Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I thought of what Emir had said the night before. “I’ve never seen pain so artfully transformed.” I had, and it was right here, all seventeen floors of it.
“So, this is the atrium,” Neil said as he led Emma, Michael, and me through the building’s stunning lobby. He carried Olivia in his arms, because when she was around, she was never not in his arms. She watched her grandfather’s face intently as he pointed up, trying to get her to follow his finger. The floors over our head were open all the way to the glass ceiling, and the four lower floors had balconies that looked onto the space. Above that, smooth white walls intensified the light from overhead. Windows dotted those floors; they weren’t open, Neil had explained, because of suicide risk.
That this beautiful place had such a grim purpose made me sad, angry, and a little defeated. There were two city shelters already planning to send at-risk teens to the facility as soon as it opened, and there would be a never-ending stream of people requiring the legal, medical, and mental health services the center would provide.
“Those stairs,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose at the staircase. Neil thought it was brilliant, but I shared Emma’s opinion of the wide, round dais that segued into circular steps that grew progressively smaller on their curved journey to the second floor.
“What’s wrong with the stairs?” Michael asked, as though Emma had just compared the Mona Lisa to a three-year-old’s finger painting.
“Thank you, Michael,” Neil said, casting pointed glances at Emma and me. Olivia babbled and pointed, whatever she said in her baby language ending breathlessly as she stared. Neil kissed her cheek. “You love Afi’s beautiful staircase, don’t you?”
“I think she was pointing to the fountain,” Emma said, gesturing toward the water feature nestled in the curve of the staircase. The fountain was one of the few things Neil had kept from the building pre-remodel. It was a tall sheet of copper with patches of contrasting texture, and water burbled over the dull surface.
Even as recently as the week before, everything had smelled of paint and construction dust. The marble floors had been covered in plastic sheeting to protect them from work boots. The receptionist’s built-in desk hadn’t been fully built in yet. The exit sign over the big fire doors to the conference center had been just a tangle of capped wires hanging from the ceiling. And now, it was all…this.
“You look like you’ve never seen it before, Sophie,” Emma said, laughing.
I wrinkled my nose as I squinted up at the glass ceiling. “I’ve seen it a lot. I just can’t believe the difference.”
“Come on,” Neil said, like an eager child wanting to show us his bedroom. “Let’s start at the top and work our way down.”
Neil’s tour led us from the temporary shelter floors—there were even studio apartment-style units for people who needed to flee a situation with their children or their pets—to the medical center where survivors could get emergency and continuing care, and the call center where an existing hotline would move their operations in July. The consultants and experts Neil hired had thought of everything; security, privacy, even the needs of caregivers who might suffer from compassion fatigue.
I’d already seen everything, so I could concentrate on Neil. He was beyond proud of the facility, and he should have been. It was something the city needed. Something every city needed, unfortunately, but I wouldn’t express that to Neil. He would want to save the whole world, and he was incapable of thinking on a small scale.
“I’d like to expand, someday,” Neil said as we exited the elevator into the atrium, our exploration of the building over. “Or fund a private, off-site lab to process backlogged rape kits.”
“Daddy, how much is this costing you?” Emma asked, totally blunt, as always. I wondered if she’d seen the Forbes article.
“A lot.” That was the obtuse answer Neil gave everyone except me and our accountant, but anyone could just Google the project and find out the official tally. “But don’t worry. There have been major donations, both corporate and private, that will keep this place going under its own steam.”
“Your father is in a unique position to provide start up as well as encourage high-profile, high-dollar philanthropy,” I added. That was how I kept myself from freaking out about the possibility that even after all of this work and money spent, the center could conceivably fail.
“And there are several existing groups working with us and sharing their income to—”
Olivia cut him off by making a sound like a soft-serve ice cream machine breaking down. And the sound did not originate from anywhere north of her diaper.
“Well, thank you for your support,” Neil said dryly, and handed her off to Emma. “I believe this belongs to you?”