Chapter 4 - The Sound of the Sea
On the door camera feed, the reaction was instant and hysterical.
All five of them froze as if a lightning bolt had struck the hallway. My mother jumped back a full foot, her handbag flying into her side. Jason looked up at the tiny black lens mounted beside the door frame with an expression of sheer disbelief.
Even little Oliver stopped pulling on his zipper and stared at the door.
“Riley?!” my mother shrieked, leaning within three inches of the camera lens. Her face filled the entire frame, distorted and red. “Open this door right now! We’ve been standing out here for ten minutes with three children and all these bags!”
“I can’t do that, Mom,” I said through the microphone.
“What do you mean you can’t?!” she demanded, her voice echoing in the quiet apartment corridor. “Unlock the door! Jason and Stephanie need to hit the road for Vail before the snow hits the pass!”
“I mean I’m physically incapable of unlocking that door,” I replied, keeping my voice as smooth as polished glass.
“Why?” Jason yelled over Mom’s shoulder, stepping closer. “Did you lock it from the inside? Did you take something to sleep?”
I let out a soft, low laugh that drifted through the speaker.
“No, Jason. I’m in Nassau.”
Silence descended on the hallway. The kind of total, suffocating silence that occurs right before a roof collapses.
“Nassau?” my mother repeated, her voice dropping into an uncanny, flat register. “Nassau, New York?”
“Nassau, Bahamas,” I corrected her gently. “I’m sitting by a pool at an adults-only resort. It’s eighty-two degrees, and the water is gorgeous.”
“You’re… you’re in the Bahamas?” Stephanie gasped, clutching her coat around herself. Her face went completely white. “You left the state?”
“I left the country,” I said.
My mother grabbed the door handle again, pulling on it as if sheer willpower could rip the solid oak off its hinges. “You lied to us! You knew we were coming today!”
“I didn't lie to anyone,” I said. “I told you no twice on the phone. I told you no at dinner. I sent a text message to Jason and Stephanie two weeks ago explicitly stating I would not be home and would not babysit. You simply chose not to believe me.”
“You changed the locks!” Mom yelled, her fingers clawing at the sleek silver deadbolt. “You changed your locks on your own mother? After everything I’ve done for you? You made me look like an idiot in front of my family!”
“I didn't change them because of an emergency, Mom,” I said, taking another slow sip of my latte while watching them on my screen. “I changed them because you treated my no like a temporary obstacle you could bypass with a spare key.”
Jason stepped in front of Mom, looking directly into the camera. He looked furious, but underneath the anger, I saw the first cracks of genuine panic.
“Riley, this isn't funny,” Jason said sternly, using his best professional tone. “We booked a non-refundable cabin in Vail. We paid two thousand dollars. Stephanie hasn't had a break in six months. You’re being completely irresponsible!”
“Irresponsible?” I asked, and this time a tiny edge of ice cut through my calm tone. “Jason, you are a thirty-six-year-old man with three children. You brought your entire family to an apartment building without confirming that the host was in the building, in the city, or even in the state—despite me telling you explicitly for fourteen days that I was unavailable. Who is being irresponsible here?”
“Mom said you were just throwing a tantrum!” Jason yelled. “Mom said you’d be here!”
“And you listened to her instead of reading the text message I sent directly to your phone,” I replied. “That sounds like a communication problem between you and your mother. It has nothing to do with me.”
Emma started to cry. The six-year-old was cold, confused, and tired of standing in a drafty carpeted hallway surrounded by luggage. Sky began to wail in her car seat, her tiny cries echoing off the apartment doors down the hall.
Stephanie looked at Jason, her eyes wild with frustration. “Jason, do something! We can’t stay here! The kids are freezing!”
“Where are we supposed to go?!” Jason shouted at the camera. “The cabin in Vail doesn't allow kids! That’s why we booked it!”
“I suggest you look into local nanny agencies, or perhaps drive back to your four-bedroom house and spend Christmas together as a family,” I said cleanly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my coffee is getting warm, and I have a book to read.”
“Riley! Don't you dare turn off that camera!” my mother screamed, her face pressed so close to the lens I could see the reflection of the hallway light in her eyes. “If you walk away from this family right now, don't you ever count on us again! You hear me? You are ruining Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” I said softly.
I tapped the screen. The live feed cut to black.
I set my phone face down on the small glass table.
For a moment, my chest felt tight. A residual instinct—thirty-one years of conditioning—tried to scream at me. Go back! Fix it! Pay for their hotel! Apologize! Keep the peace!
May you like
I closed my eyes. I listened to the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the white sand fifty yards away. I felt the warm tropical sun melting the tension out of my shoulders.
I reopened my book. I turned to page forty-two. And I didn't look at my phone again for the rest of the day.
