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The flight across the country from New York to Hawaii is long, and it’s times like this I’m especially grateful for all the amenities I’m granted in life. A private jet with a ten-year-old is a much more comfortable experience than flying coach.
We sleep the nine hours and change on the plane, and when we wake up the following morning, snug in our jet plane beds, I’m thankful yet again we don’t have to fly commercial.
I send a few more emails as we get closer to the Big Island. I also send a text to Liv through the Wi-Fi calling enabled on the jet, but it sits on unread.
A private car picks us up at the airport and takes us to our hotel. The suite we’re given is immense, and I know Elijah will have plenty to do with one of my local investors' families while I’m negotiating.
Tom’s wife, Sandy, has graciously invited Elijah along for the day while I’m working alongside her husband.
The site of the future resort has come along a lot since I last saw it, but I know we’re still a month behind schedule. Meetings with the contractors and other investors are tense, and the small office building they rent quickly fills up with tension and impatience.
Jeff, one of the other investors who’s been especially concerned about the deadline, pipes up from his spot at the table.
“We need to get back on schedule. What can we do to expedite matters and get us back on track?”
I sigh, knowing that hitting our deadline at this point will be nothing short of a miracle, and then I look to our top contractor who’s been handling the materials and crew.
“I can get more guys in, but of course, that comes with a higher price tag for labor. You could also go with a different covering instead of the plaster. There are only so many guys who know how to do it, and it takes longer.”
This is, of course, where I knew we were. The product used on the suites is labor intensive and expensive, not to mention just more difficult to deal with all around. But then something occurs to me.
“Dwight, pull in the extra guys for the plaster going into the suites, and then don’t order any more for the water features and pools.”
“What are you thinking, Noah?”
Mark stands up abruptly from the table, but I know I’m onto something that’ll ease the asshole’s anger.
“Hear me out. We need to finish the suites and use the material that we’ve been using. It’s great, water-resistant, and good-looking, but it’s also a lot to work with, and it takes forever to get to us. What if we used the high-grade marble sheet tiles we were first looking at?”
Dwight nods. “They’re easier to work with, and getting them to the site takes half as much time. Plus, more guys know how to work with them, so we can shave off time.”
Mark looks at him and then at me. “Can we hit the deadline for opening?”
“We’ll still bring on a few more guys to finish it up, too.”
It’s on Dwight now, and after a moment, he slowly nods. “Yeah. I think we can do it if we go with the tile.”
Anticipation hangs in the room as we all wait to hear from Mark. As much as this is my project, we all know that it falls right through the floor if I don’t have the money to back it, and even I don’t have that much cash to spare.
“Do it.”
A collective sigh reverberates through the room as Mark smacks down the proverbial gavel, and my chest lightens immensely. It looks like I’ve managed to course correct this ship just in time.
Relief and pride war for my attention, and I remember that I do actually love problem-solving on a job, but this one has taken the cake in terms of hands-on demand.
We spend the rest of Sunday afternoon going over more impromptu adjustments and concept sketches that the on-site architect whips up like it's nothing. I love the guy, and Andrew proves to be worth his weight in gold yet again.
It’s a later than usual day, but we all come to a solid plan and head back to our respective lives at about 6 p.m.
Elijah is waiting for me with Sandy after a quick text to her from Tom that we’ve finished for the day. When I arrive at the hotel to meet them, Elijah is a flurry of excitement and gushes about his day at the beach with his new friends.
Tom’s son Benjamin is ten, too, and his daughter Emily is eight. They apparently got along like old buddies, according to Sandy, and she tells me it was a joy to listen to Elijah go off about fish.
“Oh, really? I’m sorry. He just loves them so much.”
I ruffle Elijah’s hair as he comes running up to me and then lift him up in my arms. He smells like salt water and sunscreen.
“Not at all. It was great. Elijah is very excited about the aquarium, too.”
