A Broken Us (London Lover Series Book 1)

by Amy Daws

  “Olivia, Brody!” I bark at him, “I saw the pictures of you and Olivia all over Facebook. You guys look great, playing happy family together.”

  “I thought you canceled your Facebook account, Finley,” he replies, adding a long F at the beginning of my name.

  “Screw you, Brody. Don’t sit there acting all angry and wounded that I’m in London when you’re with the one girl I hate from college. Olivia, Brody? Really? You couldn’t find anyone else to climb on top of?” I ask, knowing I sound nasty right now but unable to help it.

  “At least she’s in my continent!” he booms, into the phone.

  “Glad to see you’ve set your standards nice and high!” I reply, my voice getting louder at the end.

  I look down and watch the skate ramps. A group is standing off to the side, laughing, appearing to be having a great time while I’m up here in my circular prison cell.

  “My standards couldn’t be any higher, Finley. You sort of ruined that for me,” he says, sounding quieter and more reserved now.

  I shake my head not knowing how to interpret that comment. Does he mean Olivia is better than me? So much for closure.

  “Well, I wanted to tell you where I’m living and how I’m doing. Now I’ve told you, I would like to hear how you’re doing, but I pretty much already know. Take care, Brody. Have a nice life with Olivia. I’m glad I met you.” I hang up, squeezing my phone tightly in my hand in frustration.

  I don’t know why I added that last bit. Laying on the guilt, I suppose. It’s hard to stay disconnected from him and not be jealous and possessive when I know I need to be. I’m the one who ended things. I remind myself of everything I can’t give him but I’m seething at the idea that Olivia could be the one who does. Picturing her with a round, pregnant belly, and his hands on her—breaks me.

  I collapse onto my bed and cry hard. Seriously, God! Why? Why can’t I give Brody a baby? Why can’t I be a woman like all other women and do this for him? I want to give him this! But I can’t and it’s killing me inside. Even the idea of Liam doesn’t cheer me up because he’s just another guy I’ll have to reveal my barren secret to down the road. It’s terrible, and it’s heart-wrenching, and I can’t fix it. This is my lot in life; I need to get the hell over it.

  ***

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Val assigns me a new client who’s actually from the UK, so she’s really quite happy about my current location and the fact she can send me over to the client without sloughing it off to the sister company. She must be taking advantage of my current location because she’s never had an international client before. I’m just happy she’s still okay with me not coming back to the States and hasn’t pressured me about returning. Not to mention, I’m extremely grateful for the distraction.

  I dress sharply in the one formal business suit I packed and hop on the tube, London’s version of a subway, for my meeting. Val wants me to meet them personally and get a feel for how their business operates and a hands-on feel of their product. The client is a family-run business that specializes in Christian inspired jewelry. Faith’s Miracle Jewelry is the name of their jewelry line. They want Val’s company to take over their marketing in the U.S. I’m to meet with the family and report back.

  Frank and Leslie help me figure out what train I need to take because the business is located on the outskirts of London. I enjoy the beautiful country scenery on the thirty-minute train ride while adding more to the list of questions Val prepared for me.

  When I get off the train in Esher, and make my way out toward the parking lot, I see a white-haired elderly man with a big thick gray mustache holding up a sign with my name on it. I smile brightly at him and offer my hand.

  “Ah, Finley! Lovely to meet you lass, I’m Mr. Adamson. Right this way to the car,” he greets, with a kind smile.

  Adamson is the name of the family that runs the business. I’m surprised to see he didn’t just send a driver rather than pick me up himself, but he doesn’t seem the least bit put out. He directs me over to his vehicle and opens the passenger side door for me to get in.

  “Mr. Adamson, thank you for picking me up, really,” I say, trying to start conversation.

  “Of course, dear. Of course! We’re excited to have some American blood in our house,” he replies, while navigating us out of the parking lot. “My wife has been polishing the jewelry-line all morning. It’s been her dream to have the jewelry go international.”

