by Jade Kerrion
“Explain why you brought me to a large party and exposed me as an escort when I’ve spent the past year closing the door on that part of my life? I’m sure there are worse ways to make a woman feel like dirt, but I can’t think of any right now. Good night, Tom.”
Tom stared at Sheridan’s back until she stepped into a waiting cab. She did not look back, not once. Damn it. He had come in on the tail end of whatever confrontation had happened at the party. He had hoped to find Charlotte first to let her know that they had all arrived for the party. So much for that.
The party he returned to was a great deal more subdued than the one he had left. Guests milled around as if uncertain if the party was still on. Both Mitch and Charlotte had disappeared. Tom found Mitch’s son, Jackson, in the crowd. “Where’s your father?”
“With Charlotte, in their suite.” He shrugged. “At least they’re getting it out now. I remember my parents never argued in public; perhaps that was their problem.” Jackson looked at Tom. “Was that woman really having an affair with my dad?”
Tom shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so, or you know so?”
Tom grimaced. “At some point, you just have to step out in faith and take someone’s statements at face value.”
“Blind trust? I didn’t even know lawyers did that.”
“No snide jabs at lawyers, okay?” Tom shoved his hands into his pockets of his pants. “You can’t have a relationship without some level of mutual trust.”
“Did Charlotte really ask you to dig up the dirt on that woman?”
“Sheridan. Yes, she did. At Thanksgiving.”
“Wow, you work fast.”
Did he? Tom frowned. Four weeks was fast, but it was all due to the intense, magical connection between him and Sheridan—the connection that was crudely broken minutes earlier. He excused himself and strode down the corridor to knock on the closed door of Charlotte’s suite.
The raised voices in the suite fell silent. “It’s Tom,” he said.
Moments later, the door flung open. Mitch’s face was taut. “You want to come in here and explain things to your sister? Preferably in a language she understands? English isn’t working.”
“I’m not a marriage counselor. I just want to know what happened out there. Who said what to Sheridan?”
Mitch flung his hand out at Charlotte who stood with her back to them, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I was talking to Elyse when she marched up to us and accused me of flaunting my affairs in her face and having the audacity to bring Elyse here.”
Tom frowned. “What the hell was that about, Char? I told you they weren’t having an affair, and I told you I was bringing her here because I wanted you to meet the woman I was dating! What possessed you to pull all the skeletons out of the closet and shame her in public? She has done nothing to you.”
Charlotte spun around, her arms folded across her chest. “And you really believe her when she said she didn’t have an affair with Mitch? She’s just his type. Young and pretty, with that look of helpless vulnerability.”
“Are we talking about the same person? There’s nothing vulnerable about Sheridan. She’s fought hard to get to where she is, and she’s still fighting hard. She’s got guts and spirit, and yes, she’s a bit broken on the inside, but who isn’t?”
“She’s a whore.”
“She made tough choices many years ago, but she isn’t a whore now and she’s not having an affair with your husband. You’re both going to have to find someone else to blame for your mutual lack of interest in this marriage.” Tom stepped back and closed the door as he walked away.
The sound of silence followed him.
He found Aria standing by the front door, staring at him with large accusing eyes and a mutinous scowl on her face. “That was mean.” Aria clearly made up for her lack of tact with an abundance of truth.
“Yes, it was,” Tom agreed. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going? Are you going to say sorry to Sheridan?”
“Yes, if she’ll listen.” Tom braced against the niggling fear in his heart that she wouldn’t. She had to. He couldn’t come all this way only to lose her again.
Chapter 9
Sheridan spent the first few hours of Christmas day ignoring Tom’s phone calls. Not long after, she received the call she had been expecting from Jessica. “What happened?” Jessica asked without even saying Merry Christmas. “Tom called. Said he’s been trying to reach you.”
“I’m not taking his calls. It’s over.”
“What happened?”
“He was an ass, and I was an idiot. I got carried away by the dream that someone out there might actually see me for me.”
“Oh, honey. It’s not a dream.”
“Well, with Tom, it was an illusion. He dated me because his sister thought I was having an affair with her husband.”
“Huh…and I thought only women were capable of being that devious. Who knew?”
Right. Who knew?
“You made the right call, honey. You’re well rid of him,” Jessica said briskly. “You didn’t…” She suddenly hesitated. “Did you?”
“Sleep with him?” Bitterness choked Sheridan. “Yes, I did.”
Jessica was silent for a long moment. “He meant a great deal to you.”
“He did. I even told him my real name. I would have told him everything eventually. Good thing it never came to that.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”
She stood straighter. “I’m fine.”
“Would you like to come over for Christmas dinner? I’ve got cookies in the oven now, and tonight, we’ll have ham and all its trimmings.”
“I’m going to see Frances in a few minutes.”
“And then?”
Her gaze fell on the two wrapped gifts under her decorated Christmas tree. Tom and Aria.
Her jaw tensed. Then nothing. Tom was no longer part of her plans. “I’m just going to hang out and chill out. I’ve deserved it. Merry Christmas, Jessica.”
“You call, all right, if you need anything? And Merry Christmas to you, too.”
