CHAPTER TWELVE
Flynn felt like an idiot. Worse yet, he was an idiot. He’d rushed through his business on the West Coast. Ignoring how much he detested flying, he turned around in record time to board a flight to Nashville, rented a car, and raced to the estate, assuming Sami would be there and the two of them could go out for dinner. After all, he was responsible for her being there and it seemed the right thing to make sure she’d settled in.
Only to find Sami nowhere around. According to Kyle and William, she’d mentioned a dinner date and asked if it was okay to leave the dogs out. What did he expect? Saturday night was not the time a beautiful babe like Sami should be sitting home alone.
Flynn paced around his Hertz rental, paused to kick the tires and continued on his march. Kyle had offered to let Flynn into the apartment, since he knew they were friends, but that seemed an invasion of privacy to Flynn.
He whistled and called the dogs for the third or fourth time. The Lab bounded toward him from the woods, the Corgi in hot pursuit. Flynn smiled, pretty much for the first time that day. Then the beagle padded up, his tongue hanging out. Flynn didn’t know about Sami, but the dogs had settled in just fine.
Maybe he’d write a note. Head to the Hilton. Why hadn’t he gotten her phone number? Flynn shook his head, sighing at his unusual inept handling. He hunted in his carry-on for a notepad and stood, nibbling on the end of his pen. The Lab dashed away and returned with a ball, which she presented to Flynn with a happy wag of her tail. Flynn put the notebook and pen down and answered the “please play with me” summons.
He’d been tossing the ball about fifteen minutes when he realized the sky was losing its evening light. He sure as hell didn’t want to be caught hanging out there if Sami returned with her date.
Flynn frowned.
He picked up his pen.
The Corgi started barking and raced toward the long drive.
Sami’s Honda rounded the curve.
Flynn slipped his pen and notepad back into his leather carry-on. He wasn’t much of a writer. The car stopped, pursued by the Corgi. Sami opened the door and all three dogs ran towards her.
She stepped out. Alone. She looked around and it seemed for the first time she realized another vehicle was parked outside the garage. She turned, the expression on her face full of sadness. Flynn looked more closely.
Damn if she didn’t look like she’d been crying.
“Flynn?”
He walked toward her. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“I believe you are stretching the truth,” she said, but seemed a shade less sad. She greeted her dogs, accepted the tennis ball from Shelby, but didn’t toss it. “Would you like to come in?”
“Sure,” Flynn said. “Thought I’d see how the place is working out for you.” He wanted to ask her why she seemed in a funk, but decided not to launch into the ‘how was your date?’ question. For Flynn, it was good she’d returned fairly early. For Sami, no doubt the date had been one of her disaster scenarios.
Upstairs, Sami pointed to a cabinet near the kitchen. “I discovered that piece holds a fully stocked bar. Please help yourself.” She gave him a slight smile and indicated her dress and jacket. “I’m going to find something more relaxing to wear.”
“Fix you something?” Flynn strolled toward the bar. The dress and jacket needed not only to be removed from Sami, but banished from her wardrobe completely. The outfit looked like an old-style flight attendant uniform, except that it hung like a sack. She didn’t resemble the siren she’d been wearing Jonni’s slinky black number or the babe in the sheer shirt who’d shared the road trip from New Orleans.
“Whatever you’re having,” she said and headed down the hall to the bedrooms. All three dogs padded behind her.
Flynn studied the bottles. What he wanted to study was Sami, stripped free of her unflattering dress, naked and willing in his arms. He’d kiss away any hint of sorrow. Before she knew it, she’d forget all about whatever dating disaster she’d suffered.
None of that would matter.
All that would count would be pleasure.
Flynn grabbed at a bottle from the bar. He had to stop picturing Sami naked. She was not his kind of woman.
“Then what in the hell are you doing here?”
“Excuse me?” Sami said from somewhere behind his right shoulder. “Did you ask me a question?”
Flynn turned around, bottle held high. “Grey Goose good by you?”
She wore khaki shorts and a camisole, with the same sheer shirt over it, flowing loose, not buttoned. Her feet were bare. She looked ten years younger than she had in that wreck of a dress. And ten times sexier.
“I’ve never had a grey goose, but I’m open to the experience,” she said.
