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“You’re one brave man, Jack. If I ever had a daughter, I would not make that boy her godfather. You know he’ll be teaching her every curse word there is before she can even walk, right?” I joke, trying to push back the pain that is slowly creeping up my entire body.
“I don’t just know, but I expect it.” Jack laughs. “My brother might be a little rough around the edges, but he knows the true meaning of family. He would rather die for my girls than see them suffer an ounce of pain. That’s just the kind of person who I want looking out for my girls.”
“What else would a father want, right?” I choke out, my chest feeling like someone has just punched a hole in it.
Long-forgotten memories of another man who would have done anything for his baby girl assault me in thunderous waves. The corner of my eyes begins to sting with hot tears. Before I lose my composure on the doorsteps of a church, no less, I quickly tell Jack goodbye and rush over to my car.
It’s only when I’m safely tucked inside that I let the waterworks take over.
I don’t cry.
Or at least I tell myself I’m not the kind of woman who cries easily.
But some topics… some memories… are just too painful to revisit, making sure that tears stream down my cheeks until all there is… is pain.
I pick up my phone and text the only person who understands my misery and suffering.
Me:Mom… can I come home? It’s one of those days.
Mom:I’ll be here with a fresh pot of chamomile tea.
Mom:Come home, sweetheart.
And when I feel like I’m strong enough to drive, I do just that.
I go home.
Knowing full well that pain and agony wait for me there, too.
Chapter 11
Trent
The ambiance at Étoile d’Or is filled with the melodic sounds of clinking glasses and silverware, accompanied by the soft hum of French music playing in the background as the patrons enjoy their meal.
Of course, I didn’t pick this restaurant just for its relaxed feel, or for its ideal setting in promoting conversation. No. I strategically chose it because I knowshe’squite fond of coming here whenever she has a chance.
And right now, I need Dr. Roxanne Seymour to be amenable and open to accepting the request I have in mind for her. If us having lunch at Étoile d’Or can gain me brownie points with her, then so be it.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say after the waiter leaves to fetch us our order.
“Well, Trent, it’s not like you left me much choice. Your secretary sounded very insistent on the phone that I meet you today. I’ve got to hand it to you, though. Taking me out to lunch here, of all places, was a nice touch,” she retorts sarcastically.
“I have no idea what you mean.” I feign ignorance.
“Please, Trent. We’ve known each other for far too long for you to start playing games with me now. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending this is just another lunch between friends. I know exactly what you’re trying to do.” She frowns while straightening the cutlery on the table.
“And what exactly is that?” I smile at her.
“Manipulate me,” she mutters disappointedly. “You want something from me, and I’m pretty sure I already know what it is,” she adds before lowering her voice. “You want me to give you highly personal information about Nathan Wilder without looking like you coerced me into breaking my oath of doctor-patient confidentiality. It’s very devious of you to bring me to lunch at one of my favorite restaurants where you know I won’t be able to cause a scene.”
“I forgot how well you knew me.” I grab my glass of red wine to take a sip.
“I was your therapist once upon a time, too. Pity it didn’t take.” She grins tauntingly.
“You do know that you’re one of the few people who get away with talking to me like that.”
“That’s because I know all your secrets.” She smiles wider.
