The Quimby Hotel

━ 13: Power In The Wrong Hands

Five years prior, the clock on display in the lobby was something hopeful. For Cairo, each tick meant one second closer to a shift being over, to his freedom. Sometimes it meant he would get to meet with Lucille, the girl he loved, the girl with whom he shared stolen kisses in private corners and in hidden gardens to escape from both of their chaotic family lives.

He was eighteen and madly enamored and was already talking of marrying her.

Tonight he was waiting with increasing impatience in the first floor hall, hoping to avoid running into anyone who might thrust more responsibilities on him when he already had plans to go out. Time was idling along, and Lucy had not yet arrived, but one of his sisters did, approaching from the direction of the back elevator. He nodded to her, trying not to appear too eager.

"Hey. Did you see Lucy come in?"

Vienna's brow stitched together as she craned her neck to peer in the direction of the lobby. "Not yet. I'm sure she'll be here." She gave him a look that he couldn't decipher. Cairo had never been clever or perceptive, only mildly observant. "I heard you plan to marry her."

Cairo's face fell, and he shrunk into himself slightly, hands sliding into his pockets. "I said that to Rome in confidence," he muttered.

"And I heard it." The way she said it unsettled him, pricked up his nerves. She examined her nails leisurely. "You said you're going to travel with her, too. Away from here. You know you can't just run off with some girl. We're a family. Family doesn't leave each other."

Cairo began to tap his foot nervously, darting glances towards the door. "Seriously, if this is some kind of joke, this isn't funny, Vienna. Lucille is never late. I'm the one who's late."

"She prefers to be called Lucy," she said mindlessly, making him freeze. He stared at her. Vienna went on like what she had said held no significance. Like it didn't mean she'd seen her, spoken with her. A feeling of dread was settling in his chest. "Besides, you're much too young. You've only just ended school."

"Just spit out whatever garbage you're trying to say already," Cairo growled.

"You can't leave the hotel," Vienna huffed in reply. Cairo snorted.

"Why shouldn't I? There's nothing for me here. I was never going to stay in this place forever. You grow up. You move on. It happens."

"No," she said in possibly the most patronizing tone he'd ever heard, laughing and shaking her head, "that's silly. Everything you could possibly need is here. Mother and Father, and all of the rest of us. Aren't you happy?"

Oh, Vienna... permanently obsessed with her magical idea of the idealistic family and the perfect life. Even the magic that they had wasn't enough to create such an illusion. How she couldn't see the messy patchwork of chaos that they were, he didn't know—unless she could, and that was why she was so painstakingly intent on making up for it. The Quimbys were not one mother and one father and two-point-five children. They were a conglomeration of displaced orphans, fatherless miscreants... Vienna was one of the lucky ones, one of those who could call herself the most normal. But while it had always been a competition, no one had ever been competing to be the most normal. Except for her, it seemed.

"Maybe I'm not."

She sighed, tracing circles on her forearm, a current absentminded habit. She'd be rid of it soon enough, like all the others. "Well, my understanding is that Lucy makes you happy."

The feeling of dread was expanding, pooling over his lungs and dripping down his ribcage. "Sure," he said shortly.

Her eyes lit up. "I thought so. With her in the picture everything will be in order again." His expression contorted into confusion as she crouched down, beckoning something to come out from the shadows down the hall. The dim lighting flickered. "See—this way you can have what makes you happy," she added, her tone oddly dismissive and detached, matter-of-fact, "but you'll have no reason to leave. She can just be here, with you."