CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sami couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep wrapped in Flynn’s arms. The last thing she remembered after the gloriously amazing sex was Flynn drawing her close, spoon-fashion. But now, coming unwillingly awake, she no longer felt his body next to hers. Slowly, she edged her eyelids open, wondering what to say to Flynn, wondering how disheveled her hair must be, how smudged her eye makeup.
Gray, predawn light filtered into the room, replacing the moonlight that had lit the room when Flynn had carried her to the bed. Sami patted the bed beside her hip and found nothing but the tumbled bedcovers. She tugged a sheet up to her neck and rolled over.
He wasn’t in the bed.
Sami wrinkled her brow. The door to the bathroom stood open. She sat up, listening for the dogs.
No sounds.
She leaned against her pillows, smiling now. Flynn had probably taken the dogs out, as he’d done the night they spent at the Hilton. She stretched her arms over head and the sheet slipped lower.
Sami left it there, her breasts open to the pleasant early morning air. She’d never felt sexier or more desirable in her life. Just for the moment, she wasn’t going to lecture herself on all the reasons she should have run in the opposite direction when Flynn swept her into his arms. She listened for Ruby’s bark, wishing Flynn would hurry back. Running her tongue over her lips, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, they would have morning sex.
Morning sex! Sami flung off the sheet and hopped out of the bed. What was she thinking? She hustled into the bathroom, reaching for her toothbrush and hairbrush simultaneously. Standing naked, she faced her mirror. She did have mats in her hair and mascara smudges on her cheeks. Hurrying, she cleaned her teeth and worked on her hair. She moved to the walk-in closet and pulled out her gauzy swim cover up, which looked a lot more attractive than her rather time-worn cotton bathrobe. As she crossed back to the bed, she spotted Jonni’s black dress in a heap on the floor.
Sami picked it up.
And frowned.
She studied the floor near the bed.
“Of course his clothes aren’t here,” she said out loud. “No one walks dogs in the nude.”
The bedroom door opened. Sami turned, smiling, and let the cover up gape over her breasts. Just enough to be inviting.
Ruby brushed through the door and ran to her, barking. Sami knelt to pet the Corgi, her eyes on the doorway. She ought to feel embarrassed, but instead she was crazily eager for Flynn’s presence.
She waited a few minutes and when Flynn didn’t walk into the bedroom, she gave Ruby one last pat, rose and walked down the hall toward the living room. He probably sensed she’d be embarrassed and would want time to freshen up before saying good-morning. She smiled, thinking yet again how thoughtful Flynn could be.
Ruby followed her down the hall and into the open front room. Rusty and Shelby hopped up and headed toward her. The padding of their paws made the only sound in the apartment.
Sami pulled her swim cover-up close and rubbed the backs of her arms with her palms. Crossing to the windows, she looked out.
Flynn’s rental car wasn’t there.
She walked to the kitchen island, then over to the coffee pot, though right now the last thing she wanted was coffee.
She wanted Flynn.
That’s when she spotted a note propped against the coffee pot. She brightened and quickly moved to pick it up.
I took the dogs out before I left.
That was it.
Sami’s shoulders slumped. She pulled out a bar stool and lowered her body.
She’d let herself believe Flynn would be there, let herself believe that somehow this time he’d be different. He’d be there for her in the morning. How, oh how could he make her feel so special and then disappear?
She crumpled the note. He’d warned her. He’d been completely honest about his playboy proclivities. Never spend the night. Hadn’t he told her that? How could she have forgotten, for even one nanosecond that he was the guy he said he was?
She smoothed out the note, studying it as if the words could convey some additional meaning. He’d mentioned meetings on Monday and possibly the next day, so he wasn’t heading out of Nashville yet. Did the note in any manner convey an intention that he’d call her?
Sami sighed and folded the note into a prim square, creasing the folds meticulously. Flynn, being Flynn, had thoughtfully taken the dogs out. That was the sum total of his message.
Except, Sami realized, forcing her body off the stool and once again over to the coffee pot, what he hadn’t written in the note was the message.
Good times.
That’s what he was all about. He’d had his fun and he was off to the next conquest.
Sami wiped a traitorous tear off her cheek and measured the coffee beans into the grinder. She would not waste another moment thinking about Flynn Lawrence.
She would continue on her quest for a husband.
A quest that had less than nothing to do with Flynn Lawrence.
The apartment was too quiet. The silence, the absence of Flynn, mocked her. Sami shrugged out of the cover-up and pulled on a pair of shorts and a top. With a sad sigh, she poured a cup of coffee and carried it outside, her dogs padding along with her. At least they were loyal. Trustworthy. She fought back an angry sniffle as she walked to the bench at the edge of the woods and settled there while the dogs sniffed and Ruby chased squirrels.
