by Kira Blakely
But why does he have to be a man?
Watching him now as he talks to Abby, sitting next to her on the examination table as he answers her questions, I can feel my jealousy rising.
To make matters worse, he’s just about as good-looking as I am with the same blue eyes. It’s not the looks I’m worried about, though. It’s the fact that he’ll be seeing all of Abby, examining a part of her that only I should have the right to examine.
Why did she have to choose a male doctor?
I’ve told Abby I’m uncomfortable with it but she’s made up her mind, saying that the fact that he’s a man has nothing to do with it. She just trusts him as her doctor.
She had such a hard time trusting me and now, she just easily trusts this doctor?
When I told her that, though, she brought up all the women from my past, saying she trusts me in spite of all of them and that I should trust her. Of course, I could say no more.
I swear this is her way of getting back at me somehow.
And I can’t even read this guy, not knowing if he’s interested in Abby or not.
Needless to say, I’m going to be here for every check-up.
“Well, that’ll be all.” Dr. Norwood gets off the table. “If you need anything, you can just call me anytime.”
I roll my eyes.
Abby smiles. “Thanks, Doctor.”
“And congratulations again, Mr. Herbert.” He offers his hand.
I shake it but say nothing, waving my hand as we leave the clinic.
Outside, Abby grabs my arm.
“Come on. You don’t have to look like you’re being tortured.”
“But I am,” I tell her.
“If you’re such a grouch, I won’t bring you to my check-ups.”
I frown.
“Just kidding,” Abby says,
Well, she’s in a good mood. She seems to be glowing, actually, pregnancy becoming her.
“You know, I was thinking maybe we should come up with a pregnancy app. I know there are a lot out there already but I just feel like none of them really works for me.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll look into it,” I tell her.
“Thanks.” She rests her head on my shoulder, causing my jealousy to simmer away. “Oh, and I want to look at some baby furniture. Can we do that? Please?”
She clasps her hands under her chin as she gives me those puppy dog eyes.
I place my arm around her. “Sure. But it will have to be after I meet with a client.” I look at my watch. “I’m having lunch with him.”
She frowns. “Oh, right. That guy from Parsons Entertainment, right?”
“You can join us since you’re still my personal assistant and all,” I tell her, rubbing her arm. “I’d be happy to introduce you. Then we can go shopping afterward.”
That makes her face light up. Ah, nothing cheers a woman up like a potential shopping spree.
“Okay.”
***
We arrive at the restaurant early, Abby ordering a bunch of appetizers since she’s hungry. I just order a glass of wine as I wait, watching her devour the food and checking some things on my phone, occasionally looking around to see if the man I’m meeting has arrived.
After a few minutes, I see him entering the restaurant just as Abby disappears into the restrooms, wearing a blue-collared shirt that has the logo of his company and holding a black laptop bag. He’s older than I expected, probably in his fifties but it doesn’t matter. As our eyes meet, I smile and he smiles back, walking over.
“Hi, there.” He offers his hand. “I’m Dennis Cooper from Parsons Entertainment.”
“Grant Herbert,” I introduce myself as I shake his hand. “Please sit down.
He sits, a puzzled look spreading across his face as he sees the empty plates on the table. “You’ve got company.”
“My personal assistant,” I tell him. “Who also happens to be my girlfriend.”
“Ah. How nice.”
I glance around. “Ah, there she is now.”
I stand up as Abby approaches. “Dennis, meet Abby Gomez. Abby, this is…”
I don’t finish my introduction, feeling worried as Abby grows pale, her breathing ragged as she stares at Dennis in horror.
Why is she looking at him as if she’s seen a ghost?
“Abby?”
Chapter 15
Abby
Impossible.
I run across the parking lot, my heart racing inside my heavy chest and my hands shaking.
Of all the people who could walk into that restaurant and do business with Grant, why does it have to be Dennis Parker?
I thought he was dead. I wished many times that he was, rotting to death in some cellar or at a bottom of a ravine with no one to recognize him or look for him or mourn him. Yet, there he is, alive and well, with that smile on his face.
How can he smile like that after all he did to my mother?
“Hey.” Grant catches up with me, grabbing my hand and pulling me into his arms. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
I snuggle into his warmth, breaking into a sob.
Why am I crying? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the hormones. Or maybe it’s because seeing that man reminded me of all the pain and suffering my mother went through and of her death.
He was the one who killed her, after all.
Grant places a hand on my hair. “That’s the man with the mustache, isn’t he? Your stepfather?”
I nod. “I thought he was dead. We never heard from him again. I never thought I’d see him again.”
“Shh.” He runs his fingers through my hair.
“He’s the reason for all the hell my mother and I went through. He started all of it. He brought me and my mother to America. He promised her a lot of things. And then he left her. He left us without so much as a penny, just a house we couldn’t afford.”
“Calm down, Abby. That’s in the past now.”