Christmas, however, was anything but merry. She paid Frances a visit, knowing she could not stay for long. Frances’s foster family had their Christmas routine, including attending church, followed by opening presents in the afternoon, and she had no place in it. She did, however, spend an hour reading to Frances while her foster family scurried to get ready for church.
Several times, she paused in her reading to look at Frances. Her daughter hunched in the wheelchair, the pretty green dress hanging on her thin frame. Her vacant eyes stared straight ahead and her hands lay flat and unmoving on her lap.
Sheridan laid her hand over her daughter’s. Frances’s hands were bony and limp. “Remember Tom?” Sheridan mustered a weak smile. “Well, he’s not relevant anymore. It’s just you and me, and we’ll do just fine.”
But “just fine” lasted for less than twenty-four hours. Her phone rang at 8 a.m. the following morning. Still half asleep, she glanced at the number to confirm it wasn’t Tom before picking up the phone. It was Nicole Lefton, the lawyer from Mitch’s company who was point on Sheridan’s adoption case. “I’m sorry for calling so early, but we have to talk.”
“What about?”
“The furor at Mitch’s party.”
“You were there?”
“I was out on the balcony, but I heard about it. Unfortunately, so did everyone.”
“Mitch’s wife was loud.”
“Loud’s only half the problem. She dug up the dirt on you.”
Sheridan went cold. “What do you mean?”
“We agreed to keep your slightly checkered past out of the application. As far as the state of New York knows, Elyse Vogel moved from Montana to New York, obtained her GED, and enrolled in college. The fact that you’ve been legitimately enrolled at Parsons for the past four years helped tremendously. What didn’t help was Charlotte exposi
ng you as an escort at one of biggest parties of the season. I got a call from our contact at the Children and Family Services department. They’ve heard about it too. Almost anyone who is someone in New York has heard it.”
“So…they know.”
“Yes, they do. I argued that your past was long in the past and that the facts on our application are truthful, but it’s going to come down to how kindly they’re feeling.”
“You mean…”
“They could stamp a big fat ‘no’ on your application and we wouldn’t be able to contest it. They’ll take it to court and we’d have no way to counter it, not when everyone knows the truth. No judge is going to turn a handicapped child over to an escort.”
“But I’m not—” She struggled to hold back the sob that caught in her throat. “I’m not an escort anymore.”
“I know that. Mitch does, too, but the state doesn’t care. They can’t be seen as negligent, and unfortunately, now that the showdown is making the gossip rounds, they can’t pretend to be ignorant.”
“But surely there’s something you can do. You told me that I was just weeks away from being able to adopt Frances.”
“And you were. And I’m not saying it’s a total loss. Mitch and I are going to pull every string we can, and maybe even some we can’t. He knows people who know people. We’ll do our best.”
“When will I know?”
“As soon as I do. I’ll keep you in the loop every step of the way.” Nicole’s tone gentled. “I know how much this means to you, Sheridan. I know how hard you’ve tried to keep in touch with your daughter.”
“I couldn’t keep her then. I gave her up six years ago because it was the best thing for her.”
“And it was. And I know you’re the best thing for her now because you love her like no one else can. I’m going to make sure the state hears that story, that it’s not a decision made just on paper, but a decision that has to be made based on knowing you. Are there any credible people you can put forward to make that case for you?”
“You mean like a character witness? Yes, Marisa Chantilly. I babysit Eva overnight on some weekends.”
“Great. Ask if she’s willing to step forward and be a part of the process. If she is, give me her contact information and I’ll take it from there. Anyone else who can vouch for you?”
“A couple of professors and classmates. I’ll ask them.”
“Great. Anyone else not from your academic circle? The wider we can cast the net, the better. Someone who knows you socially?”
Tom. Sheridan sucked in a deep breath. He had gotten her into the deep dark hole in the first place. If not for him, she would not be panicking, dreading the very real likelihood of losing her daughter. “No, there isn’t anyone else.”
“All right. We have a plan. If you think of anyone else, let me know. Meanwhile, I’m going to connect with Mitch and put together a strategy. Your case has to be ironclad before it even goes before the judge. I’m not going to take the risk of someone having a bad day and ruling against you in a fit of spite.”
The doorbell buzzed the moment Sheridan disconnected the call. She looked out through the peek hole. Fury surged through her, and she flung the door open. Tom looked startled. Hell, he would be a heck of a lot more than startled by the time she was done. “You’re a bastard. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I came to apologize.”
“For what? For telling everybody I was a whore, or for screwing up my adoption?”
His eyebrows drew together. “Your adoption?”
“I was weeks away from adopting my daughter, and now, the state is going to say no. They’re not going to let a prostitute adopt a child, especially one who will never be in any condition to speak or fend for herself. I turned my life around! I was finally on track. My daughter was finally going to be mine again, and in an instant, you took it all away. You stay the hell away from me. If you come near me again, I swear, I’m going to sue you for slander.”
She pushed the door in his face, but he put his leg against the doorframe to stop it from closing. “Sheridan, please. Can we talk?”
“There’s nothing left to say. You’ve already told me bunches of lies—so many lies I can’t tell where one ends and another starts.”
