The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(68)

“Well, you have a talent for turning around failing businesses, Dad. That’s a kind of creative thinking.”

“I suppose.”

“And you must have a vision for this hotel project. What’s the secret that suddenly will make them profitable?”

His dad steepled his fingers, staring at Logan as if he didn’t trust him. “Why do I feel like there’s more to your question than you’re sharing?”

“I’m just trying to make a connection with you,” he lied. A tiny lie. Yes, he wanted information to share with Claire to help her tailor her pitch, but another part of him did want to prolong the first real adult conversation he could recall having with his father.

“The seller is a third-generation family trust. A classic case of no one being involved in the business.” He paused, and Logan suspected his dad bit back a sarcastic quip about how Logan would fit right in with them. “They all collect checks and put their faith in whomever they’ve hired in each location to manage the property. Big mistake. If anyone had given things a cursory look, they would’ve seen high rates of employee turnover, a little theft, and the general lack of oversight that led to the hotels going downhill. Dingy decor, mediocre food. None of these things are hard to fix when you hire the right team and manage them well. As for the physical space, I’d like to upgrade them, within reason. Can’t go overboard when I need to invest in new employees, new computers and software, and more.”

“You’d mentioned they were along the Atlantic, but where specifically?”

“Why?” His dad polished off his drink.

Logan followed suit and finished his, then set the glass on the small table to his left. “Maybe I’ll go check out one or two.”

“You need a vacation?” Like a boomerang, his father’s sarcasm whipped around on him.

Logan sighed.

“Sorry. Old habits.” His dad made a wry face. “The chain is called the Seaboard Guest Houses, but I want to change that when we take over. One’s up in Blue Hill, Maine. Then Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Up the road in Mystic. Then down in Lewes, Delaware, just north of Bethany Beach. Avalon, New Jersey, and finally Annapolis, Maryland.”

“I’ll try to take a trip up to Mystic before the transformation so I can enjoy a before-and-after reveal. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Having accomplished what he’d come for, Logan moved to stand, but his father said, “Wait. Your mom tells me you’re pushing your sister into some kind of charity project that she’s going to regret. I know Darla can . . . exaggerate . . . but what’s she talking about?”

That was a nice way of saying that Logan’s mom had a tendency to encourage drama. Of course, Logan suspected that half the time she resorted to it because she didn’t know how else to get her husband’s full attention.

“I’m not forcing Peyton into anything. I’ve been photographing her at least once a week, sometimes more often, since the night before her first treatment.” As soon as he started to think about the work, the fire lit inside. “She’s been journaling and I’ve been keeping other things, like parking stubs, prescription labels, etcetera. We’ve considered a cool installation at a gallery as a fund-raiser, but now we’re more focused on turning it into a memoir. I’d be happy to show you what we’ve got so far. It’s been a positive outlet—I think Peyton’s proud of turning something terrifying into something courageous.”

His dad rubbed his chin while nodding. “If you can do that for her, then I can’t complain.”

Not exactly praise, but for them, a lack of criticism equaled huge progress. “Thanks. The only hiccup could be my missing a few weeks of photo shoots if I travel to Greece, but I can’t control the timing.” He slid another glance at the Pulitzer. “If I find the right refugee story, I could help change lives for the better.”

His father’s politics were more conservative than his own, so he didn’t expect encouragement. “Your mom worries when you take off on dangerous adventures.”

“Can’t exactly find a great story in these surroundings, can I?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Look at the old Sunny von Bülow story. Or your sister’s project.”

Logan nodded. “Peyton’s message could help some people, but the refugee story has the potential to change the world and influence the way people think about bias and politics and immigration.”

“I guess that’s the biggest difference between us. You want to take pictures and change the world, while I’m content to keep our little world on track.”

Peyton had been right when she’d said Logan hadn’t appreciated what his father had done well. What he’d provided for them. “Thank you for finding a way to keep this house in our family. I know I don’t come home often, but I do love this property and everything it commemorates.”

“You’re welcome.” His dad cleared his throat. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to what I was doing before you showed up.”

“Sure.” Logan raised himself from the chair, taking his glass with him.

He left the office feeling as if he’d shed ten pounds. When he reached the kitchen, he ran into his mother again.

“You survived without bruises or a black eye. How’s your father?” She grinned.