“If not for him, if he hadn’t left, my mother wouldn’t have gone into that downward spiral. Or maybe if only he had left her some money so she could stand on her own two feet. Or if he hadn’t said those cruel words as he left.”
“It’s all right, Abby.” Grant grips my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “I’m not going to let him hurt you.”
I know that. Even so, I can’t help but feel afraid. I don’t ever want to see him again.
“Are you still going to do business with him?” I ask as I wipe my tears.
“I’m doing business with his company, not him,” Grant answers. “But you’ll never have to see him again. I’ll deal with him myself.”
I nod.
He pulls me into his chest again. “Shh. You’re not supposed to get yourself stressed. It’s not good for the baby.”
“I know. I didn’t ask to be stressed, though.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry I brought you here to meet him. Why don’t you go to the mall ahead and check out some baby stuff, huh? Get whatever you want. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
“I think I’ll just go home.”
I’m no longer in the mood to go shopping, my euphoria from having heard my baby’s heartbeat for the first time earlier having evaporated. It’s funny how the past can mess you up just when you think you’ve left it behind, just when everything is going perfectly.
“All right. If that’s what you want.” Grant rubs my shoulder. “But you have to relax and not think about this anymore. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“Okay.”
Grant squeezes me. “Trust me, Abby. Everything is going to be all right.”
I do trust him. Even so, I can’t help but feel that a can of worms has been opened just as I can’t help but feel that I haven’t seen the last of Dennis Cooper.
And I’m usually right about these things.
***
A few days later, I get an email from Dennis. No doubt he got my address from someone in his company since I was using it for business correspondence. That’s right, busines
s. Yet, his email has nothing to do with work at all.
Abby,
I’m glad to see that you are well. You have become a fine woman and found a good man. I am so proud of you.
I know you’re mad at me, and I can’t blame you. The last time you saw me, I was shouting at your mother. I’m sorry you had to see that. I remember seeing you peeking from the kitchen with a scared expression. How I wanted to bring you with me. But I knew you would never leave your mother.
Why did I leave her? That’s probably your biggest question. And yet, I’m sure you know the answer. You saw how your mother changed. You heard her complaints and her jealous fits. You saw the bottles of alcohol and the meds. You might have been too young to understand at the time but I’m sure you understand now.
I had no choice but to leave your mother.
I don’t know what lies she told you after. I expect she told you a lot. But let me tell you that I truly loved your mother and you as my own daughter. I still remember the first time I saw you. You were sitting on the window sill with a wildflower in your hair, singing your heart out even though you didn’t have an audience. I remember, too, that time when we first went to Disneyland and you were in awe of everything.
All these years that we’ve been apart, I thought of you. I worried that your mother wasn’t taking care of you. It took me some time to get my finances stable again – your mother squandered all my savings, you see – but when I did, I looked for you. I could no longer find you, though.
Now, our paths have crossed again. Who would have thought? I know you want to pretend that it never happened. You want me to leave you alone. But I can’t. Whatever the case, you are still my stepdaughter and you are dear to me. My greatest regret has been leaving you, and it has burdened my conscience. Please let us free each other from the past. Let us leave its ugliness behind. There was also beauty. Remember that. Let us think of that instead and move on.
My number is written below. I will wait for a chance to have dinner with you, to reminisce the good old times, to hear all you have to say – I know there must be a lot you need to get off your chest – and how you’ve come this far. Let me make it up to you. Let me be the man you’ve always wanted to have – your father.
Dennis
I close the message, frowning, then leave my desk, looking out the window. How dare he send me such a letter? How dare he try to be my father?
No. I refuse to see him, to give in to his pleas.
Why should I have dinner with him? Why should I believe his words? Why should I let him off the hook?
I have no reason to.
***
“You should do it for your own peace of mind,” Lindsey tells me as she pushes the cart down the aisle of the baby store.
She came to New York to talk to her publisher, and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and get her to help me shop for some baby essentials. I also told her about Dennis’ email. I didn’t think she’d try to convince me to meet him though.
“If I go have dinner with him, he’ll think I’ve forgiven him,” I tell her, stopping to try a rattle.
“Why don’t you forgive him?”
I look at her in shock, the rattle falling to the floor. “What?”
Lindsey picks up the rattle and puts it back. “I’m not telling you to do it for his sake. I’m telling you to do it for yourself. When you don’t forgive, you choose to burden yourself. You tie yourself to the past and when you do that, you can’t live the present fully. You lose out.”
“I know.” I’ve heard all that crap before. “But I just can’t forgive him.”
“I’m not telling you this as a psychologist. I’m telling you this because I decided to forgive Mark.”
I look at her. “You did?”
“I didn’t want to at first. I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him again. But you kind of inspired me.”
“Me?” I point a finger at myself.
“You and Grant. You showed me that men can change for the women they love. Also, you did forgive Grant, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but…”
“Sometimes, you just have to let go of the past and look to the future. And forgiveness is just another word for that.”
