Zane watches them go as they pull away, and my heart breaks again for the second time in five minutes. Seeing him with his daughter like this is gut-wrenching.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, easing next to him.
He nods, but doesn’t turn my way, just remains there looking as broken as I’ve ever seen him, staring at the traffic like he’s about to shatter.
“That she is,” he says, clearing his throat. “Come on.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re seated at a table in the food court, both of us with cups of coffee in hand. Zane stares into his with half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that. It gets harder to leave her every time.”
“I can only imagine.”
He lifts his gaze. “You’re one of the few who can. Not many people know what it’s like to lose a child.
He falls silent, and I don’t press him. Instead, I change the subject.
“So, are we going to talk about last night, or pretend it didn’t happen?”
“What about it?” he asks.
“That little altercation of yours with the doctor.”
“Peter Wainwright. Yeah, he was one of Cora’s specialists.”
“Was?” I prompt.
“Correct. No more. He’s a neurologist. We were told he was the best. Maria and I had to wait months to see him. The day we did, Cora was fairly alert but did have a few behavior problems in his office. She threw a fit and knocked some stuff off the shelves. He didn’t even spend thirty minutes with us before he referred her to a child psychologist for behavioral therapy. He wanted us out of there, said to come see him again in a month if things didn’t change.”
“I’m guessing they didn’t.”
He shakes his head. “No, they got worse. Cora started falling all the time, had trouble communicating with us. With everyone really. So we booked another appointment with Wainwright, but we had to wait longer than a month like he promised. Maria and I told him how concerned we were when we were finally able to see him again. We laid out all the symptoms. But he didn’t listen. He ordered the wrong tests and then referred us to a bunch of other doctors that couldn’t help. He didn’t seem to care. It delayed Cora’s diagnosis by almost half a year.”
His eyes glimmer, and he shakes his head and takes a long sip of his coffee. “That girl means everything to me. I wanted to do things right this time around. She’s supposed to be my second chance.”
I wrinkle my brow. “What do you mean?”
“My son, Sean. I … well, I fucked up with him to be honest. I was on the force back then. Worked way too much. Ignored him when he needed me the most. I had a bit of a gambling problem back then. That and the job were all that mattered to me at the time. By the time mypriorities changed, it was too late.”
An ache like poison spreads through my stomach. I know this kind of regret. It’s a blade that cuts deep.
“Anyway,” he continues, “Sean was always getting into trouble. Bullying kids. Acting out. Looking for attention. My first wife, Samantha, did her best with him, but she was working too. Neither of us were around enough to keep Sean in line. He got into a lot of trouble.”
“Like what?” I ask, curious. Zane’s never opened up like this before, and it’s a strange kind of relief to realize I’m not the only one struggling here.
“The usual stuff,” Zane says. “Pot. Drinking. Running with the wrong crowd. Playing the tough guy and getting into fights. Stealing things. Sam and I did what we could. We tried to get him involved in sports and extracurriculars and all that, but it was too late. You have to start young with kids. We waited too long.”
“How old is he now?” I ask.
“Twenty-one. He helps me out with my cases sometimes. I keep waiting for him to turn it around, but I don’t know if he ever will. He’s still on a pretty bad track.” Zane takes another drink of coffee and returns the cup to the table. “Anyway, after Sam and I split, I swore if I ever got another chance to be a father, I’d do it right. And now that I have, I can’t even get my little girl the help she needs.”
My heart softens, and I reach across the table and set my hand on his. “Hey, what’s happening with Cora isn’t your fault, Zane. None of this is on you.”
He wipes his eyes and shakes his head. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. But either way you don’t need to hear about any more of my shit. You’ve got enough of your own to worry about.” He checks his watch. “You ready? This is your last chance to back out. We board in fifteen minutes.”
I nod. I am. I just hope he is too.
Chapter 38
REED