  I’m surprised to hear she’s polishing it herself and they don’t have staff for that. Val indicated to me that this company started off small but are huge in England now. They are able to outsource all the manufacturing so they can focus solely on the sales side of the business.

  “I’m really excited to see it, Sir,” I say, smiling at him again. He seems so jolly with his big mustache and crinkly eyes. I hope Mrs. Adamson is this approachable.

  We drive in comfortable silence through the hilly countryside of England and I make a note to ask Leslie and Frank if we can take a vacation to the country sometime because it’s like a whole other world out here. Huge rolling hills of sheep and pastures, and little old cottages dropped sporadically throughout. It’s simply beautiful.

  “How long have you been in London, love?” Mr. Adamson asks while reaching into his suit-coat pocket, silently offering me a butterscotch candy.

  “Almost a month,” I reply, taking the candy, unwrapping it, and popping it into my mouth.

  He nods his head appreciatively while popping one in his mouth, too.

  “Do you miss home a lot?” he asks, tucking the treat into his cheek to make it easier to talk.

  “Yes, parts,” I answer. “But it’s incredibly beautiful out here, I’m happy to be experiencing some new areas.”

  We pull up to a beautiful little brick house with several peaks. An older woman with long white hair is standing in front of the house waiting to greet us.

  “Mrs. Adamson, I presume?” I ask as the woman rushes up to shake my hand and pulls me in and kisses me on both cheeks.

  “Is it Finley, love?” she asks.

  “Yes, that’s me!” I reply.

  Mr. Adamson comes around the car and they usher me up the sidewalk, pointing out the yard and all the landscaping they work on every year. Mrs. Adamson is most definitely just as friendly as Mr. Adamson. I sort of love that they don’t ask me to call them by their first names. It might seem more formal this way, but it suits them. Watching them both talk animatedly about their yard is endearing, and I find myself smiling fondly at them.

  When we walk into their house, they offer me some tea. I haven’t quite jumped on the British tea craze yet, but I accept to be polite. Mr. Adamson heads to the kitchen to pour the tea and Mrs. Adamson leads me into the dining room. A short, round African woman is adjusting the jewelry splayed all over the table.

  She looks up when we come in and walks over to introduce herself.

  “Hi there, I’m Sheila Adamson. So nice to meet you,” she shakes my hand and gives me two quick kisses just like Mrs. Adamson. “We’re really excited to have you here.”

  I smile back at her and can’t help but wonder how she’s related because of the obvious difference in skin tones. She looks like the right age to be their daughter, so she could be adopted. Or maybe the Adamsons have a son, and this is his wife?

  She gestures for me to sit down and I pull my binder out of my satchel and ready all my meeting points and supplies. I eye the jewelry thoughtfully.

  Mr. Adamson comes in with four teas and we settle ourselves around the table. We make small talk for a while. They ask about my journey out to the country, how I like London, and where I’m from in the States. I can tell I’m going to get along really well with these clients. They all seem like very kind people; I’m so pleased to have something to take my mind off all my personal issues.

  “I’d like to start,” Mrs. Adamson says, pushing her white hair off of her shoulders and leaning her arms on the table. She’s seated directly a
cross from me and squints her large grey eyes at me.

  “May I ask if you have any children, Finley? I know it’s a personal question, but it would help me to know if you had any children before I tell you about our jewelry line we are very passionate about.”

  I’m taken aback by this question, but I remain composed and respect her no-nonsense approach.

  “No, no children,” I smile back at her.

  “Okay then, that’s okay. Here’s the deal. This jewelry line was something I started forty years ago because I was hurting and needed an outlet for my pain. I’m going to get very deep with you for a moment, Finley. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Please do,” I offer.

  “I had a miscarriage when I was thirty years old. I wasn’t very far along in my pregnancy and miscarriages back then didn’t appear to be that big of a deal. Everybody just swept them under the rug and didn’t talk about them. But, as you may be able to tell by first impression, I’m a bit of a talker. I wanted to talk about the baby I lost. I wanted to memorialize the baby I lost. Grieve the baby I lost. Because that’s what it was, Finley, a baby.”