No, she didn’t need to waste one second thinking about Flynn. She swung her head vigorously, to make a point. As her hair brushed her cheeks, she sensed his touch, his gentle fingertips. His bruising, delicious kisses.
“Stop.”
Ruby halted in mid-leap.
Sami rose, her coffee untouched, and headed back inside. If she couldn’t keep her mind from betraying her commands, she’d find something else to do.
After a shower and a useless hour spent staring at her AI research notes, Sami closed her computer, found her car keys and drove toward the address Emile and Nathalie had given her for their new residence.
Residence.
Sami frowned.
Not their home. Home no longer existed.
After a few wrong turns, Sami pulled into what looked like a visitor parking area at a well-kept, classic yet modern condominium compound. The multistory main building had a covered entrance. She walked under the archway, noting several elderly men and women seated on benches along the side. Two of them were in wheelchairs. She nodded, smiled and walked quickly through what felt like a gauntlet. Only one woman responded to her, giving her a drawling “morning, dearie.”
Sami realized, with embarrassment, that her armpits were damp. What did she have to be nervous about? She was coming to visit her mother and father, or the man who might not be her father. She clutched her shoulder bag to her side, grateful she’d slipped the journal into the bag at the last minute.
Flynn had helped her through reading the difficult passages. Saturday evening he’d been so thoughtful. Comforting. And then after last night he’d left without a word. How could he be so wonderful and yet so awful?
A loud throat clearing broke into her mental debate. Sami realized she’d been standing in front of a reception desk.
“Good morning,” a woman said, rather loudly.
“Good morning,” Sami managed. “I’m here to visit the Peppers.”
“Please sign in and take a name tag,” the woman said, pointing to a register and a sheet of stick-on name tags.
Sami did as instructed. She was, as always, an obedient pupil, but wearing a name tag to see Emile and Nathalie felt downright weird, as if she were visiting an ICU in a hospital.
The woman handed her a one-page map. “They are in Independent,” she said, circling a spot on the map. “You can drive around or walk.”
Sami thanked her and edged away, back outside past the mostly silent people lining the walkway. She turned as indicated on the map, strolling through a prettily landscaped garden shaded by small trees. At the end of the walk, she paused in front of an attached garden home with a garage. After a deep breath, she trod the sidewalk and rang the doorbell.
No one responded.
Sami glanced at her watch. Ten a.m. on a Monday morning. What had she been thinking? Both Emile and Nathalie would be at the hospital. Or had they said they were taking vacation to settle in? She shifted from foot to foot, biting her lip. She’d come back later. Toya would be happy for a visit. She’d said, practically begging, that Sami could visit her any time while she was stuck on bed rest. Sami decided to ring the bell one more time.
The door opened. Emile stood there, blinking against the sunlight. “Samantha. What a nice surprise.” He stepped back. “Please come in.”
Sami followed him inside to a spacious entryway and into a large living, dining, and kitchen space. The woodwork gleamed white; the tile floors glistened; and items that had always been in the family living room were in place on the side and coffee tables. Even the neutral taupe of the walls mirrored those of her childhood home. “You’ve decorated just like our house,” she said.
Emile gave a slight shrug. “It eases the transition for Nathalie.”
Sami glanced at Emile, curious about how his mind worked, especially after what she’d read in the journal. “What about you? Did you want a new look?”
Again, the shrug. “Given it is the result of my condition that we have made this move, I didn’t feel it was my prerogative to inflict unnecessary chores on Nathalie.”
Sami had a flash of recognition. “That’s how I talk!”
He lifted a brow.
“Flynn says he’s never heard anyone speak the way I do, but you do. Somehow I never realized that before now.”
“It does not surprise me that you and I should share certain speech patterns. As a matter of environmental influence—“
“Is that the source?” Sami made herself gaze straight at Emile. “Environment, not heredity?”
He wrinkled his forehead. Sami realized his mouth and lips were trembling. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why do you ask that question?” he said at last.
Sami had planned on asking Nathalie about the journal, having considered that the proper first course of inquiry. Instead, she blurted out, “Do you know that Nathalie kept a journal during your residency years?”
Emile pulled one hand out of his pocket and passed it over his face. The hand shook in almost the same rhythm as his mouth and cheek. “Damn,” he said, his eyes on his hand as he lowered it back to his side. He motioned Sami toward a sofa and sat down opposite her, the coffee table between them.
Sami waited.
Finally he met her gaze. “What is it you wish to know?”
Again she heard her own diction in his formal wording. The most surprising urge to get up and put her arms around him swept over her. She let the feeling pass. Kneading the fabric of her capris, she said, “What is it you wish to share with me?”
He laughed, a strangled sound. “I believe we should wait for Nathalie.” He glanced at his watch. “I expect her at noon. She went in to consult on a head trauma case in the E.R.”
So much for Nathalie taking time off work to settle into their new place. Sami rolled her shoulders, attempting to ease the tension. “Do you realize you and I have rarely spent any time one-on-one?” She lowered her handbag to the floor and pulled out the journal.