Open. Flynn swallowed hard. Sami was an alluring package, a package that should be wrapped in Caution tape, sporting a tag that read “Do Not Touch, Flynn Lawrence.” “It’s vodka,” he said. “My favorite brand.” One drink and he’d leave. Head to the downtown nightlife scene. Find a woman who’d drive Sami Pepper from his mind.
Sami mustered a smile for Flynn, happy for the good fortune that he’d turned up at a time she desperately needed to be distracted from her feelings of failure. Her dinner date with Dr. Chase Carpenter had not been a success. “Then I’m sure it’s perfect,” she said and walked over to the sofa facing the broad windows, sat down, and curled her feet under her.
She watched as he filled a metal container with ice, measured in vodka, and shook the container. “Did you learn that technique from James Bond movies?”
He grinned at her. “More like from the school of life.”
Sami sighed. “We certainly attended different schools. Do you know I’ve never had a martini?” She paused. “That is a martini you’re concocting, isn’t it?”
He nodded, pulled two glasses from the bar, and poured the drinks. “Sorry for the room temp glasses.” He carried the glasses to the sofa, handed one to her and joined her.
Sami took a tiny sip and wrinkled her nose. “The scent is interesting.”
Flynn tasted his drink. “Ah,” he said. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
Sami grimaced. “Not the doctor I had dinner with.”
“Oh?” Flynn took another swallow, and then set his glass on the side table. “Want to tell me about it?”
Sami considered his offer. She sipped her drink. “This tastes better after the initial shock wears off,” she said. “I’m inclined to do so,” she said. “You may be able to provide me with the male point of view.”
“Perhaps?” Flynn stretched an arm along the back of the sofa. “Honey, there’s no question about that.”
Sami giggled. “Oh, that’s not what I meant. I mean, please give me your insights into what I will describe to you. It’s not as scientific as a questionnaire, naturally, but any feedback you provide I will appreciate.”
Flynn nodded and kicked off his shoes. “Consider me yours.”
Flynn’s fingertips brushed the back of her shoulder in a way that made it hard for her to concentrate. Or perhaps that was the goose. She set her drink on the coffee table and sat half-facing Flynn. She had difficulty thinking with precision whenever Flynn touched her, no matter how casual the contact.
“Vonnie set me up with the perfect date.” She lifted one hand and ticked off Chase’s attributes. “A doctor. Excellent academic credentials. Well-respected by his colleagues. Single, never married, as in he is not rebounding from a bad divorce. Looking for an intellectually equal partner.”
Flynn reached for his drink. After a sip, he said, “Are we talking about a date or a job interview?”
“In some ways, the two fulfill the same purpose.”
Flynn choked.
Sami leaned over and patted him on the back.
He waved her off, took another swallow and returned the glass to the table. “Don’t you ever just go out to have fun?”
Sami tipped her head to one side. “Of course I do. But that’s with my girlfriends. Dating is serious business when you’re looking for a husband.”
He shook his head. “We did go to two different schools of life. You’re not marrying a CV, Sweet Stuff. Did you like the guy?”
Sami felt a flush rising in her cheeks. “Well, yes, I did.”
“So what happened?”
She tried a few more swallows of the martini while considering her response. “It’s possible that I over-prepared and tried too hard to make a good impression.”
“Slayed him with your research on whatever the hell his specialty is?”
Sami nodded. “Pediatric ophthalmology. Did you know that 52%—”
Flynn placed two fingers over her lips. “Shh. Don’t even start.”
Sami took another drink. “I thought he liked me. We met at a bar Friday evening but he had to leave for an emergency call. He must have liked me or he wouldn’t have asked me out for dinner, right?” Another sip. Another.
Flynn lifted the empty glass from her hand and put it on the coffee table. “Did you leave him a few minutes to say anything or did you lecture from the appetizer through the dessert?”
“I wanted him to be impressed with me.”
Flynn put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her comfortably against his side. “You asked me for my opinion.”
“I did.”
“You could benefit from some re-programming. Which I’m available to provide.”
Sami sighed. “Why is it so easy for some women and so challenging for me?”
“Maybe you haven’t met the right man. Maybe it’s not you at all.”
“But all my friends are married,” Sami said. “Vonnie set me up with this guy who ticks off every item on my perfect match list, and what did I do but scare him off? I could see that look in his eyes. Why, now that I think of it, it’s the same expression that was on Sean’s face the night we had dinner.”
“Deer in the headlights?”
Sami nodded. She relaxed against Flynn’s side.
“What happens if you don’t lecture?”
