by Amy Daws
I stare at myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. For today’s meeting, I selected my black pencil skirt with ankle boots and an aqua chiffon blouse. I thought the color would make my face look livelier than it feels. I think I thought wrong.
I clomp loudly down the stairs with my black satchel over one shoulder, and swing open the door to a surprised Liam, appearing to be mid-knock.
“Liam,” I say, shocked to see him here.
He looks past me, nervously, and says, “Hey Finley, I’m just here because I forgot my DVDs the other day. I’m sorry…I’m not trying to be weird, I didn’t even know if you’d be here. Frank said I could pop by today.”
I shake my head, “No, no, it’s fine. It’s not weird.”
He awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets.
“Are you off today?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.
“Yep, I had some stuff to take care of with my parents, so I’m off the rest of the week actually.”
“Oh…” I nervously fidget with the strap of my satchel.
I haven’t seen Liam since the night I told him that Brody was it for me. Seeing him now doesn’t change that fact, but I feel a huge sense of sadness thinking back to the euphoric feeling I had when Brody showed up that night.
“How are you?” Liam asks, staring down at his shoes.
“I’m fine…okay,” I reply, not wanting to lie to him.
“Things okay?” he asks, looking up into my eyes for the first time.
I shake my head and briefly roll my eyes.
“You don’t want to know,” my voice cracks.
He takes in my emotional expression and hesitates a split second before stepping closer to the doorway.
“Do I need to fix something again?” he asks, with a pure, wonderful sincerity in his eyes.
I slouch my shoulders and exhale a huge sigh.
“Oh, God, Liam. You’re too nice of a guy.”
“Finley,” he begins, looking straight into my eyes. “I care about you. Just talk to me.”
“Brody’s gone,” I walk out the front door, closing it behind me. I’m not going to lie to Liam. He doesn’t deserve to be brushed aside like yesterday’s news.
“I finally told him all the crazy crap in my head and he’s gone. He had a right to leave. I’m a horrible, awful person.” I finish, locking the door. I shuffle over to the top step and sit down.
“I can’t cry about this anymore, I’ve cried too much. I’ve screwed up too much. I just need to stop, already!” I finish, dropping my head into my hands.
Liam sits down next to me, keeping a good foot of space between us. I don’t feel a single ounce of sexual tension between us anymore. It feels like a friend talking to a friend. Thank God for that because I can’t handle much more right now.
“Does this have anything to do with that bullocks comment you made to me at the tarts and vicars party, about you not being worth it?” he says, turning slightly toward me.
I nod my head, unable to meet his eyes.
“My guess is Brody didn’t appreciate your assessment of yourself.”
I nod my head again. “Or my assessment of him,” I finish, looking over to the skate park.
“Yeah, us blokes are funny creatures like that,” he says, and I turn to look at him. “We don’t appreciate being doubted by the woman we love.”
I look deep into his warm brown eyes.
“I feel like it’s too late for me to fix it, Liam,” I say, feeling my eyes prickle with tears.
“Good thing you’re talking with the King of Fixing,” he says, smiling playfully at me.
“So, what do you suggest?” I ask, pinching my eyebrows and praying for a miraculously easy answer to come out of Liam’s mouth.
“Fix yourself before you try to fix your relationship,” he finishes, with a simple shrug.
Well shit. That’s absolutely no help.
As if reading my mind, Liam laughs, “Finley!” he says, throwing his arm around my shoulder in a playful way. “You’ve got to give yourself more credit. You can figure this one out…I’m sure of it.”
I smile for what feels like the first time in days, and lean my head on Liam’s shoulder. He really is a fixer. Just feeling his presence again, stirs something inside of me I thought was long gone. Hope.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The fresh country air is a welcomed change as Mr. Adamson picks me up at the same spot he picked me up before. His mustache looks shorter today as he hugs me hello, and I can’t help but smile at his butterscotch scent. The drive out to the country is quiet. Talking isn’t quite as easy for me today, after Liam made my brain hurt, but thankfully the silence seems comfortable, and Mr. Adamson doesn’t seem to mind.
