His eyes are on me, soft, maybe a little relieved, and full of painful sympathy. “That’s it exactly. I feel helpless and so…out of my depth. Is your dad okay now?”
I focus on the napkin in my lap. “In a way, yes. He’s with her now, if you believe in that kind of thing. So I’d like to think he’s happy and at peace. That they both are.”
This time when Daxton reaches across the table, his fingers slide over mine, eyes full of commiserating despair. “They’re gone? You lost them both, too?”
My first instinct is to retract my hand and hide it under the table, away from the man who seems to cause no end of conflict every time he drops into my life.
“Not at the same time, and not in such a…” Violent, horrific, haunting. “Difficult way.”
“But you’re alone. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
His hand is still covering mine. The contact is unnerving because his warmth seems to seep under my skin and into my veins, radiating through my entire body, inciting a very different set of emotions, ones I haven’t felt in a very long time. Ones at war with the sadness of my own loss, of his. Ones that definitely don’t fit these circumstances. I shake those off. It’s just because we share a similar level of trauma, because his loss makes me remember my own. And he’s attractive, which is impossible not to notice when I’m sitting across from him like this, and he’s touching me.
I withdraw my hand, severing the contact. “No, I don’t have any siblings. I have a very close friend who’s pretty much like a sister, though, so it’s almost the same thing. I imagine this is hard in a different way for you because you have someone, but she’s in your care and needs your guidance.”
He stretches his leg out and his foot knocks against mine under the table, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or move it away. Maybe he thinks my leg is part of the table. “Does the empty feeling ever go away?”
I think about holidays, my parents’ birthdays, my own, and what it’s like to be without them when I reach milestones. “I think you learn how to live with holes in your heart. You can’t patch them up, or plug them with other people, but you find ways to make it bearable, if that makes sense.”
The flicker of hope in his eyes dims.
“It gets easier, Daxton. Not right away, and probably not for a long while, but it will get easier. You adjust.” You simply get used to having those empty spaces in your heart. But I leave that part out. His wounds are too fresh to poke at, and this discussion makes mine feel the same.
“You’re different than I remember,” he says.
His words feel like an electric charge. I give him a questioning smile. “I’m sorry?”
“I wish I would’ve…I wanted to…” He stumbles over his words. It’s strange to see him so uncomposed. “I know you’re here for Emme’s well-being, but I—”
“Daxton?” A shrill female voice makes us both jolt.
Standing at the end of the table is a tall, very leggy, very stereotypical California female. Her blond hair is almost white—artificially so—and her boobs are fake and there’s enough collagen injected into her lips to make her look like she’s just finished giving head to an entire football team.
His eyes close for the briefest moment and his fingers tense against the edge of the table. When they open again, he gives me an apologetic look, and then his expression and his body language transform as he directs a warm, welcoming smile at the quasi-human Barbie doll.
He gives her an appraising, visual sweep. “Hi.”
“How are you? God, it’s been forever. It’s Jessie. You remember me, right?” Her nose scrunches. “We met at that party at Justin’s a few months back. Everyone was skinny-dipping.” She does this flaily thing with her hands, and her eyebrows shoot up, like there’s more meaning in that than I’d care to know about.
I crumple up my napkin and toss it on my plate. Gathering the files, I slip them into my briefcase. “I have to head back to the office for afternoon meetings.” I pull a twenty from my purse and let it flutter to the table.
“No, no. This is on me.” He reaches for the money and tries to give it back, but I’m already out of the booth.
I smooth out my skirt, ignoring him. I feel dowdy next to Jessie.
Daxton tries to follow me, but Jessie is already squeezing in beside him. “I need to—” He points in my direction, and Jessie gives him a blank look.
She glances at me and then back at him, tilting her head to the side. “Oh, are you two…” She motions between us with an expression somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “Together?”
I laugh. “I’m just a lawyer.”
“Oh, right. That makes sense.” Jessie nods. She puts her hand on Daxton’s arm. “Is everything okay?”
I have to fight an eye roll. Emme and I have that particular trait in common, I suppose. The thought of her being raised by someone who’s clearly into the party lifestyle gets my back up. “I’ll be in touch with Trish this afternoon. Have Emme call me if she needs anything.”
“Kailyn—”
“You may want to consider what constitutes positive role-modeling as you move forward.” And with that parting comment, I leave him to manage what I assume is one of his many previous conquests.
I’m on my way out the door when Emme walks back into the diner. Her smile falls when she sees me, messenger bag in hand. “You’re going?” Her frown deepens when she sees the woman barricading her brother into the booth. “Who’s that?”
“A friend of your brother’s, I think.” I have to work hard to keep the disdain from creeping into my voice. I rearrange my features into a smile. “I have to get back to the office. But it was lovely to meet you, Emme.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.” She fidgets, fingers tugging on a loose thread. “Um, well, thanks for coming to lunch and explaining all that stuff. I don’t really get it, but I’m glad you’re helping me and Dax.”
Poor baby, she looks so lost. I want to tell her everything is going to be okay, even if it’s a lie. “If you have any questions, I’m happy to try to answer them.”
She wrings her hands. “So I stay with Dax, and you just make sure my trust is safe and stuff?”
I spend a few minutes explaining again exactly how it all works and hope her nods mean she really does get it, but I suggest exchanging contact information so she can call or text if there’s anything else she’s unsure of.
Meanwhile Jessie fawns all over Daxton fifteen feet away.
“Maybe next time we can just talk about normal stuff,” Emme says as she pockets her phone. And then she hugs me. I wonder if hugging is a family thing and maybe they’re all big on affection. It takes me a moment to shake off the awkwardness and react. As soon as I wrap my arms around her tiny frame, she tightens her hold on me. I want to protect her from this pain, even though I know it’s impossible. I pat her back and give her a squeeze, remembering how difficult it was when I lost my mom, whose hugs were really the only ones that ever made me feel better when I was sad, and my heart aches even more for this lost girl.
When I return to the office, I have a list of phone calls a mile long. One stands out among them because it’s not a client. Linda Thrasher left a message requesting a call back regarding Emme Hughes. I’m unsurprised the aunt has tracked me down.