“I don’t know what to say. Or I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing and sound utterly inane.”
Flynn was doing something with his fingers to the back of her neck. “What’s wrong with inane?”
“Who wants to be seen as less than intelligent?”
“Life is about more than I.Q., Sami.”
She detected an undertone in his words. “Why do you say that?”
Flynn reached for his glass on the side table and drained what remained. “According to my mother, my sperm donor of a father was quite brainy.”
“Do you have any relationship at all with him?”
Flynn shook his head. “Forget about that. What we need to do, Sami Pepper, is teach you how to relax into dating. Enjoy it without trying so hard to be perfect. Then, before you know it, you’ll have your wish come true.”
“We?”
He shrugged. “I owe you your prize from the wager, right? True Love.”
Sami leaned her head back. She felt pleasantly light, floating a bit above the sofa, but safely linked to her surroundings by Flynn’s sheltering arm. She licked her lips, tasting the chill of the drink. “I don’t know why I couldn’t be as relaxed at dinner as I am right now.”
Flynn eyed her empty martini glass, figuring the drink, though he’d gone light on the liquor, might have something to do with her current mellow state. “Where did you go?”
“Morton’s.”
He made a face. “Stuffy enough for you?”
She turned her face up. “It’s a quite proper restaurant.”
“If you say so. Any idea why he selected Morton’s? Or did you pick?”
“He did.” She sat up, annoyance on her pretty face. “I never have two drinks, but would you fix another one of those geese for me?”
“In a minute,” Flynn said. “What’s got you riled up?”
“He’s a regular at Morton’s,” Sami said. “Because he lives next door, in a condo in an art deco building.”
Flynn couldn’t see what was wrong with that. “So it’s convenient.”
“But don’t you see?” Sami pushed her hair from her face. “He wanted to take me to dinner and then pop back to his place for sex.”
Flynn pulled his arm away from Sami. “I think I’ll fix us both a drink.” He busied himself at the bar, wondering why in the hell it bothered him to think of Sami waltzing from the dinner table to some guy’s bed. “You don’t know that,” he finally said, crossing back to the sofa with their drinks.
“I could tell,” Sami said. “He had that ‘bedroom eyes’ look on his face, and he couldn’t keep from studying my breasts, even over the top of the menu.”
“So you started lecturing on pediatric ophthalmology.” Flynn sipped his drink. “To take his mind off your body and focus it solely on your brains.”
“Precisely.”
Flynn put his arm back around Sami. “What’s so wrong about wanting to go to bed with a gorgeous woman?”
“Just once,” Sami said, “I want to be wanted for me. All of me. The whole, entire person me.” She gulped at her drink.
Flynn once again removed her drink. He put both of the glasses on the coffee table. Tipping her chin up, he kissed her softly on the lips. “I want you,” he said. He trailed his fingers along her neck, to the dip in her camisole between her glorious breasts. “For you.”
She laughed, then sighed, and plucked up his fingers, returning his hand to his lap. “Thank you,” she said. “But you and I are seeking different outcomes.”
Flynn kissed the top of her head. “Right. Good reminder.” He shifted on the sofa, but kept his arm around her shoulders. “We’d best concentrate on those dating pointers. For instance, say you’re at a party and a guy is talking to you, you don’t really have to say anything.”
“No?”
“No. Just tip your head back, widen your eyes.”
“Then think of something to say?”
“Nah. Touch the tip of your tongue to your upper lip.”
She laughed. “That is so oh, junior-high-ish.”
Flynn thought of how well she’d teased him on the road from New Orleans. Sami knew how to flirt with the best of them. She just had the wrong approach to the process. “Go ahead and humor me,” he said. “Try it.”
She tipped her chin upwards, widened her gorgeous green eyes and after a long moment, let the tip of her tongue linger along the center of her upper lip.
Flynn bit back a groan of lust. “Nothing junior-high-ish about that move.” He reached for his drink, knowing he was in trouble. He refused to drink and drive, so one way or another he’d be spending the night at Sami’s. But right now he needed the rest of the second martini. He’d be better off pouring it over his crotch.
“But there’s only a fraction of time I can perform such obviously sexually-charged come-hither moves and then legitimately protest when the man wants to take me straight to the bedroom,” Sami said. “When do I get to embark on a stimulating and thought-provoking discussion?”
“When that impulse comes over you,” Flynn said, “you need a plan in place to distract you.”