Mrs. Adamson and Sheila are both standing in the front yard, waiting for my arrival. Mrs. Adamson nearly jogs up to the door to open it and pulls me into a hug. I fight back the tears at the maternal-comforting feeling that comes over me.
“Finley, love! We are so happy to have you back so soon!” she says, squinting slightly at my watery eyes, but choosing not to address them, thankfully.
“Nice to see you again, Finley,” Sheila says, walking over and hugging me. “We’re really excited to see what your company has for ideas.”
“And we’re so happy we get to hear all about it from you, and not some stuffy salesman,” Mr. Adamson says, coming up behind us.
They lead me inside to the dining room again. I nervously set up the power point proposal I have on my laptop.
***
An hour later, they are signing on the line, and I’m thrilled with my first sale, and the idea of Val’s company being an integral part of their growth. I’m certain that Faith’s Miracle Jewelry is in good hands. They deserve this so much.
“Finley, love. I want to show you my garden out back before you leave. It’s my pride and joy, you know,” she says, brushing her long white hair back behind her shoulders.
“Oh yes, my mother’s roses are well known in town,” Sheila says. “People actually come out just to visit her garden.”
“Sounds great!” I say, and Mrs. Adamson leads me out the back door.
“The roses don’t look the greatest this time of year, but they aren’t completely gone yet,” she says, as we mosey around the winding gravel paths, in their beautifully manicured backyard.
“They look beautiful,” I say. “I have trouble keeping a plant alive at all, so this is all amazing to me.”
She looks at me, thoughtfully, and nods.
“May I be frank with you, Finley?” she asks.
Mrs. Adamson has an uncanny way of being direct and honest, but I can’t help but love her for it. In fact, it’s what I love most about her.
“Please,” I reply.
“You seem like you’re in pain today,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re being wonderful and professional and kind, but my heart hurts just looking at you, my darling.”
“I’m sorry, I…” I start, not knowing what to say.
“Don’t ever be sorry for pain, love. Never be sorry for pain,” she says, shaking her finger at me, sternly. “Pain is what makes the good stuff good. It makes us appreciate the wonderful, Finley!” she says, guiding me around a bend to the next area of mossy grass and trimmed shrubbery.
“What if the pain is what pushed the good away?” I ask, because I just can’t help myself. I’m prepared to take advice from anyone, former flings, and new clients. Hell, I’ll even ask Frank for relationship tips if I have to.
She looks to be deep in thought. I’m not sure she’s even going to reply until she smiles back at me expectantly.
“You know, Finley, there was a very dark time in my life after my miscarriage, before we adopted Sheila. I don’t tell many people this, but Mr. Adamson couldn’t get me out of bed for many days. You see, I think women, in general…I for one, feel like our lives will never truly be fulfilled unless we rear a child. Unless I experienced pregnancy and childbirth. Go
d made our bodies for continuing the human species, right? Adam and Eve…the garden. If I couldn’t do that, then what kind of woman did that make me? What was the point of me anymore? Why would anyone want me?”
I look at her with my jaw slightly dropped, stunned by her words.
“It sounds foolish now. I’m old, so those are ancient thoughts, I suppose. You young children don’t even need to have babies and you’re happy. Look at Sheila. She’s not married, no children, and no desire to have children. She says she’s perfectly content having her jewelry be her baby, and that fills me with such pride. I’m proud of the fact that I raised my girl to be so sure of her mind and know what she wants.”
“But what if I don’t know what I want,” I say. Mrs. Adamson doesn’t know what I’m going through, but the way she’s speaking to me right now, it feels like she does.
