Page 57 of Living at 40

“Okay, sad sad happy girl, let’s go back inside.” Mason presses a quick kiss to the top of my head and then releases me, stepping forward to Mila, who he picks up by her arms. She squeals in delight.

I don’t know what Mason is doing by staying here. I don’t know what Ben was thinking if he asked him to stay. I only wish I’d had the strength to tell Logan I didn’t want him to go. After a final look at the empty driveway, I head back into the house to collect my things. It’s time I return to my home as well.

22

[Logan]

The three-hour car ride home was difficult between my own distracted thoughts and Lorna’s silence. Watching Mason wrap his arm around Autumn as I pulled out of the driveway was almost enough cause to force me back to the drive and kick his ass. He looked all too happy to be next in line if my sperm didn’t take, and I can’t explain how badly I want it to happen. I want her baby to be mine. I want her to be mine.

But that isn’t what she wants.

Last night, I dozed on Autumn’s belly, willing whatever miracle needed to happen to have happened. Willing my little swimmers to get where they needed to go, and at least one break through the necessary barrier to seal the deal. I’d thought of nothing past planting my seed in Autumn but driving away had me heartsick over leaving her behind.

What if she was pregnant? What next? It wasn’t like I wouldn’t see the kid. I’d be attending whatever function we planned next as friends. Thoughts turned morbid, and I prayed the next occasion we gathered was not a funeral.

My head is not in a good space as Lorna and I cross into Indianapolis, so to say Chloe dropped a bomb on me when I returned Lorna to her mother’s house is an understatement.

“Hey, so I wanted to tell you I’ve decided to move to France with Peter.”

I stare at her as if she’s spoken French. “You’re leaving Indiana?”

Chloe shrugs, and I wonder what I ever saw in my ex-wife. She was so beautiful when we met, but she changed so much in the course of our marriage and the years afterward that I don’t recognize her anymore.

“What about Lorna?” How could she leave our daughter behind?

“What about her?”

The unspoken lingers between us before I connect the invisible dots. She’ll be going with Chloe. “Over my dead body,” I snap.

“I can’t leave her with you.”

I stare at my ex-wife, flabbergast at both her incredulous tone and her distrust in my ability to care for our daughter. Not to mention, she is not taking our daughter outside the country to live.

“Chloe, I don’t think this is the time to discuss this.” Standing on her front stoop, I have just kissed Lorna goodbye. She has soccer practice during the week, and I’ll be the one taking her, so I’ll see her in a few days.

“A decision has been made, Logan. I’m moving to France in two weeks, and Lorna is coming with me.”

Two weeks?

“Does Lorna know you have plans to do such a thing?” I’d like to believe my child would tell me, even hint at the idea, that her mother was moving them out of the country. When Lorna suggested moving to Lakeside, it would have been the perfect time to mention how she might be moving away, and she hadn’t. Ironically, we’d talked again on the car ride home about Lorna’s desire to move to Lakeside, how lucky Mila was to live there all year, and I had to explain that even if we ever moved there, we wouldn’t be living in Mila’s house or even a house on the water. I can’t afford a million-dollar home.

“It just sort of happened.” Chloe sweetly smiles, excitement written on her face.

“What do you mean it just sort of happened? When?”

“While you were away. Peter learned he needs to return to France, and he doesn’t want to go without me.”

“And Lorna,” I growl.

“Well, of course, Lorna.” But that’s not the answer I want to hear, nor will I let another man take my child to another country. I have accepted that I might have to share Lorna with a stepfather one day, but I’ve never been good at sharing.

“Did he propose to you?” The question comes out harsh and bitter.

“Well . . . not exactly.” Chloe clutches at the door, her eyes rapidly blinking as she shifts her gaze away from me a second.

“What exactly did he do then?” I question, grinding my teeth with the discomfort that we actually are having this conversation on her front stoop.

“He asked me to move to France with him.”