“A plan?” Sami was stroking her lip with her little finger.
Flynn wondered if she realized how sexy she looked. One look at her face told him she was deep in thought and was clueless to what she was doing to him.
Or was she?
He studied her face more closely. The minx had driven him wild during the drive up, trying to get him to lose their bet. Was she playing a similar game now? He thought of how sad she’d seemed when she pulled into the driveway. Darned if he didn’t want to pull her close and kiss her till she couldn’t be sad ever again.
Sami waited for what Flynn had to say next. He seemed to be distracted by something, but she wanted to make the most of his advice. Who better than a playboy to teach her what men wanted? “What course of action are you recommending?”
Flynn didn’t answer. Instead he rose from the sofa, gazed down at her and offered his hand.
Sami accepted it, rose with him and walked around the sofa to the open area near the piano.
“Suggest a dance,” he said. “No need to talk.”
“What if there is no music?” Sami was nothing if not practical.
He held out his arms. “Make your own,” he said.
Sami hesitated and then stepped into his arms. He hummed a slow tune and they began to move together. “Nice. Your technique is quite practiced.”
“Hush,” Flynn said. “Dancing is not a time for words. The music and our bodies are all that’s needed.”
“Now who’s being bossy?” Sami tipped her head back. Flynn was gazing down at her with a hungry look that made her feel a trifle nervous. And flattered.
“One more word and I’ll have to kiss you to shut you up,” he said, but his voice was tender.
Sami pressed her lips together. Dancing slowly with Flynn’s arms wrapped around her, her body snuggled against his, was playing with fire.
Fire burnt.
Fire hurt.
She stopped and wiggled out of his embrace. “Thanks for the lesson.” She smiled at him. “You’re welcome to the lavender room, or the couch.” She yawned and covered her mouth, exaggerating the motion, but only slightly. Those drinks had done their black magic on her, yet she retained enough sense to run like hell from Flynn’s touch.
Flynn screwed his mouth into a crooked smile. “Wise Dr. Pepper,” he said, sounding sad but resigned. “You’d do better kicking me out.”
She shook her head. “Not after those killer martinis.”
“Thank you,” Flynn said. “I’ll hang out on the couch.” He pulled his phone from his pants pocket. “Plenty to read.”
“Me too,” Sami said, thinking of the journal she’d yet to re-open. Perhaps it was the effects of the drink or the magic of Flynn’s touch. Or the way he seemed to listen to her and understand her, but suddenly she wanted to share with him what she’d discovered in Nathalie’s journal. “Are you sleepy?”
Flynn looked at her as if she’d asked if he was a giraffe. “Honey, the night is young. No, I’m not sleepy.”
“Me either.” She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed her gaze on his face. “I just don’t want you and me to do anything we’d regret. That’s why I ended the dance lesson in what you might consider a premature fashion.”
He nodded. “I know. That’s why I called you ‘Wise Dr. Pepper.’”
She flashed him a smile. “There’s something I’d like to share with you.”
He motioned to the sofa. “Let’s sit.”
Sami noted he kept a full cushion between them. Well, she wanted him not to touch her, so why did it feel a bit lonely with the two of them camped on opposite ends of the couch? She should be pleased that he had honored her preference. “In the two boxes I brought from my parents’, I found a journal. Nathalie’s.” She took a deep breath and tucked her feet under her. “My mother never does anything without a purpose; therefore I assumed she placed it in the box for me to find and read.”
“Whoa,” Flynn said. “What parent does that to her child? Though, of course, you’re not a child.” He added something else that sounded like, “All woman.”
Sami uncurled her feet and stood up. “I’ll be right back.” Ruby jumped up and followed her to the bedroom, where Sami retrieved the journal. Back in the living room, she resumed her seat. Still, she did not open the cover.
“Bit like Pandora’s box?” Flynn asked, leaning down to stroke the Corgi’s head as she’d settled next to his feet.
Sami nodded. “The beginning was what I expected. Notes about her residency. Pages and pages. It would be what I could imagine was at the forefront of her mind. Nathalie is brilliant and dedicated and need I add a perfectionist.”
“Exactly what she tried to lay on you,” Flynn said.
“Yes, I am definitely programmed to accept nothing less than perfection.”
Flynn stretched an arm along the back of the couch. “I wonder what you’d do if you could close your eyes and jump.”
