same time we were working through the finishing touches on Nebula Land.
Dear Zahra,
I apologize in advance if my words are scrambled. It’s hard to sum up my thanks but I’ll try, if only because you deserve to know how much of an impact you had on my life. Even an old man like myself can learn a few new tricks, or at the very least be reminded of the old ones they’ve long since forgotten.
Gratitude? From Brady freaking Kane?! I’m the one who should be grateful that he took the time to work with me for a whole month.
Before I met with you about your proposal, I was in a dark place. I felt lost and unsure about myself for the first time in many years. But then you came into my office with a huge grin and all this pent-up imagination waiting to be explored. I was immediately impressed with your sharp mind and honest heart. It took me a while to understand why I felt an attachment to you, but I realize it’s because you reminded me of my younger self. Of someone yet untouched by money, fame, and the expectations that dull even the strongest creative minds.
My chest aches, and my breathing grows ragged with each sentence. It has nothing to do with the residual effects of my sickness and everything to do with all the feelings boiling inside at Brady’s confession.
I know you aspire to become a Creator one day. Whenever you feel like you’re finally worthy (Whatever the hell that means—I did all right with a community college education and so can you), I want to help you
achieve that dream. So, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, know that you’ll always have a Creator job at Dreamland if you want it. All you need to do is contact my old secretary, Martha, and she’ll get you a contract. No interview necessary.
Tears spring to my eyes. Brady was endlessly supportive of my dream, even though I kept telling him no. I think he would be proud of me if he knew the strides I’ve made over the past few months.
I have one tiny favor to ask in return. As a part of my will, I’ve asked my grandson to become the Director of Dreamland for six months and
create a special project meant to improve the park.
He what?! I clutch on to the letter with a death grip.
I have personally selected you to participate as a voting member on my committee. You will be expected to either approve or reject Rowan’s plans.
Me?! Oh my fucking God. Did Rowan know this entire time I was supposed to be on this committee? Acid in my stomach makes me want to retch into the nearest toilet, but I take a few deep breaths before I keep reading.
You reminded me why I created Dreamland. Your passion for the park was one I lost along the way and your unique ideas stoked excitement in me that had long since been forgotten. Because of that, I know you’re
the right person to help me one last time. It might seem like a big
request but you’re one of the people I want to be a part of the change Dreamland needs. So please join my committee and vote for the future of the park.
My hands shake as I read the rest of Brady Kane’s letter discussing semantics and scheduling. After rereading it twice, it slips from my fingers and flutters to the floor.
Did Rowan know this entire time that his grandfather wanted me to vote on the project he’s spent months working on? Why else would he hire me—someone he said wasn’t important enough to be missed?
No. That can’t be it. Right? There’s no way he knew.
But why else would he hire someone like you with limited qualifications who tore apart Dreamland’s most expensive ride?
He has an endless stream of Creators he could have hired to ensure Dreamland was in the best hands to win this vote. His reason behind pretending to be Scott seemed reasonable, but now I’m wondering if it was another ploy to poke around and see if I would admit to being a part of the voting committee. What if his whole speech yesterday in my cubicle was a way for him to pacify me so I wouldn’t screw him over?
With each question, my doubts grow stronger.
What if everything about us was always a lie?
 |
Claire lifts the pillow from my face and hugs it to her body as she takes a seat. “What’s wrong?”
“That fact that Rowan was born.”
“I thought we blacklisted his name from the apartment!”
“That was before I received a letter from Brady Kane that exposed his grandson.”
Claire’s eyes might pop out of their sockets. “WHAT?!”
The words tumble out of me as I share the story about the vote and all the theories I have. I even tell her about how Rowan tried to invite me over to his place after everything, which only adds to my suspicions.
Claire somehow reins in her emotions until I finish. She jumps off the couch and grabs her phone from her bedroom. I track her pacing as she taps away at the screen, with her cheeks all red and her hair going everywhere.
“That no good, piece of shit—” She jabs at the screen of her phone with a frown.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to calculate how long someone can survive from blood loss after being castrated.”
I drop my head back and laugh. “Physical aggression is never the answer.”
Claire pats my hand as she sits back down, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Oh, Zahra. It’s cute how innocent you see the world.”
“And that is?”
“Like you were never told Santa Claus isn’t real.”
I drop my mouth open in faux shock. “What?! Santa’s not real?”
Claire rolls her eyes half-heartedly. “Fool.”
“Seriously. Your answer to everything is to cut, maim, and kill. That’s not really the kind of solution I’m looking for here.”
“Only because you couldn’t afford a good lawyer after.” We both end up laughing at that.
I poke her with my foot. “Seriously. Castration?”
“You know how the saying goes. Act like a dick, lose said dick.”
A loud laugh escapes me. “No one says that!”
“Then maybe it’s time people did. I mean that fucker seriously thinks he can manipulate you like that? Un- freaking-believable! Does he even have a conscience?”
My entire body aches at the thought.
“Debatable.” I sigh. There was a time I thought he did, but who knows anymore. Although he seemed genuine when he stopped by my cubicle, I can’t be certain who the real Rowan is anymore.
