The Chapel Wars (25 page)

The cloak of despair Dax had mentioned drooped over my shoulders. I brushed some dirt off my pants. “Fine. Let’s go in the car and you can tell me.”

I buckled into the driver’s seat, like we were going somewhere, and set my face to stone. This was it. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it would be bad. And I’d totally set myself up for this moment—taking Dax to special places, feeling special because of him. This was the consequence of being in a relationship, of letting myself like. Love. “Okay. Go ahead. What did you do?”

He grimaced. “Whoa. No. That’s not what this is. Man, you are fierce. I would be turned on right now if I didn’t have the world’s worst news.” He pulled his seat back into reclining position and looked up at the ceiling. “The reason my grandpa took me to Red Rock was to celebrate. I mean, he picked the sushi restaurant because he knew he’d get our dinner comped, but he was celebrating because he sold his wedding chapel.”

“What?” I shot up and smacked my head against the window. “Why? When?”

“How?” He shook his head. “He was always going to sell it. That’s what I found out last night before Bellagio.”

“Dax, no. That’s awful.” I tore off my seat belt and grabbed his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What did it matter? I have no say.” He shrugged me off. “It’s my job, but it’s Poppy’s chapel.”

“But that’s your
place
. Your Vegas home.”

“It is. It was.” Dax looked out the window. “Poppy is making so much money on the deal that he promised to buy me a new place. Buy my mom a new house. Send me wherever I want to go to college. He’s going to be a millionaire.”

I snorted. “Sorry, but Cupid’s Dream isn’t worth that much.”

“No, but when you add in that Thai place, Angel Gardens, the tattoo parlor, that skuzzy hotel on the corner … Poppy has quietly bought everything but your chapel and the half-finished condos for two blocks. That’s what I found out today.”

“Who would want that? It’s Strip wasteland.”

Dax didn’t look at me. “Poppy made a big gamble that paid off. He sealed the deal with Stan Waldon today.”

“The hotel guy?”

“Yeah. Waldon sold out of his last venture, and now he’s looking to revitalize the north side of the Strip. He’s the one who owns those sky-rise condos behind us that were never completed. Wants to tear those down and build a new casino called the Phoenix, like he’s metaphorically rising from the ashes.”

My voice was small. “How big is this place?”

“You know those casinos. There’ll be a hotel and pools and upscale shops and parking garages. It’ll stretch from Sahara over past the Stratosphere.”

“But my chapel … my chapel is there too.”

Dax finally did look at me, but when he did I wished he hadn’t. His expression said everything before his mouth did. “It’s not going to matter how much money you raised. If Stan Waldon wants your land, he’s going to get it. There is nothing you or me or your friends or anyone in Las Vegas can do about it. Y’all are done.”

I drove Dax home in frigid silence. I didn’t care if he loved me anymore, I didn’t care if
anyone
loved me, because the thing I loved the most was going to be taken away from me, and Dax shared blood with the person doing that.

I would burn down my own chapel before I let Victor or Stan what’s-his-name touch it. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. Grandpa wrote me the letter; I followed all the instructions. Raise the money, the problem would be fixed. Cause and effect. How were things not fixed now? How was it that I gave everything to that place, poured my soul onto that marble floor, only to have it vacuumed back up?

When we got to Dax’s house, I slammed his car door shut and tossed him his keys. Without saying anything, I turned around and started walking to the corner. The bus stop was 1.6 miles away. I’d clocked it in Dax’s car.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

“Bus.”

“You’re not taking the bus. Come in. I’ll have my mom take you home.”

“No.”

“Holly,” Dax shouted. “Be fair. I’m dealing with this too. You have to talk to me.”

“And say what?” I whirled around. “Say what, Dax? That it’s okay? That I’m fine?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then tell me what to say.” I stomped over until I was inches from his neck, peering up into his stubbly, perfect face. “Tell me what to do. Because it won’t matter. Nothing will matter. You try and you work and dream … and people … still die.”

