“Sorry, sir. This is…my friend. I was just leaving for lunch.” Mr. Anderson eyes him with contempt, evidently not approving.
“This isn’t a social gathering. We don’t approve of non-employees loitering. Make sure to keep lunch to under an hour, and I’d like to see you in my office the minute you return.” He licks his lips, eyes Jake up and down, then walks back into his office, slamming the door.
“What was that all about?” He frowns at the closed door. “He seems…very unprofessional.”
“It’s nothing. Let’s just go.”
We’re seated at a small café close to the office. We’re both fidgety, waiting on the other to speak.
“I’m sorry…”
“About last night…”
We both sputter at once.
“I—”
“You—”
“Sorry, you go first,” he starts.
I nod, intertwining my fingers to help remain calm. “I have some questions.”
“Okay. Anything,” he rushes out.
“Did you know you were leaving for France that night? Before we…”
“I found out a couple hours before. I didn’t find out I was leaving that night until I walked out of the guest house. I would have never left like that…left you like that if I knew.”
I nod, feeling the pit of anger that’s weighed me down for years start to dissipate. “Did you know Rebecca was going with you?”
Shame forms in his eyes. His chin dips. “Yes.” The pit returns.
“Was what happened that night out of guilt? Was it for—?”
He grabs my hand. “Please stop thinking that. I know I probably left you so damn confused. Even I left not realizing the consequences until it was too late. But don’t think for a second what happened was out of anything but love. If anything, I was wrong for taking advantage of you.”
I pull my hand away. “How was it taking advantage?”
“You were only eighteen—”
“And in love with you. If age hadn’t been a factor, it would have happened sooner.” He stares at me, truth shining back at me. I become angry. “Or had I mistaken what we truly were? Maybe it was just me being naive and too young—”
“You want me to be truthful, then you have to be truthful too. Stop pretending what we had was just a childhood crush. I never acted on it because it was wrong. You were underage, and I wasn’t. I should have known better. If we got caught, in the eyes of the law, it would have been assault. How would that have looked for either of us?”
“Well, it doesn’t matter because no one found out. Our parents made sure of that.”
“Of what? How would they—you’re speaking in riddles. I’m too confused to understand. What did our parents do? Why did you not go to school? You couldn’t wait to leave. And there’s no way your mother would have let you gallivant around the world. What are you hiding? Did they do something to you?”
I slam my hands on the table. “No! Just stop. Stop making this about them. It’s about you and how you abandoned me when I needed you most—when I needed you to be there for me.”
“Then explain to me why? You seem so angry with me, and I don’t know why. You’re the one who was gone when I came home. The one who didn’t return any of my calls or letters. But I’m the one in the wrong?”
“Your email! You told me in your email exactly how you felt, so don’t go turning the tables on me!”
“What email?!” His voice booms, attracting attention to us.
A waiter walks up to our table. “Excuse me, but I need to ask you two to quiet down.”
Ignoring the man, I rip myself out of my seat. “How could you?”
Jake is up just as fast. “How could I what? You act so hurt by me leaving, as if I had a choice. As if you didn’t know my hands were tied. They’ve always been tied, so have yours.”
“It’s not about you leaving. It’s about you not coming back!” Tears rush down my face. When he attempts to clear them away, I slap his hand away. “About what I had to endure on my own.”
“Then tell me! Fucking tell me. I’m trying to understand, but I don’t!”
“‘I cannot claim personal responsibility. I hope you can get the help you need and make this go away.’” He jolts back as if I slapped him. “Sound familiar? That’s the letter I got. Or does your guilt keep you from remembering?”
“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wrote nothing of the sort. What did you need to make go away?”
“Oh, stop! Just stop. This ignorance is tiring. I’m done. I survived. She survived, even after your pathetic, cowardly response. And I’ll continue to survive after you return to wherever you came from—”
“Survived what, Willa? Who’s she? What the hell are you talking about?”
He goes to grab at my shoulders when a stranger steps in. “Hey, man. I think you should step off. The lady said to leave her alone.”
“Fuck off,” he snaps, then returns his searing gaze to me. “Answer me, Willa.” He’s so angry. I shield my heart from his anger, haunted by a memory that suddenly feels like a nightmare. “Willa—”
“I can’t…I’ve gotta go.”
“Willa!” he yells for me, but I’m already out the café door.
Chapter Seven
I don’t go back to work, too frazzled and afraid Jake will follow me there. When I get home, Carrie is struggling to get Bria to stop crying.
“It’s fine. I think she’s teething,” I tell her, then let her go home.
I hold my little girl in my arms and cry, begging her to calm down, praying for her forgiveness. She doesn’t have her father in her life, and it may be my fault. Does he not know? Did he not send me that email?
I curse my mother. How could I have been so foolish? I didn’t even second guess that it couldn’t have been him. Anyone could have sent it. Anyone being my mother. Or his. Two desperate women blood-hungry to be on top. His words were so cold and held no meaning. As if I’d never meant anything to him. Those words hurt so much, I was too pained to see it then.
He didn’t write it.
He doesn’t even know.
Bria doesn’t let up. I soothe her gums with medicine and frozen toys. I rock her and sing to her, but she doesn’t stop. I give her a bath, but she’s too restless and flails so bad, I give up and redress her. “Please, baby girl. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
I fear it’s not. How could I think I could do this on my own? Helplessness weighs me down. She’s in pain, and I don’t know how to fix it. She finally cries herself to sleep, and I put her in her crib. I try to go to sleep, but I toss and turn, the guilt too much to handle. I get up and check on Bria. When I touch my palm to her tiny head, it’s on fire. “Oh my god.” Running to the bathroom, I grab a thermometer and take her temperature.
“No, no, no,” I cry, watching the number rise to an unhealthy temperature. “Shit.” I pick her up and bundle her up. I should have taken her at the first sign of distress. Her fever is in dangerous territory, and it’s all my fault. I throw my shoes on, forgetting to put a jacket on myself.