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“He’s gone and I’ve not heard from him since he left. Of course it’s what I think.”
Chrissie took a drink of her soda. “I’m not sure what to tell you, except I’ve never seen a man more besotted than he was for you.”
“Sexual attraction,” she reminded.
“Then I envied you sexual attraction, because it was palpable every time he looked at you or said your name. You walked into a room and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.” Chrissie shook her dark head in denial. “I just can’t believe he left you. Especially knowing you’re pregnant.”
“Believe.” Any sliver of hope she’d had had been crushed when he’d walked out of the ultrasound room without a backward glance. Literally and figuratively. He’d been gone a month and she’d not heard from him. Not even a text to say, Hi, how are you? How’s pregnant life? Nothing.
Because he was gone.
Gone and wanted her to know he was gone for good.
Fine. Let him stay gone. She had her family, her friends, and her precious baby. She’d ended up flushing the folded paper with the baby’s gender written on it, deciding that she wanted to wait. The baby’s sex didn’t matter. Either way, Savannah was going to love this baby so much that it wouldn’t matter that his or her dad wasn’t there.
She did love this baby that much. More.
“Honestly, since he never planned to stay in Chattanooga, I’m glad he’s gone. The longer he stayed the more difficult letting go would have been.” Not that she could imagine it having hurt any more than it had, but still.
“Maybe he had to leave for some secret CIA mission or something that he wasn’t allowed to tell you.”
“Hah,” Savannah scoffed at her friend’s outlandish suggestion. “Nice try, but let’s face it. Charl
ie was a jerk and, as far as I’m concerned, good riddance.”
A knock on her apartment door had both women looking at each other and Savannah scooting back her chair in hopes the noise didn’t disturb Joss.
“You expecting someone?”
“No.” She wasn’t. She glanced through the peephole and saw a fiftyish-looking man in a business suit carrying a large legal-sized manila envelope.
“Fancy-looking salesman,” she muttered to her friend, then called, “Who is it?” through the doorway.
“Kinda late for a salesman,” Chrissie muttered from where she still sat at the dining table.
“George Peterson,” the man answered. “I’m here on behalf of Dr. Charlie Keele.”
On behalf of? Had something happened to Charlie?
Without another thought, she undid her safety chain and flung the door open. “Is Charlie okay?”
The man looked startled at her question. “He’s fine.”
She sighed in relief, tension letting loose of her neck and shoulders. “Then who are you and why are you here?”
He held out the envelope. “I’m an attorney. Dr. Keele hired me to conduct some business transactions for him and to personally deliver this to you. Everything has been recorded at the court house and this is your copy.”
“My copy?” She knew she probably sounded crazy, but she had no clue what he was talking about. What had been recorded at the court house?
Then it hit her.
A lawyer representing Charlie.
Legal-sized papers recorded at the court house.
Her heart squeezed so tightly it skipped a beat.
Charlie was going for custody.