“That just makes you you, Finley. That makes you special. And a work in progress,” she says, tapping her finger softly on the tip of my nose. “A work in progress, like a lot of our jewelry pieces!” she laughs. “But just you wait, when we finish those pieces, they are going to be more stunning than we even could have dreamed.”
Without thinking, I reach out and grab her arm, stopping our pace.
“Thank you,” I say, with tears in my eyes. I pull her to me and hug her tightly.
She hugs me back and brushes my hair off to the side, the way only a mother can.
“The most beautiful work in progress I’ve ever seen,” she says, pulling away from me and stroking my hair around my face.
We walk around the garden a bit longer, giving my eyes time to dry out and then she takes me back inside so Mr. Adamson can deliver me back to the rail station. As I ride back to the city, I think about everything she said. How I can stop being a work in progress and become happy in my own skin again. I feel a shift happening inside of me. I just have to figure out what I’m going to do about it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
When I get back to London, I’m just hopping off the tube and walking the two blocks to our house when I see I have a voicemail.
I press One and hear my mother’s voice.
“Finley, it’s Mom. Cadence is in the hospital, honey. There’s something wrong with the baby,” I hear her voice crack, and a muffling of her phone.
I stop dead in my tracks on the sidewalk, people swerve to get around me.
“I know you’re so far away, honey, but Cade said you were saving for a ticket, so we’re hoping you can come early. She just keeps saying she needs you here. She wants you, sweetie.”
Her voice is full-on crying now and I feel my chest swell with panic.
I hang up and call my mom’s cell.
“Hello?” My dad’s gruff voice cuts over the line.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I ask.
“Hey, kiddo. It’s…it’s not good, Finley,” he says.
“Tell me, Dad!” I reply with urgency.
“I think it’s better you just get here. We’ll be able to explain it all in person.”
“Is Cadence okay?” I say, my voice squealing with a cry I’ve never heard before.
My dad sighs heavily, trying to compose himself, “She’s fine, Finley. I promise.”
“What about Baby George?” I ask, a knot forming in my throat.
“There’s some complications, Fin. Please honey, we’d really rather talk to you in person. Can you do that for me, kid? Can you do me that favor, please?”
He sounds desperate, so I agree. I hang up the phone and run the rest of the way home.
Coldness prickles over my body as I frantically throw clothes into a small carry-on luggage bag.
“What are you going to do? You don’t have a ticket or anything yet, Fin,” Leslie says, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Do you know how expensive a short-notice ticket purchase will be?”
“I have to get home, Leslie! This isn’t even negotiable. You should have heard my dad,” I start, unable to finish that sentence. “I’ll just put it on my credit card. Cadence needs,” my voice cracks and my chin trembles as a sob rushes out of my chest. “Her baby…” My voice screeches out into that cracked scary sound again and I close my mouth, knowing I can’t say anything more.
Frank enters my bedroom abruptly, “Give me your handbag, Finley.”
I look at him questioningly, and watch him trudge over to my bed and grab it without another word.
“I have to go soon, Frank,” I explain.
“I know, just give me five minutes, love,” he contends, as he exits my room.
I have no clue what Frank is doing but I don’t have time to think about it. I need to get my bathroom essentials packed.
“I wish I knew what to say, Finley,” says Les. “Your poor sister. I just, I wish I could help you or something. Or I wish your dad would have just told you what was going on.”
“There’s nothing to help with, Les. I just need to get to Cadence right now. I’m praying it’s not a worst-case scenario and they are just overreacting. Maybe the doctor will have it all figured out by the time I get there,” I say, not really convincing myself.
I zip up my carry-on and make my way downstairs with Leslie following closely behind. When I hit the bottom of the stairs, Frank is in the foyer with his tablet in hand as he hangs up his cellphone.
“Okay, love. Your ticket is booked and paid for and the cab is only two minutes away. I got you on the next flight out of Heathrow in two hours; you’ll be home by tomorrow morning. Your ticket confirmation should be in your email account, so you can just use your mobile at the airport,” he rushes his words out in a businesslike manner.
