Lottie's Point of View

By five past eight in the morning, I was braving the halls of the second floor to reach the conference room after setting it up yesterday morning. I was fully aware that I would have been the last one to attend, but the reasoning justified the absence. I used the extra time beforehand adding to my initial note and re-printing after thoroughly reviewing the bullet-point list to check that I hadn't left anything out. At five past eight, I clicked my way across the hallway with the future wrapped up in my arms in a tan folder.

Digby and Uncle Lyle had already found their way to the same seats at the table as yesterday when I emerged into the conference room. I exchanged brief wishes of a good morning but hardly so much as paused before I was crossing the room in short strides to reach the whiteboard. There was no sense in wasting time today. All three of us knew exactly why we were here.

I set my folder down onto the surface of the table and snagged the purple marker from the bin after barely arriving at the whiteboard. My heart was dancing an enthusiastic jig as I snapped the cap from the marker and proceeded to inscribe the title of the project in wide letters beneath the introduction I had left before for everyone to see. Once finished, I clasped the marker in both of my paws and turned back to face my modest-sized listening audience with a beaming smile stretching across my face.

"Allow me to introduce you to Happy Home Paradise," I declared.

Uncle Lyle instantly seemed to recognize the newness of the title, shifting in his seat to steal a glance at Digby. Pausing in my explanation, I plucked the folder from the table and propped it open between my paws to take reference from my list of notes.

"Continuing from our last meeting," I went on brightly. "I would guess that you're both wondering exactly what that is, what service it will provide, and what the primary goal to achieve is. I'm thrilled to let you in on every one of those things. Happy Home Paradise, as you likely gathered, is the fourth and newest branch of service to launch under the Happy Home name. I plan to launch this project towards the end of this year, perhaps October or November. With this project, I will lead the motion to recommission old and abandoned broken-down houses, including organizing, designing, and painting. I created this project with the intention of turning them into vacation homes, but if anyone is in need of a place to stay without the pressure of cost, they will be welcomed with open arms. I'll need to reach out for assistance in funding, but beyond that, every part of the preparation plan is put together and ready to go. Are there any questions I can answer at this time?"

"Which of us are involved in the process of development and everything after the final launch?" Digby inquired almost instantly like he had been holding on to the question before I was even finished. "I hear you when you say you'll be leading the project, but would this be a team or solo effort? Both are great ideas, of course. I just wanted to make sure that if there's something that needs to be done I know to do it."

"This will be completely solo," I confirmed. "I may and likely will need some support in the development stage, but when the project is officially set in motion, I'll be taking over everything."

"By yourself?" Digby echoed.

"Well, no, not necessarily," I admitted. I snuck a glance at my bullet-point notes in the folder cracked open between my paws, flipping past the first page to overview the second one. "I'm assuming you have concerns about all of the aspects of this project that aren't exactly my specialty. For example, I'm not a renovator or a builder. I'm hoping to do this with as small of a team as possible, as I'm still becoming accustomed to the idea of full leadership. I will need to hire assistance for everything that I'm unable to do. I'm going to be preparing to allow the submission of applications and hold interviews for the positions."

"Sure," Digby agreed, leaning into the back of his swivel chair as if to get a better look at me. "I noticed that you said you were unsure about a final launch date. To me, that implies that there are certain things to be done before you'll be able to have that information. What is it that needs to be done?"

"Wait, wait," Uncle Lyle interjected before I had the chance to answer, waving a paw in the air to clear the previous conversation. "I think I'm missing something here. I'm thinking about the abandoned homes and buildings we've got on this island. This is a pretty small island. I get questions about those buildings all the time from animals wanting to know if we're planning to do anything with them. The thing is, there really aren't that many. Not nearly enough to base an entire branch of business off of, at least. I trust that you've considered this as well. I mean, it looks like you've thought of everything for this project. What are your plans on that?"

"I'm leaving the island," I announced. The statement struck the two like a blow as they both reeled back, but I had more to say. "I haven't yet decided on which island I'll be relocating to, which is one of the many reasons why the launch date is still unknown. I hope that somewhat answers your question, Digby. My plan is to rent out an office closest to the source of my work. I'm hoping that I'll come across a particularly desperate area to make the biggest impact and if I'm successful enough, I'll expand to more surrounding islands."