Sami wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure I understand your point. I pursued my chosen professional path. I continue to pursue it.”
He shrugged. “Just saying maybe you picked what you did because you had to be a doctor of some sort to please your parents. Maybe you didn’t want to be a doctor of any sort. Maybe you wanted to… oh, pick something. Become a jazz pianist.”
Without thinking, Sami glanced over at the gleaming Yamaha upright.
“Aha,” Flynn said.
“This conversation is going off-course,” Sami said. “I’m perfectly satisfied with the intellectual rigors involved in teaching and researching in my field. So let’s return to the subject of the journal.” How could he have seen her look at the piano? Sami shifted on the couch, leaning her back against the arm. One of the problems with Flynn was he had a way of seeing more than he should. More than one would expect him to. She furrowed her brow and ran her hand over the front of the journal.
“I’m guessing the journal didn’t stay focused on what was happening in the hospital?”
Sami nodded, took another deep breath, opened the book, and located the last passage she’d read. “She writes about becoming engaged to Emile. They agree not to have children, as there seems to be a concern that his father, who died young, might have died from a condition that could have been passed on to Emile.”
“Wow,” Flynn said. “Wonder what happened to change their mind?”
“Accidental pregnancies occur all the time,” Sami said. “To normal, run-of-the-mill individuals. To a man and a woman as intellectually-oriented and science-based as Emile and Nathalie, no.”
Flynn shrugged. “They’re still human.”
Sami tucked her feet under her again and leaned forward, deciding not to respond to Flynn’s comment. She was used to Emile and Nathalie and the rigidity of their world. Some of her mother’s words in the journal disturbed her in a way she didn’t know how to process. “I stopped reading when I came to the introduction of Philippe, a name I have never heard from Nathalie. Or Emile.” She flipped back a page and read aloud:
Philippe and I had coffee after evening rounds. We talked for hours. And hours. Talking. Nothing else. But I felt my heart alive in a way I have never known. Never thought possible. I must not see him again.
“And did she?” Flynn continued to stroke Ruby’s head.
“I don’t know. I do know from an earlier entry that she and Emile were already engaged.”
“Was she happy?”
Sami gazed across the room, reflecting. Slowly, she said, feeling her way around her reaction, “Satisfied. As if she had achieved a goal. But not over the top, the way she expresses herself about this mysterious Philippe.”
“You don’t have to read any more,” Flynn said.
“But I have to know. Is Emile my father?”
Flynn pursed his lips. “He’s been there for you. Doesn’t that make him your father?”
Sami reached out and brushed Flynn’s hand where it lay on the back of the sofa. “I understand why you say that, but if there’s a medical reason Emile didn’t have a child, that may mean I shouldn’t have a child.” She sounded more ferocious than she meant to. And she certainly hadn’t asked the stupid tears in her eyes to make an appearance.
“Aw, Sami, come here,” Flynn said, reaching over and pulling her against him. He cradled her face in his shoulder and stroked her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay. But you don’t have to read the book. Just pick up the phone and ask them.”
Sami lifted her face. “Just like that? Hey, how’s your new assisted living residence? And by the way, who in the world is Philippe?”
“Why not? It’s less an invasion of privacy to ask the question rather than read about it.”
“It does make me feel like a peeping Thomasina,” Sami said.
“Want me to read it for you?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask that of you.”
He shrugged and kept his arm around her. “No skin off my nose. Won’t upset me the way it’s likely to upset you. I can just give you the facts.”
Sami sighed. “Thank you, but no. It’s something I must do. I wouldn’t mind if you sat with me, though. Perhaps you could read something of your choice while I wade through the rest of these pages. There’s not a lot of content left. Many of the pages toward the end appear to be blank.”
“I’m good,” Flynn said. “Think of me as your pillow.” He pointed to the open journal. “It’s like jumping into the lake first thing in the summer. Best to dive in and get the shock over with.”
Sami gave him a half-smile. “Now you’re the wise one.” She settled more comfortably against him, thankful for his presence, and turned the page to the next entry.
I broke my vow last night. Philippe and I assisted at a difficult emergency surgery. Head trauma from an auto accident. After five hours, we lost the patient. I know in my rational mind that every doctor loses patients. But that night I was not thinking. I was, to my shame, letting my feelings dominate. Despite having suffered the same loss, Philippe’s actions were to offer me comfort. Consolation. Compassion. All of which fueled the passion we felt for one another. Passion I had no right to act upon.
