Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Fifty-Six
Liam
I shieldmy hand over my eyes, squinting into the stark sunlight. The crane rolls nearer to the community center. A five-thousand pound ball of forged steel dangles on the end of a sturdy rope chain.
This day has been a long time coming, and as much as it turns my stomach, I remind myself that the successful demolition of the community center was the only way to move forward with the Varner Resorts deal—the biggest real estate development deal in Sin Valley’s history.
The man himself is standing a few feet away, arms crossed and looking smug as hell. I know how he’s feeling right now. I’ve been in his shoes, almost quite literally. But today, the vain old man and his shoes—his hundred thousand dollar snakeskin loafers—are grating on a nerve I didn’t know I owned.
Despite the beautiful weather, the air is thick, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth.
I try to hold my head up high and bask in my victory. My father’s dream for Sin Valley is well underway to coming to life. But my triumph feels hollow.
Dad isn’t even here. Neither are Yaya and Mom. I saw my brothers briefly. They’d been loitering in the parking lot wearing baseball caps, dark sunglasses and hoodies pulled over their heads, trying to mask their identities like they think they’re international celebrities or something.
I must be fucking up if my brothers are ashamed to be associated with me. Usually, it’s the other way around.
My mind tries to paint my family as the villains. Nothing I could do would ever make them proud. The Queen of England could swoop into town and bestow a freaking knighthood on me, and it still wouldn’t be enough for them.
Only, I know that’s not true.
Because the most notable absence of the day? Eliza. She isn’t here standing next to me.
After her role in all this, it doesn’t feel right to be at the site without her. She stayed back at the office, at first claiming that she’d be holding down the fort. But from the beginning, I knew the truth—her conscience just won’t allow her to be a part of something she doesn’t believe in. I know she feels guilty about the pending destruction of the community center.
As I boarded the elevator to come here, my beautiful wife couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. She’d grabbed the door to keep it from sliding shut. She made one final plea to me. “I love you, Liam. So very much. But I can’t support you. Not when you’re doing this. To your hometown. To your neighbors and friends. For your own selfish reasons.”
I’d given her a soft kiss on the forehead and told her that my mind was made up. Then, I’d let the elevator door close.
But now as I stand here at the demolition site, I’m not so damn sure of myself anymore.
There’s a growing group of protesters on the edge of the parking lot, holding up signs and chanting about the fact that I’m demolishing the community center for…well, for personal gain. Granny Bellino is there, front and center, with her sign, hollering what a no-good piece of scum I am.
I want to shout back that it’s not me. It’s Mr. Varner’s head they want on a stake.
But the truth is, I’m just as much to blame. I allowed this to happen.
It’s my name and my firm that’s written in bold permanent marker on oversized poster boards.
A pang of consciousness hits me. Guilt. Shame. Dishonor. They slice through my inner walls, one by one.
As if I didn’t feel shitty enough, a school bus full of kids pulls up to the front of the building. Wearing his yellow hard hat, the demolition coordinator rushes over to speak to the driver, informing him that there must have been a mix-up because the building isn’t open for after-school activities anymore.
Through the window of the school bus, I make eye contact with Nathan—Desiree’s little guy—with his tiny palms pressed to the window, little nose pushed up against the glass, staring at the community center and not understanding what’s happening.
When our eyes meet, the innocent kid gives me the widest smile and waves enthusiastically to me like he doesn’t know that I’m now public enemy number one. Guilt saws right through me as I wave back and the bus pulls off again. Years from now, his mother will explain to him why the community center got torn down, and that little boy is going to hate me like everyone else.
Eliza’s voice plays in my head. “How many kids won’t have a safe place to spend their afternoons, evenings, and weekends once this building is destroyed? How many food drives will be held in parking lots instead of a warm building with a roof overhead? Which of those families will lose their ability to pay their bills, because their jobs are demolished, alongside the center? How many mentorships for struggling youth will be dissolved because these kids won’t have a place to meet up with the volunteers who may save their lives?”
Is this the person I really am? Is this the greedy tunnel-visioned businessman I want to become? A man I can’t look at in the mirror every morning? Is this the legacy I want attached to the Kline family name?