"Uh..." Uncle Lyle seemed to be struggling to process what I was saying. He stole a glance at Digby sitting across the way who quickly met his gaze. As for Digby, his face carried a certain expression that I had spotted from him before. It was softer in some subtle way, a casual serenity sinking into the features despite the shimmer of bafflement and worry in his chocolate-brown eyes. He had switched again, and probably due to the weight of the declaration I just dropped onto him.

"Lottie, listen," Uncle Lyle said at last as both he and Digby turned their faces back to gaze up at me. The doubt practically drained from his voice, the hesitance before the 'this isn't a good idea and I won't let you do it' conversation. "I mean this with all the kindness of my heart, but did you think this through? Thoroughly? I know how much you enjoy the spontaneity of big actions. You've been like that since you were a kit. You want the adventure and don't consider much what it takes to get there. I'm stepping back as your boss in this conversation and talking to you as someone who has raised you for twenty years. Is this something you really want to do, or did you decide all of this on a whim? On an idea?"

"Well, of course I want to do it," I told him. "I'm ready and comfortable to take this step in my life. I understand and appreciate where you're coming from, but I'm twenty seven years old. At my age, I'm well due to move out on my own."

"I'm twenty five and still happily living with my mom and dad," Digby pointed out.

"It's not that I'm not happy," I insisted, snapping my folder shut again. "It's not the freedom that I want. There are animals out there who need my help. There's something more that I can do to help those around me and as long as I'm able, it's my responsibility and purpose to do so, even if there are things I need to sacrifice for a while. Between those who need an opportunity and those who simply need shelter, I plan to create a safe place where we can peacefully come together for the better of the world. That's everything I stand for and I can't just let that go."

Utter silence fell over the room, all except for the ticking of the clock above the whiteboard. Uncle Lyle and Digby were quietly staring at each other across the table again as if they were exchanging a secret conversation through their eyes. Only after several seconds did they meet my gaze again, first my uncle and then Digby moments later.

"Do you know how long you'll be gone?" Uncle Lyle asked. The lights above us sent a streak of shine down the lens of his glasses.

The meeting was back on track. I cracked open my folder again, flipping back to the page of my notes detailing the outstanding tasks to complete before the launch.

"As of right now, no," I said. "Digby, this is a lot like the question you asked. I don't even know precisely yet when I'll be leaving, which will be determined by the speed and efficiency of preparation here. I still need to seek out a suitable island for this project, hold interviews for the positions I'm hiring for, and move my belongings out of my office here. After all that happens and Happy Home Paradise is officially in full swing, it still depends on how well it thrives. As of right now, with so much left uncertain, I think we need to prepare with the possibility in mind that I'll never come back."

These words spun through my mind as my eyes pried open on the light morning of the sixth of June, the last couple of weeks proving no disruption to my memory. The ceaseless hustle and whirl of activity lingered in my bones as I lay on my back in my bed, my arms sprawled out across my mattress and blinked myself into alertness under the blanket of fragile sunlight.

By this point, the three of us at Happy Home had accomplished enough towards the launch of HHP that I could have called it some kind of progress, but still not nearly enough. That was expected this early on, though. I had been spending my mornings saving and closing out files from my office computer to prepare for transport as well as setting aside some physical files in boxes. I had formed a connection for financial and funding support over the phone with Tom Nook, whose reputation had already been passed off as good from what Isabelle told me about him. Digby was eager to assist development as much as he could, so I assigned him to the task of locating an island for me to work. Still, I wasn't anywhere close to where I needed to be.

Uncle Lyle was turning sixty-seven today. It wasn't often that we shared much of a celebration over it—Or rather, I failed to recall the last time the day crept by with any more than a gift and a wish for a happy birthday. My uncle wasn't exactly fond of being reminded how old he was getting, though he expressed appreciation each time I presented him with a gift. It was around this time every year that I stumbled into a problem. It was a rare occurrence when he let me in on something he wanted to be given or wanted to have, so I had hardly a foundation to reference from. Maybe if I asked him before we took off for work, or even when we arrived if it slipped my mind before then, he would instruct me on what to buy him.