I look at Frank, stunned. “Thanks, Frank. I’ll pay you back,” I finish, taking my purse from him.
“Stuff that. You’re not paying me back a pound, just promise you’ll come back to us, Fin-Bin. I mean, I hope your sister is okay and everything. Of course I do, but…” he pauses, looking around the room, awkwardly. “I’ve kind of grown somewhat attached to you, I’m afraid.” He looks down sadly, with one hand on his small hip and the other scratching his frizzy orange hair.
I sigh at the sweetness of his sentiment. He looks up at me with tears in his eyes.
“Frank, what is it?” I reach over and pull him into a strong hug.
Frank sniffs hard, “I’m not crying, I’m just…oh, stuff it. I can’t handle all these emotions. You women have ruined me.” He pulls back and looks between me and Leslie. “Seeing you rush off to go be with your sister is just a lot for me to process. I’m such a girl now when it comes to these types of issues.” He clears his throat, “I’m not trying to make this about me. I’m sorry. I just,” he pauses. “I don’t have family like you do. You guys are kind of it for me.”
I hug him again and Leslie comes over and wraps her arms around both of us. We hold each other quietly until a honk comes from outside the door.
“Give your sister hugs from all of us, and call us as soon as you land,” Leslie says, with red eyes.
“I love you guys,” I reply, looking at both of their tear-strewn faces.
Frank grabs my carry-on and follows me outside. Leslie stays at the doorway, waving sadly at me, turning away to hide her tears. I take one final look at the house that welcomed me when I needed it most. The house with a purple door that now feels like home to me. The house that, despite it all, I’m not ready to leave yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The flight home is torture. Complete and utter agony. I wasn’t sure what I was going to find out when I got to the hospital. While waiting to board the plane, I had called my mom, begging her to just tell me everything and she adamantly refused. So for the whole twelve-hour flight, my mind raced with all of the worst-case scenarios. If my mom won’t tell me the details, then has the worst already happened?
Could something be wrong with the baby? Or perhaps there is something wrong with Cadence? I’d read an article once about a woman who got breast cancer while she was pregnant and refused treat
ment because it would kill the baby. That would be Cadence. Being a mother was her whole entire life. She’d gladly lay down her life to save the life of any one of her three girls or the precious baby boy she was carrying. I can’t even comprehend what that news would feel like, so I just tried to focus on the plane ride.
Both of my parents are waiting for me outside of the airport when I come outside. The familiar Midwest air is in no way comforting when I lock eyes with them. They look older and tired. I’m not sure if it’s from my time away or from the stress of the current situation.
My mom rushes over to hug me and begins shaking into my shoulder.
I pull back, looking into her large, round aqua eyes.
“Mom, what?” I ask, worried sick now.
Her hair is tied back into a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
She shakes her head, regretfully, “It’s not good, Finley. It’s not good.” She bursts into a sob, screwing up her face to try and get her emotions under control.
“Jesus, Mom. Tell me!” I cry.
My dad comes over and places a comforting hand on my mom’s shoulder while she continues to try and speak but can’t find the words. She looks at my dad with a surrendering nod of her head and cries into his shoulder.
“Cadey lost the baby, Fin,” he says, in his deep baritone voice.
I pull my head back slowly, looking him directly in the eyes. Flutters of life and people blur in my peripheral vision as the gravity of the news settles in my brain. My dad didn’t just say that, he didn’t. He continues to watch me somberly, his chin twitching under his dark brown goatee.
“Cadence lost her baby?” Cadence lost her baby. Her. Baby. I hunch over and cover my eyes and face with my hands as my face crumples beneath them.
“No!” I cry, ripping my hands away from my face and looking at my dad, accusingly. “Her little boy?” I question, a cry erupting from my mouth again. Why did I have to say that? Why did I have to say little boy? I just have to realize the situation in another way to fully comprehend this news.