  My face turns serious and I nod, listening to everything she’s saying. I’m fighting an internal battle with myself not to tear up because it would be completely unprofessional, but I can feel my emotions bubbling inside of me.

  “Nobody wanted to talk to me about it or even acknowledge that this little babe, who had changed my life so dramatically, even existed! But I wanted to remember, Finley. I wanted to remember my baby like he or she was alive. So I made myself a necklace.”

  She fumbles under her shirt and pulls out a very primitive looking piece of jewelry. It isn’t anything special but it has an interesting quality to it. The chain is silver and looks newer than the piece hanging from it, which is a tarnished cross with thinly looped wires shaped into angel wings fastened behind it. It is beautiful and the way she rubs it shows me that she does that a lot. I look a little closer and engraved on the cross is the word Faith.

  “Are you a Christian, Finley?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Good. This piece of jewelry around my neck says the word Faith. That was the name of our little babe and that’s what brought us this beautiful little girl sitting next to you,” she says, gesturing to Sheila.

  I nod with a small smile over to Sheila and she smiles back, appearing to be very used to hearing this story. The adoration and love I see in Mr. and Mrs. Adamson’s eyes makes my eyes well and I can’t make them stop.

  “Losing that wee babe broke me, Finley. I didn’t think I would ever recover. Mr. Adamson here was the one who told me that if we couldn’t make a baby ourselves, we’d adopt. Simple as that,” she laughed and looked over to him.

  “Sheila is our miracle, Finley. She was the driving force behind the start of Faith’s Miracle Jewelry. We adopted her in Liberia at a time of deep despair. She was only five years old when she came to us. All I wanted to do was cuddle her and all she wanted to do was make jewelry!” She laughs heartily and reaches over to pat Sheila’s hand.

  I smile at the exchange and two small tears slip down my cheeks. I avoid wiping them for fear of calling attention to myself. Thankfully, Sheila lightens the mood with a loud sigh.

  “Now that my mother has told you my life story,” she laughs, “We’d love to show you all of our pieces, Finley,” Sheila says, standing up and grabbing a piece that was on a necklace stand in the middle of the table.

  I clear my throat at the sudden change in conversation but am thankful that Sheila must have picked up on my emotions and is trying to help me out a bit.

  Sheila hands me a gorgeous, shiny, brand new, high-end version of what Mrs. Adamson has around her neck. It is stunning; a definite showstopper. All three of them interject while they explain all the detailing in the piece to me, where the products came from, how it was developed, and who designed it. I rapidly take notes. I can feel excitement bubbling for how beautiful the rest must be. They then take turns showing me all the other pieces, explaining the inspiration behind each one. The first piece is the only one related to angels. They call it their memorial piece. The rest are a bit more generic, something-for-every-type-of-Christian jewelry, but equally beautiful. They also have many pieces that aren’t Christian inspired at all, just beautiful. I’m excited to see there is something for everyone on the table because it’s essential for marketing successfully.

  I feverishly finish my notes then begin snapping photos on my phone trying to capture the true essence of this line to report back to Val. Sheila knows the product backward and forward. I can tell she is just as passionate about the jewelry, if not more, than her parents. I am certain this will take off in America, and I am thrilled to be a part of a new and exciting international client for Val.

  When we finish going through all the products and selling points for their jewelry, Mr. Adamson tells me that Sheila will be taking me back to the rail station. Mrs. Adamson hugs me goodbye and gives me a kiss on each cheek.

  “I like you, Finley. There’s something about you that really works here. You tell Val we want you to be our contact at the company. I love Val and I’ll talk to her anytime, but I’d like you to be the one handling everything else,” she says, looking straight into my eyes while holding onto my arms.