I climbed out of bed, indulged in a brief shower, dressed, and tied up my hair into my typical tightly-wrapped bun on the top of my head. I had been awaiting the first sign that my uncle had dragged himself out of bed, like a door opening or the shuffle of footsteps, with everywhere I traveled to ready myself. I left the bathroom door hanging open, glancing occasionally towards the shadowed hallway outside as I tucked away the pins to hold my hair together. I strained my ears for the anticipated sounds, the special words of greeting waiting to leap from my tongue. Nothing.

His absence was unusual, but not quite concerning. The most logical explanation was simply an accidental act of oversleeping, to which I would wake him from if he wasn't yet up when I finished making breakfast for us both. I took to the kitchen, delighting in the natural daylight bleeding in from the windows wrapped around the room segment as I cooked up and scrambled a couple of eggs on a sizzling pan. It wasn't anything extraordinary, but I was only confident in so many meals, mostly the quick ones. Only as I was prodding the finished product onto an arranged set of plates to eat did Uncle Lyle appear from the mouth of the hallway, shuffling drowsily and still dressed in his striped pajamas.

"Good morning," I greeted him, clearing the eggs onto the second and last plate before dismissing myself to the sink to drop off the pan.

"Morning," Uncle Lyle mumbled from behind me. I discarded the pan in the cavity of the sink and turned back to look at him as he withdrew the chair across the way and plopped down into the seat. "Thanks for this."

"Of course." I lowered myself into the seat across from him as he picked up his fork to start working through his breakfast. "It's not really all that much for your special day, but I made do with what I could."

"My what?" Uncle Lyle said, glancing up from his plate at me. His fork still hovered as he hadn't yet taken his first bite.

"What?" I blurted, rattled by the unanticipated response, and then it clicked what he said. "Oh. It's your birthday."

"Is it now?" Uncle Lyle replied, his voice dropping to a tired murmur as he slipped his glasses from his face and firmly rubbed his eyes with his free paw.

"Is there anything specific you'd like?" I inquired.

His answer didn't arrive quickly as he continued to rub his eyes, so I picked up my own fork and proceeded to steal my first bite while I waited. After a lengthy pause, he pushed out a sigh and put his glasses back into place.

"A day off, honestly," he muttered.

The shock clobbered me like a brick wall. What kind of an answer was that? Uncle Lyle hadn't missed a single day of work since he first opened up the building thirty-six years ago. In fact, it was something he so devotedly stuck himself to. He wasn't late once—Sometimes early, but never late. Missing an entire day was absolutely out of the question. I might have even remembered him telling me at some point that he would never have even considered it. He had a particularly deadpan humor, but this wasn't something he tended to joke about.

"Okay," I said hesitantly. A part of me wasn't confident that he was being serious—Or maybe I just hoped that he wasn't. "Sure. You can do what you need to do. I'm still going in today."

"In that case, I'll see you around six thirty," Uncle Lyle mumbled before he pierced his first bite of his breakfast.

For the very first time, I set off for work alone. I unlocked the building, set up the lights alone. The last conversation I shared with my uncle before leaving the house still wrapped around my mind as I steeped my usual green tea in the break room without his familiar preference. It was so utterly surreal that I couldn't help turning it over and over again in my thoughts, drowned in my own contemplation. I could have easily guessed he was tired, considering how often he complained of it. But he had never gone this far before. Was he becoming sick and held back from informing me? He had been moving slower and more carefully in the actions he took.

The reminder only found its way back to me a few times during my shift, though it settled back into my mind as I locked up the building for the night at six o'clock. I finally remembered what I was coming back home to, the situation I might have soon been walking back into. I was sure that there were questions that needed to be asked, but my mind drew a blank. Besides, I had a different issue on my plate. I still needed a birthday gift for him.

I unlocked the front door of my house only to emerge into not only an empty conjoined room, but no evident signs of someone having been there at all. The chairs pushed up neatly into the table, the books arranged properly in place on the shelves, the kitchen counter spotless as it had been this morning, and the reek of loneliness in the air. Uncle Lyle had returned to bed after I went off for work, but it seemed he never left.

