Some mistakes had definitely been made. Naomi could admit that to herself as she paused before the doors of the Chadwick Hotel. She was doubled over trying to catch her breath. A bead of sweat trailed down the back of her neck, reminding her of the impending summer heat. If she'd been smarter, she might have made plans to catch a ride to the hotel instead of having to walk the entire four and a half miles. She supposed she should be grateful she didn't live farther from the hotel.
It was rather grand for a three star establishment. The marble columns out front gave it the appearance of a bank, as did the gold-colored revolving doors that dizzily welcomed guests into the front lobby. The carpet inside was a dingy swirl of red, blue, and gold colors. The walls leading up to an entirely wood ceiling had a white granite design that looked unnecessarily expensive and also clashed horribly with the carpeting. There was a small wood desk next to the elevators for checking in.
Naomi tried to wipe the sweat off her face as she trudged up to the desk. She was surprised to find a man wearing an undershirt over a pair of shorts sitting in the chair. He barely glanced at her as she approached. Naomi cleared her throat, feeling awkward as she stood in front of him. He stifled a yawn and ran a hand through his greasy black hair before meeting her gaze, a bored expression on his face.
"How can I help you?" he asked, sounding very unenthusiastic at the prospect of helping anyone.
"Uh, I'm here to see a Kurt Murphy?" Naomi replied, cringing at the way she'd turned her statement into a question. The man behind the desk continued to eye her with a lazy expression. "He should be expecting me."
The hotel clerk blinked at her, indifferent. "Which room?" he said finally.
Naomi shifted uncomfortably. It was hard to say whether or not the clerk believed her, and he definitely didn't seem the type to go above and beyond for any of the guests. She sighed, her frustration returning. "He didn't say," she told him.
The man let out a groan. He pushed back in his rolling chair, wheeling himself over to a computer in the corner. The keys clacked slowly as he tapped away one single letter at a time. After a moment he looked over his shoulder at Naomi. When she didn't say anything, he raised a brow at her. She still didn't speak, unsure of what he wanted from her.
"What's the guest's name?" he prompted, snapping his fingers for emphasis.
"Oh, Kurt Murphy," Naomi repeated, slightly annoyed when the clerk rolled his eyes. "That's K-U-R--"
"I know how to spell it," the clerk insisted with a huff. He typed it into the computer, looking none too thrilled about it. When the computer loaded he squinted at the screen then gave Naomi a look.
"Well?" Naomi asked when the clerk didn't say anything.
"Room 317," the clerk replied. "Tell Mr. Murphy that Nigel from downstairs will be adding this to his bill."
"Okay," Naomi agreed, turning towards the elevators. She stopped, confused, and turned back to give the desk clerk a look of her own. "You charge for this?"
"I'm a concierge," the clerk shrugged. "It's what I do."
Naomi's brows knitted together as she gave him a skeptical squint. Part of her strangely wanted to argue, but she knew she didn't have time for that. Instead she merely turned back around and hit the Up button on the elevator. Her fingers tapped nervously against the seam of her pants as she waited for the doors to slide open.
She really hoped he was in there. The sun was low in the sky, a constant reminder that she was running out of time. She needed him to be there so she could end this. She was so tired of the constant anxiety. Even more than that, she was tired of Lyla's life being stuck on the line. She just wished things could go back to the way things were before Lyla had been murdered.
Silence encased the elevator as it lifted her closer to her destination. Her heart hammered in her chest, and Naomi wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. She wished she'd brought some water. Her throat felt drier than the Sahara Desert as she tried to swallow the lump lodged there. She hated elevators. She was slightly surprised that no other guests occupied the space with her. She hadn't spent a lot of time in hotels, but every time she had and she'd needed to use the elevator she had always shared her ride with at least one other guest.
The doors slid apart to show her an empty hallway lined with stained greyish-blue carpet and flaxen yellow walls. Watercolor paintings depicting various aspects of the beach were interspersed along the walls of the thin hallway. Naomi shivered as she took a step out of the elevator. The doors snapped shut behind her, reinforcing the feeling she had that there was no going back. Not that she planned to.
The hallway was fairly easy to navigate. The even-numbered rooms were on the right, while the odd-numbered ones were kept to the left. There were no turns in the hallway until the very end when the walkway curved sharply to form a corner with a single door. A sign above it advertised it as the stairwell. By Naomi's count, there were twenty rooms on the floor, each one appearing quite small from the outside. Finding Room 317 proved to be a very simple task.
Naomi raised a trembling hand, bringing it down three times against the dull cerulean door. Her heart leapt into her throat as she waited for a response. This was it. She could feel it in every fiber of her being. Her breath caught as the door slowly swung inward and her heart pounded loudly against her ribcage at the thought of finally ending this nerve-wracking task.
Scruffy dark hair stuck up at one end on the head of the man who opened the door. The blurriness in his forest green eyes suggested he had been asleep, while the bags underneath of them suggested that this was not a common occurrence. Despite being early afternoon, the "shadow" on the man's chin seemed to suggest that it was well past five o' clock. The nicest word Naomi could think of to describe the man's appearance was 'unkempt.' It was so far from what she had expected to find that she simply stared at the man, and he returned the favor.
"Um, can I help you?" the man asked hesitantly, finally breaking the stunned silence.
Naomi shook her head, trying her best to clear her thoughts. She'd been expecting an over-hyped, bulky redneck kind of a man. Not this seemingly depressed, nerdy looking stick figure. Her eyes drifted to his neck, searching for the serpent tattoo or at the least the bandage. All she found was the hem of his dirty t-shirt.
"Sorry," Naomi apologized, taking a step back to review the room number next to the door. "I think I have the wrong person."
"Who were you looking for?" the man questioned, stifling a yawn as he brought a hand up to his mouth.