Dax tried to put his arms around me but I pushed him away.

“You really need to stop blaming me,” he said.

“Yeah, well it feels a lot better yelling at you than yelling at the sky.”

“The sky?”

“At my grandpa, you idiot. Chilling on his cloud. Doing nothing while his empire crumbles. You’re right, he is a prick. Leaving me this. Leaving me period.” I crouched down on the driveway and swallowed. Swallowed, swallowed, swallowed like tears came out of my throat and I could somehow keep them back. Hoover Dam couldn’t keep them back.

Dax knelt down next to me. I buried my face in my hands and cried, sobbed, for the first time since my grandfather died. For the first time since I fell in love. For the first time since my
parents got divorced. I’d cried at some point before, but not a flood. Not this river.

“I failed. I failed.” I hiccuped. “I should have … I should have …”

“Shhh.” Dax stroked my hair. “You did every ‘should have’ you could.”

“I hate your grandpa.”

“Don’t hate him. Don’t hate Stan Waldon. Hate Vegas. This is just how Vegas is. Nothing stays the same.”

“Fine. You win. I hate Vegas too.” I wiped at my nose. “We should move to Detroit.”

“Detroit? You think things are better in Detroit?”

“No. Camille just said that’s where you go if you run away.”

He brushed at my cheek. “You can’t run away. Not from this. Believe me.”

I pushed my sleeve over my fingers and pressed on my eyes. They throbbed underneath the pressure. “So that’s why you got drunk. Good reason.”

“There’s never a good reason to get drunk. I was being stupid. If I was a real man, I would have called you and told you the news right away.”

“Daxworth Cranston, you might have some problems, but you don’t need to worry about being a real man. You have way too much facial hair.” I let out a shaky sigh. A neighbor walked by with his dog and gave us a weird look. I didn’t have the energy to flip him off. “ ‘Kay. I’m done. Thanks. You’re a good person, even with that stupid name.”

“Always so liberal with the compliments.” He paused. “I’d
give you a hug but you still look like you might punch the next person to touch you.”

“Yeah, I don’t do well with emotions when I’m emotional.”

“A handshake?”

“How about a wave?”

Dax hopped up. “I’ll have my mom make us waffles before she takes you home.”

“Waffles can’t fix this.”

He offered his hand. “Nothing will fix this, fixer. But waffles won’t hurt it either.”

Donna and I met with the bank two weeks later. Without the remaining balance of the balloon payment, they would not refinance our loan. We had to pay the loan back in entirety, or we went into default and the bank would repossess the property in thirty days.

I kept hearing the “fault” part of “default.”

When I broke the news to our employees, Mom started looking for a new job and Donna started looking for a loophole.

“I’m going through every paper your grandfather owned.” Donna marched down the steps of the bank. “I need to look over the deed again. There is money somewhere. There is something we aren’t seeing that is going to change everything.”

“I hope so,” I said. “Without the Rose of Sharon, what are we?”

“Unemployed,” Donna grumbled.

“How much money do we have now, liquid?”

“Forty-three thousand,” she said. “Which is about thirty thousand more than your grandpa usually had.”

I scrunched my nose. “Do you have a rich brother or anything? Someone we can get a loan from?”

Donna grew thoughtful. “I do have some investor friends who live in Las Vegas Country Club. Rick is ancient and Mandy loves to spend his money. Maybe I could make a cause out of it for them. Save the Rose of Sharon, that stuff.”

We stopped in front of Donna’s car. “I still don’t understand how Victor and Waldon can just do this to us.”

“It’s not a surprise.” Donna pulled her door open. “Victor Cranston is a snake, so he can’t help but act like a snake.”

I bit at a hangnail. “I guess.”

Donna rested her hand on my shoulder. “I just hope that grandson of his isn’t a part of this.”

I pulled back. “Of course he isn’t. He was the one who told me.”