I kicked off my high-heeled shoes at the door, gently nudging them together near the wall before I started towards the hall in my socks. The door to my uncle's bedroom at the right end of the hall was shut, the only one that was, and not a sound struck the air from inside. Unsure of what answer I would receive, I knocked on the door to alert him of my arrival.

There was a stir, one of someone shifting in a bed, and a drowsy murmur before he spoke on the other side.

"Lottie?" Uncle Lyle mumbled. "You're home already?"

"I just got home," I told him through the door. "It's six thirty."

"Oh, I suppose it is." There was another stir. "Do you want some dinner? What are you hungry for?"

"Not right now, but maybe later," I said. "I'm going out in a bit."

After checking in with my uncle in his room, apparently having woken him, I resumed my post-work evening routine. I unwound my hair bun, slipped it out of place with its bow-attached holder, and hastily brushed down my hair to chase out the uncomfortable tingles. I closed myself into my bedroom to climb out of my uniform, but it wasn't my pajamas I was changing into. The shopping lane I would have been venturing to find the best gift was somewhat of a luxurious area, particularly pricey in some places, and it was right to dress accordingly. I put on a knee-length black skirt, a formal button-up white blouse, a pair of black high heels that shone under the lights of my bedroom, slung the strap of a black purse onto my shoulder, and tied up my hair into a high ponytail. I was ready to go.

As I clicked my way back into the conjoined room space from the hall, my purse swaying and bouncing against my hip with every brisk step, Uncle Lyle was seated at the table in the dining area at the end where he faced me. I had somewhat expected him to prepare dinner after asking me if I wanted any, but nothing sat on the table in front of him. He raised his head to look at me when I entered, having previously perched it onto his paw with his elbow on the table, and the sizzling of the coffeemaker told me that he had started preparing a cup in the time that I was gone. I snuck a glance at the clock hung above the door. A hint before seven o'clock.

"I'm going out now," I told him, adjusting the strap of my purse so that the bag would rest behind me instead and lay my paw over the doorknob.

"Be careful out there," Uncle Lyle warned, halting me in my action to turn and listen to him. "It's late. I worry about you."

"I'm fine," I assured him. "I'll be back before nine o'clock."

"What if someone bothers you?" Uncle Lyle inquired, shifting in his seat to casually fold his arms on the table as he watched me.

"I'll tell them I have an awesome uncle who's willing and ready to kick them to the curb for me," I said.

The sky had been overrun with gloomy gray storm clouds, so I grabbed my umbrella to carry with me on my journey in case the rain would come down while I was outside. The particular shopping lane I planned to drop by was about a forty-five minute walk south from my home. It was known by the name of Scarlet Squares—Though I used to question the title, since the entire area was composed of shops in black and white. The path was dim and the air damp with the upcoming downpour as I clicked my way across the sidewalk on my way. I clamped my purse to keep it still with one paw and gripped my wrapped-up umbrella in the other, venturing further and further along the path and studying the dark creases in the clouds.

The thin ticks on my watch told me that seven forty had arrived before I emerged into the shopping lane. A slim road separated two rows of modest, black-and-white colored antique shops with names of every kind sprawled in gold across black awnings. Every so often down the road, a streetlight illuminated the area on both sides in a simple glow. Only a pawful of shops were still clearly open, windows pulsing with dull yellow lights. Utterly alone, I began to proceed the middle of the road—Because of all of the activity that congested this lane during the day, vehicles were prohibited from entry—And took a glance at the buildings still lit up through the glass to determine what kind of a gift my uncle would have appreciated the most. Considering turning back now would only get me home at eight thirty and I still hadn't the faintest idea what to purchase, it might have been a bit of a stretch to promise to be home by nine.

At about eight in the evening, where the rain was just starting to sprinkle, I climbed into an antique watch shop titled A Moment's Pursuit. I was greeted by an especially perky squirrel for the late hour who invited me to check out the collections before visiting him at his glass desk in the front. I browsed along the array of raised watches for my view for several minutes as the rain began to rattle the windows. An unusual warmth clouded the room and I rolled up my sleeves to accommodate it.