I try to shake this icky feeling free from my body, but I just can’t. My mind drifts to her, thinking about the non-profit organizations—just like this one—that supported families like Eliza’s.
Mere minutes before the wrecking is about to begin, a shiny blue truck drives into the parking lot and my father climbs out. A sense of relief moves through my chest.
He’s red, he’s stone-faced, but he’s here.
But when the front passenger door of Dad’s truck opens, that’s when I’m truly floored.
My wife steps out of the vehicle, still dressed in the silky peach blouse and a dark skirt she wore at the office. Her eyes scan the site until they find me. When they do, she charges confidently past the heckling protesters, coming at me like a force. I see a determination, a degree of support I’ve never felt before.
“You came…?” I murmur when she’s standing right by my side.
She nods, her eyes hard, her lips pressed flat. “I couldn’t stay away. Because you may be an asshole. But you’re my asshole. You’re always mine. At your very best. And at your very worst.” She weaves her fingers through mine. “If you’re about to go down in flames, I’m going down with you. That’s what love is.”
My heart quivers in a way it never has at Eliza’s monumental show of belief in me. I lean down and steal a quick kiss from her lips. “Funny thing is, being yours makes me want to be at my best, more of the time.”
Without a second thought, I step forward. My feet keep moving until I’m jogging in front of the steel wrecking ball. In fact, they don’t stop until I’m firmly planted in between the large machinery and the empty building.
I wave my hands like an absolute fool, luring every spectator’s eyes. The crane operator immediately flips off the machine, pulling the keys out and stepping down with an ugly glare. The man waddles my way, shouting a few choice words in my direction, too. “Are you crazy, man?! Are you trying to get smashed to bits in front of this whole goddamned town?!”
I deserve it. I do. I’m interfering with the job and with today’s meticulously-planned schedule.
“We’re calling it off!” I yell, the contents of my conscience pouring out my mouth like vomit. “We’re calling it off!” I turn and repeat it to the man’s boss and to Varner himself.
Screwing with a few people’s plans for the day sure as hell beats ruining the lives of countless children, families, and underprivileged members of the community.
“What the hell are you doing, Liam?!” Varner stomps across the distance to get to me.
“Deal’s off, asshole,” I announce conclusively.
“The deal is off? The deal is—” He’s puffing like a chimney. “We have a contract, Liam. A legally-binding contract.”
I scowl. “I’m going to take that legally-binding contract and shove it up your ass. You and Rocco can go enjoy your pathetic mid-life crises together. Oops! That’s right, your friend Rocco is rotting in jail for the next sixty years. Gee—sucks to be you.”
My wife is giggling mischievously as I grab her hand and pull her away from the old man.
I know I signed an iron clad contract with Mr. Varner and his corporation. I know he’s a shrewd businessman who will try to see this through, even if he has to bulldoze me in the process. But I have one thing old man Varner doesn’t have. Nadia Chester. And my firm’s astute lawyer never writes up a contract without a loophole.
There in small print on page seventeen, the hotelier will find that Kline-Simmons Realty Developments can nullify the deal if it in any way becomes a detriment to the community. The contract’s language is purposely vague, but I know that this situation is an excellent example that rises to that level.
He can sue me. He can come after me with everything he’s got, but Nadia’s clause will protect the firm.
Varner is now yelling, pointing, and turning a gross shade of red that contrasts against his piss-yellow hair. I calmly explain the contract’s loophole but that only enrages him further.
“You’ll regret this, Liam! I’ll make sure you regret double-crossing me.” He’s spitting mad now. Literally. Droplets of angry saliva come at me with his every word. I duck out of the way to avoid his mindless spray of spit attack. “Trust me, Liam. I can guarantee that your Sin Valley will never flourish because of this. Never!”
A niggle of worry trails down my spine. But before it can take over me, I feel a large hand pat me reassuringly on the shoulder. When I turn, I see my dad there. Our eyes lock for a moment and he nods, offering me a dose of silent encouragement. Eliza is by my other side, grinning and crying and looping her arm through mine to lead me away from the site of what was almost the biggest mistake of my career.
I turn back to Mr. Varner, shooting him a few parting words over my back. “Do what you must, bitch-ass. But my soul is not for sale and as of right now, neither is this piece of land.”