“Right. And how did Victor Cranston find out we were in financial distress? Real distress? How does the bank already have third-party interest when we still own the place? If Waldon wasn’t trying to buy that place, the bank would have been happy to take our money and give some kind of extension.” Donna ducked into her car. “I’m just asking questions. But you probably should be asking them too, sweetie.”

The other businesses closed fast. Going-out-of-business sales and boarded-up shops came and left overnight. Our area was already a little dead, but now the block looked like a welcome party for the apocalypse.

Dax and I made a grand show of frequenting each business on their last day—eating mediocre Thai, buying thimbles at the cheap gift shop. I wasn’t old enough for a tattoo, and would never get one if I was, but Dax had been talking about it for a while and felt like Tattoo Wonderland was the place to do it.

“Argh, they never say how much it hurts when they show this on TV,” Dax said as the artist poked away.

“It’s a needle leaving permanent dye in your skin. It’s not a massage.” I spun around on the barstool across from the tattoo chair. “So this isn’t your favorite spot in Vegas?”

“No. Argh! No.”

“I still think you should have done a moth. Or maybe a cute cupid on your ankle.”

“That stupid costume is already burned in my memory, it doesn’t need to live on for eternity on my foot.”

The tattoo artist wiped at Dax’s left rib cage. “There you go, buddy. Take a look.”

Dax held the hand mirror across his body, reflecting the scrolling letters of his dad’s initials. I peered closely at the tattoo. “VOC? What was your dad’s name?”

“Victor. But he went by Vince.”

“Oh.”

Dax stared at the tattoo in the reflection. “Poppy’s middle initial is G, if that’s what you’re thinking. So it’s fine.”

“I didn’t say anything.” I took the chance to get a full scope of shirtless Dax. “It’s your body.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” Dax stuck his shirt back on. “I haven’t talked to him for three weeks now. Trust me, I’m not immortalizing that man.”

We stood in the doorway of the tattoo shop and took in the dingy store. The funny thing was, we were saying good-bye to places we’d never even patronized. Except for the Carl’s Jr. around the corner. I was going to miss their French toast sticks.

Ever since Valentine’s Day, things had been different with Dax. There were so many land mines we had to jump around in conversation now that we never really talked. Not like we did before. I worried something might trigger him to drink again,
more worried that trigger might be me. And I had this rage boil up at the mere mention of his grandpa. Even if Dax wasn’t talking to him, the fact that Victor Cranston even existed made me see red spots.

So we started this Sam/Camille dynamic where we goofed around a little and made out a lot. Sometimes more than I was comfortable with, actually, but I didn’t know how to stop. I liked it, I liked
him
, but for me, the physical was just a way to put off discussing, well, anything. The fissures were widening in our relationship, and the only way to mend the tension was to kiss it all away.

“Where to next?” Dax asked as he slid his hand into mine. Mom and Dad had a “talk” with me after they found out about Dax, but for the first time ever, I played the divorce card and asked them if they ever dated. Dad got so flustered, I was never punished. They didn’t exactly bestow a parental blessing, but it was enough that Dax and I didn’t have to be so stealthy in our affections.

“I think we need to give a formal good-bye to the Twilight wedding room,” I said solemnly.

“Can’t.” Dax looked away. Who says ‘can’t’ to a chapel makeout session? “Poppy has a meeting with some of the demolition guys.”

My stomach sank. “Yeah? How are they … how are they doing it?”

“They’re doing a wrecking ball on the smaller buildings.”

“What about those condos? They’re brand-new—no one’s even lived in them.”

“All forty floors. Those are getting imploded. Waldon needs something big so he can do his whole Phoenix theme for the hotel. A party, fireworks, the big countdown. Boom.”

“Oh.”

I still had two weeks until the bank could seize our chapel. We were still in business, but without the miracle I’d been praying for, nothing would change.

“I wouldn’t mind going to the Neon Boneyard again,” Dax said. “Actually listening to the tour this time.”