Eventually, I settled on a classic black, silver rimmed watch and carried it back to the shopkeeper for purchase. He examined it, set the time straight, and offered an engraving service, promising that with a new laser getup it would have taken only ten to twenty minutes at most. I agreed, quickly lost myself in the moments carefully designing a message on a screen provided to me with texts and fonts, and allowed the gift to be taken away to the back room as I sat myself down in a wooden chair next to the window and listened to the rain trickling down.

I set off from the shop again a touch past eight thirty with my umbrella above my head and the gift in a small, cushioned box that I had dug into my purse. In the shadowed night and the raindrops clobbering my umbrella, I took to the winding paths that would bring me home again. I unlocked and thrust the front door open ten minutes after nine to find Uncle Lyle still seated in the same chair at the table as before, stepping inside and outstretching my umbrella to shake it out on the front steps.

"You said you'd be home by nine," he pointed out, easing up from the table as I jolted the rain from my umbrella onto the pavement. Somehow, the tiredness leaking from his voice was even more prominent than it had been this morning when I left for work or when I woke him up after arriving home again.

"I know," I admitted, yanking the door shut and bending to set down my wrapped umbrella beside my blue work heels. "I didn't realize how late I was out."

"I don't like the idea of you being out in that rain for so long." Uncle Lyle rested his paws on the flat of the table as I carefully kicked off my second pair of shoes.

"I didn't get wet," I pointed out, undoing the button holding my purse closed as I approached the table in my socks. "Or cold. But I brought you something."

"You know you didn't have to," Uncle Lyle mumbled as I came to a stop at the corner of the table, but I didn't answer.

I plopped my open purse down onto the table next to me. Despite his hesitance to accept the gift, Uncle Lyle joined me in glancing towards the contents of the purse as my paws found and removed the small box. I popped open the box, slowly slid the watch from the cushion where it lay to present it to him, and he withdrew again to fall back into conversation range.

"Well, that's beautiful," Uncle Lyle murmured, staring down at the watch that dangled from my paw. He reached out his own paw and while I assumed at first that he was about to take the device from me, instead he cupped the paw under mine as if to help me hold it. "And you just bought this while you were out now?"

"Mm-hmm," I replied.

"Thank you, Lottie. That's very thoughtful." Uncle Lyle wrapped an arm around me to plant a soft kiss on my forehead and pull me into an almost half-hearted embrace. "You didn't need to go and do that for me. But as long as you're here again and I know you're well, I think I'll head to bed."

"Um..." I struggled to grasp the right words as he pulled away, setting his paws on my arms to listen as I numbly held the watch that I was supposed to have given him. "You... But you just slept all day. I haven't seen you for very long at all."

"I'm sorry," Uncle Lyle muttered. The sound was built on sincerity, but the answer didn't budge. "I just have no energy whatsoever right now and all I really want to do is sleep."

And then he was gone. The tumbling rain pattered against the windows behind me as I stood at the corner of the table where he had left me, gazing wordlessly into the opening to the shadowed hallway where he had disappeared. The watch hung limply in my lifted paw as it had been when I was showing him—The same that he had neglected to physically accept—And defeat shuttered down onto my shoulders like a cloak.

Something was wrong. That much was clear. I had vaguely noticed something before, but today especially, he genuinely wasn't acting like himself. Surely he would have told me that he wasn't feeling well. Ever since I had first moved here twenty years ago, he had made a point to me that he valued communication as one of the highest luxuries after losing someone he dearly cared for due to lack thereof. It wasn't like him to lie to me, either. Something was happening to him that he didn't need me to know about. Something he wasn't telling me. And I needed to figure out what that was.

If it weren't for the rain tapping gentle fingers against the surface of the windows, the conjoined room would have been completely silent. The drowsy glow of the kitchen lights in the late hour singed my eyes, the solitude was deafening, and I found myself running a claw softly across the tiny engravings of the watch hung from my paw that he had never seen.

Thank you for being

the best family

I could ever ask for

. . .

The remainder of baking June days flew by. I held my breath for the next day I would see like the sixth, Uncle Lyle's sixty-seventh birthday, and desperately hoped that it wouldn't be something I did. With every day that crept by, I sustained my schedule of returning to work every morning—But he did not. He set off for a different pattern. It started off as one day every two weeks, building itself up in the very same way where he sought me out in the morning and told me that I would be traveling to work by myself. When the absences raised into once a week, I began to question every day whether or not I was to be alone. I had never once had to do that before. By the time the end of the month rolled around, he had already spent five days away from work.

