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“Yeah, right. I’ll probably just try out their artisan whiskey, embarrass myself in front of a pretty bartender. Then I’ll come home, dejected and drunk.” He laughs.
“That sounds about right.” I barely avoid getting hit by a dish towel that Logan chucks at me. “But really. Have fun. Maybe next time.”
We both know the odds of there being a next time are non-existent. But as long as I say it, we can continue to pretend it may happen one day. In the meantime, I have to get ready for physical therapy, and that means preparing myself for two hours of unimaginable pain from which there is no escape.
What woman could say no to all of that, right?
Arie
New York City, 2016
“I’m sorry, Miss Blanchard. I don’t understand. You want me to do what?”
I reach into my purse and take out my bottle of pain pills. The only way I make it through the days now is by swallowing as many as I can at a time while remaining functional for Chloe. I had to stop breastfeeding before I started chemo. She’s eating food now, holding her own bottle. I’ve wept so many times I can’t count. I hope there’s love in Pierce. I hope there are things I never saw, never got a chance to see.
Right now, we’re in a lawyer’s office in the Bowery, and Chloe is bouncing happily on my knee. Her thirteen-month birthday was yesterday. I won’t make it to see her turn two. I’m trying not to look directly at her, afraid I might burst into tears. Again.
“I need you to draft papers that designate all parental rights to my daughter to her father. They need to take effect immediately, and I need you to arrange to have her brought to him as soon as possible.” The words come out in a horrible rush. I hope he doesn’t make me repeat myself again.
The lawyer, a squat little man with sausage fingers and a mustache, looks at me like I’m crazy. “Miss, far be it from me to turn away someone who needs help. But have you thought this through? Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. ‘This too shall pass,’ as the poets say.”
I roll up my sleeves and show him the multiple holes in my yellow skin from all of the injections and IVs I’ve had in the last three months. I pull back my knit cap to reveal my patches of missing hair. “Mr. Bailey, my doctors said I had three-to-six months to live. We’re just past three months today. I’ve informed them I want to stop chemo, because it’s obviously not working. My family is in no position to take care of my daughter, and her father is. He comes from a wealthy family, and he can give her the life she deserves. I want to make sure she’s provided for, and doesn’t end up in foster care. So, this is the way it has to be. If you won’t do it, I will find someone who will.”
The lawyer can’t make eye contact with me anymore. As soon as people find out how sick I am, they usually resort to awkward platitudes or completely shut down. I’m not going to give this man the chance. I don’t have time.
“Sir, I need you to do this today. I have all of her things with me. It is important that she be settled with him as soon as possible. But I also have a very important caveat that you must make sure is included in the papers.”
He looks up from the desk with one eye, then quickly looks back down and shuffles papers nervously. “What would that be, Miss Blanchard?”
“Pierce can never know who Chloe’s mother is. It’s for the best. I want them both to move on with their lives. I know he will want proof Chloe is his, and that’s fine. But there is no reason for me to be involved in the equation. Is that understood?”
Bailey looks up in earnest this time. “Miss Blanchard…”
“Arie, please.”
“Arie. I have to be honest with you. I’m troubled. What possible harm could there be in Chloe’s father knowing that you are her mother?”
I cough, and the cough causes excruciating pain in my abdomen. I am so tired of being sick, and I’m tired of being tired. Everything is weighing on me, and the only thing that is keeping me going is Chloe. I know once she is safe, I can finally stop fighting this. And that’s all I want right now.
“Mr. Bailey, I am poor. I am beyond poor. I have been forced to borrow money from some very questionable men just to pay for my medical treatments. I have gone to great lengths to ensure that those men have no idea I have a family, let alone a daughter. Once I am dead, there is nothing they can do to get their money back, no one they can hurt. If Pierce doesn’t know who Chloe’s mother is, he can’t make any connections that might get him, or Chloe, hurt. So, please. Just do this for me.”
Bailey sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “All right, Arie. I will help you. But let’s make one thing very clear. I don’t want any dirty money making its way into my accounts. Nothing that started out in the pocket of a loan shark. So… I’m going to do this pro bono.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I feel guilty for being suspicious of him. “Thank you, Mr. Bailey.”
He nods. “Call me Roger. We’re going to get this sorted out for you, Arie. We’re going to make sure your little girl is safe.”
It’s the first piece of good news I’ve had in months, and for a moment, I feel at peace.
Pierce
New York City, 2016
It’s my first day at CSL, and I feel like everyone is treating me with kid gloves. My dad has appointed me head of Overseas Logistics and Security Maintenance, which sounds a lot more complicated than it is. But truthfully, I’m far more qualified for it now than I was before, when I had nothing to my name but a degree earned with straight C’s and a bad attitude. At least now, when people contact us looking for help organizing security details in Europe and the Middle East, I have the experience to advise them properly.
It doesn’t change the fact that I feel like I’m in over my head, especially since I have no assistant yet. My father’s assistant keeps running back and forth, trying to help me acclimate. It’s not even 10am, and I’ve already had a total of seven people come in and out of my office, expecting me to know answers to questions I don’t even remotely understand. My head is spinning, and my leg is starting to ache a little more than I care to admit, so I opt to take a few seconds just to set my head on my desk to regroup. I hear an insistent cough from just outside my office door. I know I should sit up, and be professional, but I just don’t have it in me.
Instead, I raise my voice enough that they can hear me even though I’m still face down.