  I beam back at her, “Well that’s very sweet of you to say. I’ll relay the message to Val but I’m not sure how everything will be handled. It’s not really up to me.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out.” She hugs me one more time and lets the embrace linger. It feels like she can tell I need it and I don’t pull back. I take it and I love it. It feels motherly. It also just feels good to have someone who’s so happy and content in their life hold me for a moment, almost like it will seep into me and ease away all my aches and pains.

  After our final goodbyes, Sheila and I jump into the car and are back on the winding country roads. I’m smiling broadly out the window, unable to contain the inner light I feel after such a great meeting. The Adamsons made me feel lighter somehow.

  “My parents are pretty amazing, aren’t they?” Sheila asks, pulling my gaze from the scenery to her beautiful dark-skinned face.

  “They are. And so are you. You guys are a remarkable family,” I reply.

  “I can’t even imagine having a better life than I do now. It’s where I belong,” she says, looking at me with a small smile on her face.

  I nod back at her; it seems like a rhetorical statement but I can’t help my curiosity.

  “What do you mean by that, exactly?” I ask.

  She laughs softly, “I’ve heard that story about how Faith’s Miracle Jewelry got started loads of times, my mum loves to tell it. But it always takes me back to my childhood before them. Since I was five years old when I was adopted, I do have a few memories of my life before them. They are fuzzy now that I’m nearly forty, but they’re there.”

  I look over to her and try and decipher where she’s going with this.

  “I just know, deep down, this is where I was always meant to be, and I’m with who I was always supposed to be with. They are my parents. And that jewelry line is my baby…my everything. I’m incredibly passionate about it. I hope you could feel that,” she says, looking at me seriously.

  “I definitely felt it,” I nod.

  She smiles again, “Call it God’s plan, fate, faith…whatever. But something definitely brought me to them and I’m thankful for that everyday.”

  I nod, mulling over what she’s saying.

  “And the jewelry is a great perk,” she adds, laughing.

  “Jewelry is a sweet perk!” I agree.

  Sheila has a great laugh, it’s infectious. When we both finish laughing, she says, “They don’t do that with everyone you know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I mean, they tell the story of Faith’s Miracle Jewelry, but not quite like that. They really do like you, Finley.”

  I smile back at her; i
t’s so easy to smile with this family.

  “We’re a small family business and we don’t let outsiders in…ever. This is a big step for us to expand. Going international has always been my mum’s dream. I’m glad we have someone like you to help us in the process. I know you’ll always keep our best interests at heart.”

  “One-hundred percent,” I reply, looking at her seriously so she sees my sincerity.

  She smiles back at me and looks out at the road again.

  When we arrive at the rail station, Sheila gives me a big hug and two kisses. Like mother, like daughter. It’s amazing how different they look from each other, but are so incredibly alike. Instead of looking over notes and beginning to organize my proposal for Val, I simply stare out the window and enjoy the scenery on the ride back to London. I truly feel like the Adamsons gave me a glimpse into a world I needed to see. I smile to myself thinking about Sheila’s faith comment.

  The Adamsons look at their daughter, Sheila, as an amazing gift from God. I’ve never even met someone who was adopted before. I feel ashamed to admit that I am surprised with how deeply she feels for her parents. I always feared an adopted child would want to know who their real mother and father was at some age, but Sheila doesn’t seem anything but perfectly content with her parents and Faith’s Miracle Jewelry.

  Sheila even inspired Mr. and Mrs. Adamson to build a business that helps people cope with loss and hang onto their faith when they may be floundering. I can’t contain my giggle when I picture Mr. Adamson’s face watching his two girls talk excitedly about their jewelry. What a good day. What an amazing family. I consider the idea that I never would have met them if I hadn’t come to London.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  After my meeting with the Adamsons, I’m jam-packed with work for the next few days. Val and I have to Skype a lot to work out a marketing strategy. Val seems to have an extra investment in their success, too. I suspect it’s because of her history with struggling to conceive a child.