Even with my uncle's company becoming less and less of a reliability, preparation for the launch of Happy Home Paradise proceeded in full swing. I continued to sort and save files on my computer as my entire office slowly turned into nothing but stacked boxes. It was a struggle squeezing past them every morning and evening to reach my desk, but fortunately, I didn't have to deal with it for very long. On one of the days that he joined me, Uncle Lyle noticed the state of my office and suggested that I transport the boxes to the storage room to allow me more space in my final months here. That way, when it came time to ship them out to my new island, it would save me that much more work. Digby's assistance in this particular task was immense as he spent every morning helping me carry the full boxes to their new location before the real day would begin. By the first day of June, my office was completely cleared out with the exception of my desk and swivel chair.

But there was still so much left undone, especially with the three-month deadline I had set for myself towards the official launch. There were animals out there that I needed to be in contact with that I still didn't have a clue existed. I still needed to hire an assistant and to promote the applications and interviews to find said assistant. With the final string of work right from my office finished, at least I had more time to devote to interviews now. Most importantly, I didn't even have an island on file to transport all of my work and belongings to. I was patient in that regard, though—Digby was still actively seeking out the best fit for me and my ambitions. I checked in with him often on his progress, but as June swept into July, there were no words of solution. We had our work cut out for us until October.

"How are you feeling?" Uncle Lyle asked me.

I jerked back to reality. The familiar surroundings of the break room welcomed me back into the July morning. My uncle had seated himself in a chair in the trio of them in the middle of the room with a cup of coffee in his paw while I stood at the counter with a steeping mug of lavender chamomile tea. I had been hastily bobbing the tea bag into the brown liquid as I was utterly absorbed in my thoughts of the work I had yet to accomplish, likely having prompted the question.

"I'm fine," I said, setting the string of the tea bag down the side of the mug to let it sit. "A little bit under pressure, but I'm fine."

"With what?" Uncle Lyle inquired, glancing briefly into his own mug before turning his focus back to me. The steam of the coffee inside of it had begun to fog up the bottom rim of his glasses, though he either didn't notice or didn't care.

"There's about three or four months until the launch of Happy Home Paradise and I'm not nearly where I want to be with preparing for it," I told him. "At least by this point."

"Oh, right. I don't know why I didn't think of that." Uncle Lyle raised his mug to take a long sip of coffee. I withdrew my paws from my scalding mug and rubbed them together to dissolve the moisture, turning around to face him as he lowered his mug to speak again. "How much progress do you have as of right now towards the final result?"

"Towards the launch?" I echoed, my paws stilling again as they folded together in front of me. "Um... Forty percent, maybe. That's stretching it. There's still so much to do."

"Is that where that pressure is coming from?" Uncle Lyle replied. When I nodded in confirmation, he waved his free paw as if to dismiss the thought and balanced his mug on the arm of the chair where he sat. "Don't even worry about that. You have time. You're doing great. Although, I'd expect that from someone who's related to me."

"Oh, stop it," I joked as a cough of a laugh climbed up from my throat, turning back to tend to my tea. Behind me, my uncle even managed a little snort of laughter, falling silent as I continued to bob the tea bag into the steaming liquid. The laugh alone was a good sign.

"Seriously, though," Uncle Lyle said after a moment. "That reminds me. I wanted to ask you something."

"Mm-hmm?" I answered, though I didn't turn my attention away from my steeping tea. Due to the dark color of the beverage and the several minutes behind it that it had been sitting, it was just about ready.

"How are you handling all of this work by yourself?" Uncle Lyle asked behind me. "The planning and scheduling part of it, that is. Everything that's under your control. Are you managing it well?"

"Yes, I'd say I am," I decided, peering down into the dark liquid. "I can barely fathom how much work it is, but I didn't expect it to go so smoothly. I would say this is progressing immensely well. It has already far exceeded my expectations, at the very least."

"Good, good," Uncle Lyle remarked. "Yeah, I've noticed that, actually. I really do believe that you're doing so well. You work very well on your own, I noticed. I'm proud of you for that."