We spent the few hours left in the night at his apartment. We moved as one. We breathed as one. I utterly forgot myself. Forgot my reason. Forgot to use contraception.
Forgot?
There are no accidents.
I went home a changed woman.
I do not know what actions I shall take next.
“Oh my goodness gracious,” Sami said, and re-read the entry, this time aloud to Flynn. “Why, oh why, didn’t she date any of these entries?”
“So you could do the math and calculate your answer?”
Sami nodded.
“Might not tell you anything,” Flynn said. “Who says they only did it once?”
Sami shook her head. “I cannot believe Nathalie would allow her passion to overcome her reason, except in the most exceptional of circumstances.”
“Hmm,” Flynn said. He circled the back of her neck with his fingertips. “Wouldn’t be too sure. Men and women aren’t machines, you know.” He gently massaged her shoulders. “Flesh and blood. Pretty damn unpredictable.”
“That feels so good,” Sami said. “I didn’t realize how tense this journal has made me.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Flynn said, continuing to work his magic on her neck and shoulders.
Sami tipped her face down, the better to enjoy his touch and to continue reading. The next several pages were filled with her mother’s precise descriptions of neurosurgery techniques. Descriptions of cases. She flipped ahead. More of the same. Had the night of passion terrified Nathalie? Had she retreated from the edge of the chasm? Had she indeed, not seen Philippe again? More pages. More medical entries.
“This is frustrating,” Sami said, just as she turned the next page.
What sort of doctor would I be if I allowed my emotional weakness to guide my decision making processes? What sort of wife would I be if I permitted a moment of insanity to determine the remainder of my life? Philippe assures me that passion and reason may easily inhabit the same mind and body. Ah, he is proof of that theorem, yet I resist it within my own being. With Emile I am my best self.
With Philippe, I am my freest self.
He has not touched me again. He says I must make my own choice or I will end up despising him.
Perhaps he is right. I know that I long to lie within his arms, to move as one. I can only be thankful Emile remains in Boston. He returns at the end of the term. Before that day, I must decide and then I must stay the course.
“Poor Nathalie,” Sami said, and decided to share that passage with Flynn also.
“No sympathy for Emile?” Flynn sounded a bit sardonic.
Sami lowered the journal to her lap. “Excellent point. She had cheated on him. And obviously he didn’t know.”
“Well, you can’t know that for sure,” Flynn said. “She didn’t tell him, but guys aren’t stupid.”
Sami shifted around so she could see Flynn’s face. “Have you ever had your heart broken?”
He shook his head. “Not me.” He thumped a hand against his chest. “I’m like the Tin Man.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Sami said. “Look how nice you are to me. And Cameron and Jonni Scott wouldn’t be such good friends if you weren’t a nice person.”
“Aw, shucks,” Flynn said. “Keep reading.”
Sami sat up. “Deny it if you want,” she said with a smile. She scooted over, sitting upright now. What he was doing to her neck and shoulders felt wonderful. Too wonderful. She flipped through a few more pages of medical notes.
“Philippe is no more,” she read out loud. “That’s the only line on this page.”
“So she broke it off,” Flynn said.
Sami marked her place with her index finger. “Part of me wants to know why and part of me doesn’t.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s natural to wonder what my life would have been like had Nathalie not married Emile.”
“Then you wouldn’t be you,” Flynn said. “And that would be a shame.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thank you.” Sami turned the page.
“Oh, no,” she said with a gasp. “There’s only one line on this page, also. And it’s ‘Killed on impact.’”
Flynn grimaced.
Sami turned the page and read aloud:
Emile and I attended the funeral. I did not cry. I had no more tears.
Sami felt her eyes watering, crying for what might have been for her mother.
Flynn reached out an arm and pulled Sami to his side. He stroked her hair. Said nothing. Words weren’t what Sami needed right now. He watched as one or two tears slipped down her cheeks. She was one of those women who looked beautiful when she cried. He thought of telling her that, but knew he was better off keeping his mouth shut. He had no idea what it must be like to find out your father might not be your father or he might be but you simply don’t know. Being deserted by his rat of a sperm donor was at least clear cut.
Sami wiped the back of her hand across her face. “I wonder if she would have broken off with Emile?”
Flynn shrugged. “Want to read any more or have you had enough?”
