Page 122 of The Mistakes I've Made
She let out a frustrated sigh. “I hate waiting.”
“I do, too.”
We all did. We’d done our best to keep busy, gathering together for group activities when we could, but even then, all anyone could talk about was home. No one truly knows what a hurricane is like until they’ve been down this road, and felt the agony of an evacuation.
“Does anyone have any updates?”
“Are the phone lines up yet?”
“Did anyone see any photos online? On the news?”
The waiting was getting to everyone.
What we did know was that the hurricane hit at a Category Two. Thankfully, it hadn’t gained any speed or hit us any harder than that, but still.
But a hurricane was a hurricane.
And the specific damage to Ocracoke was still unknown.
We’d seen footage that made me nervous…washed out roads, broken power lines, damaged homes. I tried to keep my fears at bay because scaring Lani was the last thing I wanted.
I was keeping a good game face on, but inside, I was terrified of what we were going home to.
Jumping up off the bed, I said, “Hey, why don’t we go for a walk?”
She was staring at the floor rather than the TV—my first clue that something was wrong. Finally, her big blue eyes met mine. “Taylor, I’m scared.”
Kneeling down beside her, I looked up and grabbed her hand. “About what? The hurricane? Us? The baby?”
She let out a gentle laugh, a single tear falling down her cheek. “Way to make a pregnant woman’s heart rate jump.”
I grinned. “Sorry.”
She squeezed my hand and took a deep breath. “What if we fail? What if I fail and the hotel is a giant flop? Worse yet, what if it doesn’t and it’s a huge success and I become just like—”
“You will never be like your father.”
“But how do you know?”
“I know,” I said firmly, remembering the nonchalant way he’d handed over his daughter’s hotel, his biggest concern being his fiancée’s travel schedule. “You are nothing like your father.”
“It’s not just about us anymore,” she said, placing a hand on her belly.
Smiling, I settled my fingers over hers. “That is why we won’t fail,” I promised.
A gentle knock sounded at our door, and I gave her a pat on the knee before rising to my feet to answer it.
Dean was on the other side, looking uncomfortable.
We hadn’t exactly made up since our major blowout in the office. For the last two weeks, we’d done an amazing job of avoiding each other—sitting on opposite ends of the table at group dinners, making sure we were in different groups for outings. Our mom was thoroughly disgusted with us and our petty childish behavior.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he answered back.
Silence settled between us before I heard a very intentional throat being cleared. Dean rolled his eyes as I leaned my head out the door, finding Cora in the hallway.
She waved. “Hi, Taylor,” she said, looking highly embarrassed.