I sigh. “Listen. I’m glad that you and Mark are doing well again. But I just can’t forgive Dennis. He ruined my mother’s life.”
“He left your mother. She ruined her own life.”
“Fine but… If he hadn’t brought my mother and me to the US, things might have been different for her. She could have been happy. You see, the reason why she ended up the way she did was because he gave her so much hope. He made her rely on him. And then he left her.”
“If you didn’t come here to the US, you wouldn’t have met Grant. If you hadn’t gone through all those hardships, you would not be the woman you are today,” Lindsey points out, leaning on the cart. “But don’t dwell on the should-have-beens and shouldn’t haves. Don’t dwell in the past. Grant is trying to make peace with his past. Shouldn’t you do the same?”
I hate it when she’s right.
“The only thing Dennis did was get out of a toxic relationship and start over.” Lindsey starts pushing the cart again. “The only mistake he made was leaving you behind, which he’s now trying to make up for.”
“So, we should just forget about what happened to my mother?” I ask as I get a stuffed toy from the shelf, hugging it.
“I’m saying your mother isn’t here, and Dennis is practically the only family you have left, right? You’re going to have a child soon, Abby. Don’t you want your child to have a grandfather?”
I haven’t really thought of that.
“If you don’t let go of the past, you’ll teach your child about hate. Don’t do that.”
I give up.
“Fine. I’ll have dinner with him.” I put the toy back on the shelf. “Now can we shop?”
Lindsey smiles. “Sure. What else do you need?”
***
“I definitely need to come back to this restaurant and have more of their Death by Chocolate,” I tell Dennis as I wipe my mouth with the table napkin, having just finished three servings. “And I think when I’m not pregnant anymore, I’ll have some of their Death by Coffee. The one you had looked absolutely gorgeous.”
“It did taste amazing,” Dennis agrees, taking a sip from his glass of wine. “I’m glad I chose this restaurant. More than that, I’m glad that you agreed to have dinner with me.”
I reach for my own glass of water. “So am I.”
Truth be told, I was dreading this dinner, but it wasn’t so bad and not just because the food was delicious but because Dennis was cordial all throughout, even funny at times. He seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say.
Maybe, just maybe, Lindsey’s right. It’s time to move on, both for my child’s sake and mine.
“So, are you going to stick around New York?” I ask.
“Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “Because, you know, you said you wanted to be the father I never had. I was thinking since I’m having a baby, it would be nice to have some family to welcome him or her.”
Dennis smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be around.”
“Good.” I take another sip of water.
“I can’t believe you’re having your own family but I am very happy for you. Your mother would have been, too.”
I pause, my mother being mentioned for the first time since we started dinner. I suppose it’s inevitable, though. She’s our common factor, after all. In fact, it’s a miracle we’ve only started talking about her now.
“Did you read about what happened to her?” I ask him, putting down my glass but keeping my fingers around it.
“Yes.” He taps his fingers on the table. “It’s unfortunate, really, that she had to die that way – in such a ghastly manner.”
“I didn’t look at the pictures.”
“Oh. Well, it’s good you didn’t. I shouldn’t have. They haunt
me sometimes.”
I imagine they would.
“When they do, I sometimes feel sorry for her but then, you know, she brought it upon herself.”
I stroke the glass. “I know.”
Like Lindsey said, my mother had the choice to rise above the circumstances or sink lower and unfortunately, she chose the latter.
“She should have known better than to go out with some four-eyed nerd. They’ve got issues, you know. Insecurities.”
I pause, my fingers tightening around the glass.
Health nut?
While I didn’t look at the pictures, I did read the article, which said my mother’s killer was Bernard Peters, who was an engineer. There wasn’t anything about him wearing glasses, though, or being a nerd.
Was there?
Chapter 16
Grant
“What are you doing?” I ask Abby as I enter her office, puzzled by the sheets of paper scattered all around her.
When she got out of bed earlier, I thought she was just going to the kitchen to grab a midnight snack or a glass of water. When she didn’t come back after ten minutes, I went to look for her, confused when I didn’t find her in the kitchen. I searched the house, eventually finding her in her office.
“I thought I told you to take a break from work.” I walk toward her. “You need your rest, Abby. The baby is more important.”
“This isn’t work,” she answers, not even looking up from the papers.
Sighing, I kneel and pick up one of them, surprised when I find that it’s a printed news article about the death of Cristina Gomez, her mother. I pick up another, and it’s the same story but by a different writer from a different website. So is the next and the next and the next, some of them with gruesome pictures, the only exception a print-out about a man named Bernard Peters.
I frown. “What’s going on, Abby?”
She doesn’t answer, reading an article.
“Abby.” I grab her arm. “What’s going on here?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she finally answers. “Something was bothering me.”
“What?”
“Something about my mother’s death.”