She sighed and turned to the next page, then numerous other pages. “I may as well get to the end. More notes. No emotion. Nothing personal. Ah…”
Flynn left his arm around her shoulders, in what he decided was a brotherly offer of comfort and listened as she read:
I fainted during rounds. Clara insisted on examining me. She asked me how many weeks along my pregnancy was. I did not answer her. But I knew I could no longer ignore or deny my condition. I could not abort Philippe’s baby. I could not. I presented the facts to Emile. I awaited his decision.
He had only three requests. One, that we raise the child as our own. Two, that we never speak of the circumstances. And three, in the future when I lose a patient—for it was that tragic loss in the O.R. that led to my night with Philippe—I react in a more rational and responsible fashion. Then he added that Philippe and I had given him a child, an experience he would not have known otherwise.
We married the next weekend.
“That’s the entry,” Sami said. “The remainder of the pages are blank. I conclude that my mother made these entries in order to inform me of the circumstances of my conception and genetic heritage. She has failed, however, to reveal the identity of my father, as never once does she record Philippe’s last name.”
The flat tone in which Sami was speaking worried Flynn. But he thought he understood what she was doing, retreating to the voice of Nathalie at her most practical, resorting to reason over emotion. The voice of a woman who had married a man to whom she was well-matched but not in love with. “Not many guys would have reacted the way Emile did,” Flynn said.
“He must have been very much in love with my mother,” Sami said.
“After my deadbeat dad cheated on my mother, she kicked his butt out,” Flynn said.
“I thought you said he abandoned the family.”
Flynn shrugged. “Both are true.” He didn’t want to discuss his parents. “Why do you think Nathalie left the journal for you now? Accidentally or on purpose?”
Sami tossed the book onto the coffee table and jumped up. She paced to the window, then over to the piano. “She never does anything by accident. Let me correct that statement, as she obviously became pregnant with me by accident.” She hugged her arms across her chest. “Thank you for listening to me read. I appreciate the moral support.”
“Sami, Sami,” Flynn said. He rose and walked over to her. “You’re not a machine. You’re a woman. Hell, right now you’re a hurting little girl. Let it out. Kick. Scream. Cry. Shout.”
Sami balled her hands into fists. She heard what Flynn was trying to get her to do, to let out the emotional reaction to what she’d learned. But she didn’t know if she could. Not now. Maybe not ever. “I suppose once they agreed not to talk about what had transpired between Nathalie and Philippe that meant they did not intend to reveal this information to me. But Nathalie wanted me to know. She did or she wouldn’t have kept the journal. She would have destroyed it.”
He nodded.
“I feel like a drowning woman who bobbed up to the surface only to be slapped down instead of rescued,” Sami said. “First they sell the house without notice, then Nathalie hands me this box of dynamite.” She punched one fist through the air.
“That’s it. Let it out,” Flynn said.
“I always had to be perfect,” Sami said, throwing a punch with her other fist. “Perfect grades. Perfect performances. Perfect appearance.” She punched both fists, one then the other. “After what my mother had done.” She added a side kick. “Let’s say it out loud. She cheated on her fiancé.”
“Sounds bad when you put it like that,” Flynn said.
“Bad. She was bad.” Sami dropped her arms to her sides and shook her head from side to side. “No, she wasn’t. She was in love. In love with Philippe.”
Flynn opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. He bent his head and kissed her, slowly, softly, then pulled her close against him. They moved, circling, more pressing together and kissing than slow-dancing. She arched against him, drowning in his kisses, knowing even as she did she should stop.
She wasn’t her mother.
Flynn was not Philippe.
This wasn’t about love.
Sami pulled back. She placed a palm against his chest. Flynn lifted her hand, gently, kissed her fingertips, and let go.
“Right, as usual,” Flynn said, breathing quickly. “How ‘bout you lock yourself in your bedroom and I take the dogs out? I promise to be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Sami said. “But I know I don’t need to lock my door.”
He looked a bit grim. “Don’t tempt the devil, Sweet Stuff.” He called the dogs and disappeared out the door.
Sami sighed and collected their martini glasses. She rinsed them and the shaker and walked slowly down the hall to the bedroom, chastising herself for being so free and loose with Flynn. For someone who claimed not to be wanted for her body alone, she had certainly let go with Flynn. His kisses. She tasted his lips. His arms around her. She hugged her chest. His touch. Sami shivered, in a delicious way.
“Fool,” she whispered and stepped into her room.