Emile covered his eyes briefly. “What you are asking about is something Nathalie needs to share with you.” He cleared his throat. “I committed myself to being your father. I hope that I was not a poor substitute.”
“You’re not my birth father.” Sami let the words hang in the air.
Slowly, Emile shook his head. “I’m sorry you made that discovery.” He lifted, then dropped his trembling hands. “I feel that I am your father.”
Sami nodded. Suddenly she couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer. She dropped the journal next to her purse and rounded the coffee table. Kneeling beside his chair, she put her arms around Emile. He stiffened slightly and then seemed to relax. He lifted a hand and patted Sami on the back. “You’ve been a good daughter. A precious child and an accomplished woman. Any father would be proud of you.”
Sami squeezed her eyelids, staunching a few tears. “Thank you,” she said. She knew she should assure him of the same, that he’d been a good father to her, but she couldn’t find the words. Hearing him confirm what the journal revealed had her all confused inside.
The front door opened. Nathalie’s soft-soled shoes made little sound on the tile. Sami had just pulled free from Emile’s arms when she heard Nathalie’s gasp of surprise.
“Emile? Samantha?”
Sami said nothing.
Emile said nothing.
Nathalie, clad in scrubs, strode next to them. “I trust, Samantha, that you are not here upsetting Emile in any way. His condition is worsened by emotional stressors.”
Sami stood up. “Is that what I am to you? An emotional stressor?” She balled her hands into fists. “If that’s so, why didn’t you have an abortion when you found out you were pregnant with me?”
“It was too late,” Nathalie said.
Sami felt as if she’d been struck. “Was that truly the reason?”
Nathalie looked over at Emile, whose chin was trembling.
“She knows,” he said.
Nathalie lifted her brows. “We promised never to speak of it.”
He shrugged. “I would say we’ve been freed of that decision.”
Nathalie sat down on the edge of the sofa. She seemed to be studying the floor. Then she edged the journal with her shoe. “Ah. Now I comprehend.” Glancing up at Sami, she said, “No, it was not too late to have an abortion. But I couldn’t do it.”
“Because of Philippe,” Sami said, echoing what she’d read in Nathalie’s journal.
Nathalie nodded, not looking at either one of them. In a voice just above a whisper, she said, “You were all that was left of Philippe.”
Sami sank into the other side chair. Her mother had been about the same age as Sami when she’d lost her lover and discovered she was pregnant. And she’d had the strength to tell Emile the truth. Right now Sami wanted more than anything to be held, to be comforted, assured she was wanted. Nathalie was no different. She reached out a hand to Nathalie.
Her mother squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
Sami nodded.
Emile got up and paced around the seating area. After several turns, he sat down again, clasped his hands together, and said, “Perhaps I was wrong to insist we never speak of the truth of Samantha’s paternity.” He rose, walked over to Nathalie. She looked up at him with relief and, Sami realized, love and affection.
Love and affection Sami craved. She sighed and looked away, across the room, anywhere but at Emile and Nathalie. She didn’t blame them. They’d made their life. No matter what had happened with Philippe, Emile and Nathalie truly loved one another. They had raised her with the best of intentions, but somehow she’d never felt a part of the bond they shared. She stood apart, alone. No wonder she longed for her own forever love, her own family, her own children to cosset and love with joy and abandon, with no expectations of perfection.
Emile had his arm around Nathalie. She touched him on the cheek. “I am sorry you learned about Philippe, Samantha. I don’t think the knowledge serves any purpose.” She took a deep breath. “I acted impulsively, irrationally. I let my emotions override my good judgment. Never once after that night did I allow my emotions to overwhelm me.” Her jaw worked. “The mistake was mine. Emile forgave me.”
“You spent a lot of energy punishing yourself,” Sami said almost under her breath.
“I don’t think of my life in those terms.” Nathalie glanced over at the journal then back at Sami. “I made sure to raise you to make measured, sensible choices.”
“I’ve always been thankful to have you as my daughter,” Emile said.
Sami managed a smile for him. “Thank you.”
“We have a good life,” Nathalie said. “A wonderful life. If you’ve read the entire journal, you’ll understand we did everything for the best. And why we don’t want to revisit the past.”
Sami leaned over and picked up the journal. She collected her purse and stood up, unable to agree or disagree. She felt a great need to go somewhere quiet and process her feelings. Did Emile and Nathalie have no concept of the emotional turmoil the revelation had caused? Did they have no concept that she might like to learn about her birth father? Looking from one to the other, sitting there comforting each other, Sami realized the two of them had no clue. Their world began and ended with them.
Sami took a step toward the door, then paused and turned toward Nathalie. “Did you realize the journal was in that box you left in my room?”
Nathalie shook her head. “I thought I had burned it years ago.”