"Someone named Kurt Murphy," Naomi responded, looking around at the nearby doors. She wondered if Nigel from downstairs had given her the wrong number. This one was definitely Room 317. "He's my friend's dad."
She was feeling embarrassed, waking this man up from his nap. She was also a little confused as to why he was continuing the conversation. If it had been her, Naomi wouldn't have even opened up the door after looking out the peephole and seeing somebody she didn't recognize. She turned to go and was about to try knocking on 319 when the man took a step forward across the threshold.
"You're talking about Lyla?"
Naomi froze. Her back was to him now, but she could feel him watching her. He was waiting for a response, a confirmation. Naomi meanwhile was playing back his tone in her head, trying to register any animosity towards Lyla in his voice. There didn't seem to be any.
Slowly, very cautiously, she turned back around to face Lyla's father. "Yeah," she allowed, eying him carefully. "I'm friends with Lyla."
The grogginess he'd embodied until then seemed to dissipate, his demeanor alert as his eyes softened. He held the door open wider as if inviting Naomi in. There was no way she was going into his hotel room though. She adjusted her position, planting her feet firmly right there in the hallway as she gave Mr. Murphy a stern look.
He cleared his throat. "How is she?"
"In general?" Naomi clarified, narrowing her eyes at the man. "She's an amazing person. Kind and selfless, creative, outgoing, and she knows better than to take anyone's bull. She's a very strong woman. Lately though she's been a little upset. I guess she's being harassed by someone she doesn't want to see."
Mr. Murphy hung his head. "I'm not trying to upset her," he promised.
"Then what are you doing here?" Naomi demanded. Part of her was warning against offending the man. Another part of her was so angry with this man, angry on behalf of Lyla. Even if she managed to convince him not to kill her, he still abandoned her. And Heather Murphy. He was still a sorry excuse of a husband and a father. And he was still here, expecting Lyla to just forgive him at no cost whatsoever. Naomi did not vibe with that.
"I shouldn't have left," Mr. Murphy sighed. "I shouldn't have stayed away for so long with such little contact."
"Try none," Naomi scoffed. She'd heard Lyla's side already; she knew this man hadn't been by to see her since he'd wussed out on the pair.
"I sent her letters," Mr. Murphy offered.
Naomi shook her head, glaring at him. Letters weren't nearly enough and the shameful look in his eyes told her that he knew the same. "Why are you here?" Naomi asked again.
"I want to get to know my daughter," he said. He rubbed a nervous hand across the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact. "I know I messed up in the past, but I want to be there for her now."
"Have you said any of this to her?" Naomi questioned.
The man nodded emphatically. "Yes, of course. I called her mother and told her over the phone, but I want to say it to her all in person. I just need her to agree to come see me."
"Did you ask Lyla what she wants?" Naomi pressed. She already knew the answer, but she needed it to sink in with this man. She wanted him to get the message, and not hang around trying to force Lyla to change her mind.
"She said no," Mr. Murphy admitted, and his head drooped a little more. "But I think--"
"Then you already have your answer," Naomi insisted. She crossed her arms across her chest and took a step closer, making sure she had the man's attention. "You might have added in some of your genes, but right now you are not her father. You're nothing more than a stranger to her, and you can't force her to have anything to do with you. The best thing you can do for her now is to leave your number with Mrs. Murphy and let Lyla decide when she's ready to meet you. Right now, you mean nothing to her. If you force this meeting on her, you'll mean less than nothing to her because you'll only mean something negative. Understand?"
Mr. Murphy's face hardened. He looked very much like he intended to argue as he opened his mouth to respond, but instead he let out a long sigh. By the end of it, that spark of anger was gone. Replacing it was that trademark look of sorrow and regret. He forced himself to meet Naomi's gaze and he gave her a firm nod in understanding.
"I'll give Heather a call and let her know I'm going back to Ohio," he told her. "Just… If you don't mind doing me one favor, please tell Lyla that I love her, and that I look forward to getting to know her. On her terms."
"Will do," Naomi said. She watched as the man slowly closed the door, a depressed sort of resignation oozing out of every pore in his body. After a second, she let out a sigh of relief and she started back down the hallway.
She really hoped he was sincere. He seemed to be. Just in case, Naomi wanted to invite Lyla over and have her stay the night. Normally she stayed with Lyla, but obviously she didn't want to risk it. The next step would be to get Mrs. Murphy out of the house. Maybe she and Lyla could get her to stay with her sister for the night? Naomi wasn't too sure yet. The good thing was that she still had a couple hours to figure that part out.
"Thanks, Nigel!" she called as she headed out through the lobby.
"Mm-hmm," he mumbled from his spot behind the desk.
Naomi hadn't skipped since she was seven, yet she found herself skipping along as she exited the hotel. Kurt Murphy was going to leave them alone. He was going back to Ohio and Lyla and her mother would be safe. DJ had been right. The task was more straightforward than Naomi had thought.
The voice of Janelle Monáe filled the air, letting Naomi know that her phone was ringing. She fished it out of her back pocket and tilted the screen up so she could see who was calling her. Butterflies flitted about in her stomach when she saw the contact ID was Lyla's. She smiled as she tapped the green phone icon and put the device up to her ear. "Hey, you!" she greeted.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Lyla demanded. The anger in her voice made Naomi stop dead in her tracks.
"What do you mean?" Naomi asked, positively perplexed. "What's going on?"
"What's going on is that you snuck around behind my back to talk to my father," she spat.
Naomi's jaw dropped. She went absolutely silent as she tried to figure out what to say next. She had no idea how to explain this to her without coming across completely psychotic. She wasn't sure how Lyla knew. She didn't understand how the girl had found out so fast. Whatever was coming next, Naomi didn't think it could be good.