Page 2 of Meet Me at the Grand

Opening the tiny hall closet—where she’d originally begun her boot search—Dani kicked at the dust bunnies that attacked her foot. If the boots weren’t in here, she was calling it. Staying in, curled up on the couch watching the Travel Channel with the leftover soup she’d heated on the stove yesterday.

That didn’t sound half bad, really.

Oh, but wait. There. In the corner of the closet. Her white coat had somehow fallen from its hanger to the ground.

“That’s a big ‘if,’” Dad said. Something like paper shuffled in the background. Was he at his home or still at the office? Knowing Daniel Sullivan, Dani wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter—despite the fact it was past seven on a Friday night. “I know you think things will change now that you’re the tourism director, but it’s time to face facts, kiddo. It’s too big a job for any one person. And it’s too late. Too much damage has already been done.”

“Thanks, Debbie Downer.” Coughing, she bent down to pick up the jacket. And underneath—yes! Her missing black, mid-calf boots. She stood and shook out her jacket before rehanging it. “The proper response is ‘Congratulations, Dani! You’re going to be the best director of tourism since sliced bread.’” She held a tease in her voice, trying to keep out the hurt.

“Come on, Dani. You know I didn’t mean to say…” She could practically hear his frown, picture his handsome face, tan from one too many golfing games on the Florida course at the hotel he owned in Palm Coast.

“That you don’t believe in me?” Dani headed for the couch, boots in one hand, phone in the other. As she sank into the couch’s familiar comfort, she breathed past the heaviness in her chest and placed the phone next to the old family photo she kept there to remind herself of what used to be.

Of the things her dreams were made of.

A smiling Dad, his arm wrapped around Mom, who looked at him—not the camera—with pure love in her eyes. They were surrounded by seven kids, a range of ages and dispositions.

James, the oldest, so serious even at eighteen, looking straight at the camera, no smile but a hitch upward on one side of his mouth. A seventeen-year-old Ashley, every bit the actress she still was today, flashing a brilliant smile and pretending not to be annoyed by the antics of Tyler and Zachary, whose eyes lit with mischief while they poked Ashley’s ribs from either side of her. Then there were the twins, Kate and Oliver, fifteen at the time, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Loyal to each other, to the end.

And finally, an eight-year-old Dani—the caboose kiddo—standing a bit off to the side, her eyes turned not to the camera but toward her family. Taking them all in. Smiling. In awe, even at a young age, that this wonderful thing was hers. That she belonged to it. Safe and confident in the love her family had for one another.

If that little girl had only known how her life would change in six years.

“Dani, you know it isn’tyouthat I don’t believe in.” Dad cleared his throat, paused. Strange. He wasn’t one to get overly emotional unless he’d been drinking, and he hadn’t had a drop of liquor since that day ten years ago when he’d accidentally burned their family legacy to the ground. “Besides, sliced bread is overrated.”

“Dad.” Dani rolled her eyes, at once fighting a laugh and wanting to shake the truth into her father. Why couldn’t he see her side of things? How much this meant to her? “I know things have been rough here since the pandemic, but I’ve got the chance to turn things around. I have all kinds of ideas for driving up tourism?—”

“Honey,whattourism? The Jonathon Island we knew is dead, and it isn’t coming back.”

Her boots thudded to the ground, and her head sank into her hands. His words pierced and burned, and suddenly the heated apartment felt like ice.

She’d been praying for weeks, months—okay,years—for a solution. And at any moment, one could be just around the bend. She simply had to keep the faith.

Or maybe God had abandoned Jonathon Island just like he’d abandoned the Sullivans fourteen years ago.

Not that she could exactly blame God for her mother’s actions. Or her father’s. But couldn’t He have stopped all of her brothers and sisters from leaving? Not even her Uncle Bryan, Aunt Mary, and three Sullivan cousins had stuck around. Pieces of her heart had been taken, scattered on the wind in every direction.

“I just want you to have a life that isn’t attached to a dead, stinking carcass,” Dad continued, pausing. “Which is why I wish you’d consider coming to work for me in Florida.”

“Really, Dad? A dead, stinking carcass? Lovely metaphor.” Dani shoved one foot into a boot, then the other. “I appreciate the job offer. I really do. Working at your new hotel with you and James would be wonderful. But this island is home. And it isn’t dead. It’s just…hibernating. Now that I’m the tourism director, I’ll have a little more say in ways to fix the tourism problem.”

“Some broken things just can’t be fixed, Dani.”

Inhaling sharply, Dani closed her eyes against the tremor in Dad’s words. “I don’t believe that.” She couldn’t.

Meow.

Dani’s eyes opened to find her tabby sitting at her feet, looking at her like she expected something of Dani.Get in line, cat.

Dani bent down and hauled Roma into her lap, petting her against the cat’s protest, which she wailed right into the phone on the side table.

“All right, well, I’m burning daylight here, so I’d best let you go. Think about my offer, Dani. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.” So much.

The phone screen went dark and Dani just sat there, staring at the television and petting the cat. She waslatelate to the retirement party now, but nothing in her wanted to face the crowd of Jonathon Island regulars. Not Martha Kelley, who had already told Dani she wanted to speak on Monday—Dani’s first official day on the job—about ways the Tourism Bureau could support local small businesses like hers.

Not Mac, who was still looking to offload the now defunct “adventure resort” his family owned on the northeast side of the island. He had hopes of selling it to the town for a pretty penny. If only he was privy to the town’s painfully low coffers, maybe he’d sing a different tune.

---