“Fine, then I’ll shut up. You talk.”
“I’ve talked too much. That’s how you got all that dirt on me, right?”
“And you know what lawyers do with words? We help dig people out of the dirt, too. Let’s talk, and not here in the doorway.”
She stared at him, too exhausted to hope, and almost too worn out to argue. She turned her back on him, and did not snap at him when he followed her into her townhouse. In her kitchen, she filled two glasses with the Riesling she had chilling in the refrigerator. She picked up her glass and walked to the other side of the kitchen, as far away as she could get from Tom without actually being in a different room.
“I left Montana with my two-day-old daughter,” she said, her voice distant as if she were reciting someone else’s story. “I was sixteen. I left before my stepfather was supposed to pick me up from the hospital. I didn’t want to go home because I didn’t want him to do to her what he did to me.”
She did not look up at Tom. She did not want to see or know how he was reacting. It was easier—far easier—to speak while staring down at her glass of wine. “He started molesting me when I was six, and raped me for the first time the night we buried my mother. I was twelve. It went on until I got pregnant at the age of fifteen. He blamed it on the neighborhood bully, and had the boy run out of town. My being pregnant didn’t stop him. In fact, it seemed to excite him even more. What he did to me, it wasn’t just shameful. It hurt, a lot. I could see how excited he was when he found out I was having a baby girl, and even though the doctor warned that physically, I was a little too small to safely carry a child to term and deliver her, he was insistent that I have her anyway. He said it wasn’t Christian to abort her.” Sheridan’s lip twisted. “Of course it wasn’t about being Christian. There was nothing Christian about what he did to me or what he wanted to do to my daughter. His daughter.”
She drew a deep breath. “So I left. Someone gave me some money, enough to buy a bus ticket, and I arrived in New York City two days later with a baby that I struggled to feed—she had no sucking reflex. I was almost all out of money, but someone pointed me to a homeless shelter. In fact, he brought me there—a halfway house for battered women—and I spent a few nights there before realizing that I was completely out of options. I couldn’t provide for Frances—although I called her Sweetie, then—and the director of the shelter helped get Frances into the foster system and set things up so that I could keep track of her. That’s what I’ve been doing since—visiting Frances every weekend, giving her gifts, sending money to her foster family to help offset their costs so that they don’t resent all the extra work on her behalf. And two years ago, when I finally felt secure enough in my savings to back out of my work as an escort, I went back to the halfway house to get help readopting Frances. That’s how I met Mitch and Nicole, the lawyer in his firm who is actually helping on my case. Except that now, there may be no case. Not anymore. Not since you told the world I was an escort.”
“I didn’t know.”
The apology evident in his quiet tone did nothing to stem her anger. “Frances…the family she’s with is kind, but she doesn’t belong with them. She belongs with me. You’ve seen her. She’s six years old but she doesn’t speak. She can’t walk. I think she could be better if she had therapy, but the state won’t pay for it.” She swiped her hand across her damp eyes. “I already had her appointments set up with therapists. I also had another apartment picked out—a smaller one, but closer to her therapists and the neurologist.” Her voice caught. “It was my fault. I lost sight of that life—the life I’d spent every night envisioning and every day trying to bring to reality. I let myself get distracted by a man and his pretty, perfect little daughter. I forgo
t how important Frances was to me, and I screwed up.”
“You didn’t.” Tom strode across the kitchen and reached for her hand, but she pulled it from his grasp and turned her back on him. “I screwed up. I underestimated how angry Charlotte was and how badly she wants out of her marriage. I thought logic and facts would be enough, but she wanted a scapegoat and I’m sorry I put you in the position to be one. All I wanted was for you to meet her; I wanted her to meet someone I cared about.”
Sheridan shook her head. “I can’t hear this. Not now. Not anymore. Do you have any idea what just happened? I have lost my only family because of what happened on Christmas Eve. The court isn’t going to give Frances to me. They may even say I can never see her again.”
“Look, nothing’s decided until it’s decided, and even then, you can appeal. It’s too early to give up.”
She spun around to glare at him. “I’m not giving up on Frances. I will never give up on my daughter. What I am giving up on are liars and lawyers. You know my whole story now. You can leave.”
“Sheridan.” He sounded pained. “I want…I need to be able to make it up to you.”
“The only thing I want and need is my daughter,” she forced the lie out through gritted teeth.
“You can’t tell me that what we shared meant nothing to you.”
“Not nothing, Tom, but certainly not enough.” She marched past him and opened the door. Cold air blasted in. “I want you to leave. Now.”
“You’re making a mistake. I can help you.”
“You’ve helped plenty,” she said acidly. “And I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but now, I’m absolutely certain I’m making the right decision. The next time you date someone, Tom, I strongly recommend you start with the truth; that is if you can even tell the difference anymore.”
He walked out of the door, but only after pausing to give her a long, steady look that seemed to freeze her and burn her simultaneously. “You know we’re meant for each other.”
“Life doesn’t always work out the way you plan. I was meant to be Frances’s mother, and look how that worked out. Goodbye, Tom.” Willpower and consideration for her neighbors kept her from slamming the door, but it was a near thing.