At 4 a.m., Dunkin had called saying they were about an hour outside of Sydney. He’d given me his girlfriend’s sister’s address, and Jennifer had found a hotel that was close. I’d wanted to get right to it, meeting them at the apartment, but he’d said that his girlfriend was a little frazzled by the whole adventure and wasn’t sure how her sister would take it if we all showed up. Jennifer thought it would be better if they got some rest first, and we’d agreed to let them sleep as long as he called as soon as they woke up.
That had been close to twelve hours ago, and I was not only sleepless, but getting a little hungry—not the least because the hotel Jennifer had found was some sort of hipster throwback from the sixties, complete with a single vegan restaurant on site. Nothing wrong with that, but man, I was craving some meat.
Called the Ovolo Woolloomooloo—yes, you read that correctly—it was built at the end of what once was a working wharf in a neighborhood called, of course, Woolloomooloo, but now all the old warehouses had been turned into restaurants, bars, and apartments. Apparently Russell Crowe, the actor, lived at the end of the wharf overlooking the water. At least that’s what the bellboy told us when we checked in at the crack of dawn.
We’d put our bags in the room and had gone out for breakfast—trying to find some place that served actual bacon—and had ended up exploring the area. Along the back of the wharf was a stairwell that led to a huge expanse of grounds that turned out to be the Royal Botanic Garden Sydney, situated on a bluff. Adjacent to the bluff, facing our hotel and the water, was the apartment/condominium complex where Nicole’s sister lived. She must have been doing pretty well, because she had a better view of the bay than Russell Crowe.
A two-story structure, it had entrances at the wharf side and walkways on the top that bridged a road and led straight to the garden, along with what looked like firepits and other amenities. During our walkabout, I’d been surprised to find it as close to our hotel as it was, and wanted to go up and knock on Dunkin’s door, but he hadn’t given me the actual door number, and the building stretched all the way down the wharf with a gated access, so I let it go.
We eventually found a small hotel serving breakfast. It was an ancient two-story brick and wooden building that looked like a saloon from the American Old West, complete with an upper wooden balcony surrounding it. Upon entering, we found the inside like an old saloon as well. It was a pub, and, as far as I could tell, not a real hotel at all. I learned that apparently every old pub in Sydney was called a hotel due to some obscure liquor law in the past about providing room and board as a “public house.” This one might have had a room or two for a drunk to sleep it off, but nothing like a reception desk or room keys.
After a good carnivore breakfast, we’d returned to our hipster hotel, and Jennifer had finally talked me into calling Amena. It was a little after 9 a.m. here, and with the time difference, it would be 5 p.m. there, meaning she was out from school and living in her little dorm. I didn’t want to, but maybe Jennifer had a point. We’d been gone for three days, and maybe she needed to hear our voices.
It was an odd feeling, honestly, because I’d lived just for myself for the longest time, and now I was afraid of what I’d find out. I didn’t want to hear her life was a living hell in the dorm—even if I knew it wasn’t. I had enough on my plate.
Jennifer had crawled onto the bed, put a pillow behind her head, and said, “You really think this is being a good father? Not calling? She needs to hear from us.”
Which had really set me off. I said, “Father? Are you serious? We have a team trying to murder us here. You just killed a guy with a damn corkscrew. Don’t give me that shit.”
She pulled her legs up underneath her and said, “I know what I did. Don’t remind me. You need to talk to your daughter.”
Her eyes were so cold I was at a loss for words. I said, “Jennifer, we have something more important going on here.”
She said, “There is nothing more important than Amena. Are you afraid to call?”
And she was right. I was afraid to call. I didn’t want to hear her voice. Didn’t want to hear that she was lost.
I said, “We can do that later. After we’ve gotten Dunkin on the plane and we’re flying home.”
She uncurled her legs, put her hands behind her head, and said, “We’re not going home. You know it and I know it.”
I looked at her, wondering where that was coming from. I said, “All we’re doing is getting Dunkin out of here. That’s it. We can talk to Amena when we get back to Charleston.”
She leaned up on an elbow and said, “Then call her and tell her that. She’s had one day of school. See how she’s doing.”
I played my last card, saying, “I can’t right now. The school only has certain hours for calling the boarding students. We have to set that up in advance.”
She squinted her eyes at me and said, “You don’t think I saw you pass that cell phone? Seriously? It’s not like you taught me or anything.”
And I gave up, calling the drop phone I’d given my daughter.
She’d answered in a quiet voice, saying, “Is the bad man there?”
Taken aback, I said, “What? Amena?”
She said, “Yes. I have to whisper. I’m in my room.”
I laughed and said, “No, the bad man isn’t here. I just wanted to check in. How’s it going?”
“It’s okay. I miss you guys.”
“But you have a room, and classes are going okay?”
“I have a room, but I’m staying with a Chinese exchange student. In fact, they’re all Chinese.”
“Is she nice?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty cool. Her name is Flower Ju-Long. But I think she made up the name ‘Flower.’”
“So you’re going to live?”
She said, “Pike, I’ve lived through worse. When are you coming home?”
I felt the angst through the phone and regretted calling. I said, “Soon, but why does that matter?”
“Because . . . because I miss Jennifer. That’s why.”
And the answer tore at me. I knew she was lying. Well, mostly. I said, “We’ll be home soon. Just focus on your studies. Can you do that?”
She sniffled and said, “That’s easy. I can do that. There’s nothing they’ve shown me here yet that I don’t know. But I want you to come home.”
I said, “I will be there soon, doodlebug. I promise.”
She’d said, “I don’t think so. Every time you go somewhere, you get in trouble.”
I thought about what Jennifer had said earlier, and said, “That’s true. But you’ll be okay, right? If it takes a little longer?”
She said, “I’m okay. Just come home, whether it’s a week or a day. Promise?”
“I promise.”
I heard a door close and she said, “My roommate’s back. I have to go. We’re not supposed to have unregistered cell phones.”
“Does she have one?”
“Of course she does. She calls her father, Chen, once a day. He’s some bigwig in import/export, and he makes the time.”
Which was a jab in the eye, but I let it go. I said, “Hang in there, doodlebug. I’m proud of you. I’m going to pass the phone to Jennifer.”