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“Ask them in there.” She walks inside, grasping my arm, so I have no choice to go with her. Two policemen and Liam make up the tail of the parade.
Efficient as always, she finds a table that is not only empty but secluded and sinks onto a cushioned seat with a sigh. “Not the best thing to happen when you’re pregnant.”
She rubs her eyes, then summons a server. “What kind of herbal tea do you have?”
“Rooiboos and chamomile.”
“I’ll take the Rooiboos. What do you want, Micki?”
“Do you have green tea?”
The server nods. “Gunpowder or Genmaicha?”
“Genmaicha.”
We let the men give their own orders. Liam gets coffee and the others go for glasses of water.
I managed to hold on to my portfolio and now I pull out the manila envelope. Nudging Kath’s hand with the edge, I get her to take it from me. “I’m prepared to accept your offer.”
With an outward breath of relief, she puts it into her bag. “No counters? No demands?”
“It’s a substantial offer. I wouldn’t know what else to ask for.”
“My seven-year-old daughters would say a golden key, a tiara, and tea with the queen.”
“How about a unicorn?”
“I think you have that already.”
Puzzled, I decide I’m too shaken up to work it out.
The tea arrives and the questioning begins. Two hours later, I go to the women’s room and examine my neck. There are bruises where his arm squeezed it. I touch them and my neck is tender. Wish I’d worn a scarf. Then again, Sam might have strangled me. When I get back to the table, Kath is still there.
“I thought you would have signed and gone home by now.”
“Do you need to go to Immediate Care? Your neck looks bruised.”
“It’s not that bad,” I lie and grab a pen.
We sign statements and leave, Liam still apologizing for letting Sam get the jump. Kath waves down a cab. Somewhere along the line, Liam moved the car. As we walk to the parking lot down the way, I wonder how Sam knew where I’d be.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
I believe forgiveness is the best form of love in any relationship. It takes a strong person to say they’re sorry and an even stronger person to forgive.—Yolanda Hadid
JL
The hospital room is dark,although not exactly quiet. Machines whir and beep, monitoring Maman’s heart. She looks tiny, lying on the bed. I thought she would be up, eating breakfast, but instead she is still asleep.
Yesterday, my head was spinning from the situation and the travel, so I didn’t ask many questions, but now I want to know more. Dr. Fitzroy motions me out of the room for a chat. “How did she end up in the hospital?” I ask.
“She told me a friend came for dinner. Just as they sat down to eat, your mother complained of dizziness and trouble breathing. Fortunately, the guest had the presence of mind to call an ambulance.”
Angélique? “Do you know her name?”
He looks down at the clipboard. “Angélique Rigaud.”
I clamp my lips shut, grateful she was there when Maman needed her, but unsure how I am going to thank her without raising false expectations.
