I FEEL LIKE A RUNDOWN college student today. Not that I was ever ‘ran-down’ since I was a total nerd and loved studying law, but that’s not the point. I feel like I spent all last night cramming for some exam; little sleep, woke with my face stuck to the pages of a book with drool seeping from the corner of my mouth. Who knew learning about babies and how to keep them alive could be so draining?
Diane even noticed when I came dragging my ass into work this morning, bringing me a fresh cup of coffee and a pat on the shoulder. Weird. I always get my own coffee, of course. So, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sniff it for arsenic before finally giving in and drinking it. Sure, I drank two cups before I ever walked through the office door, but who’s counting when it comes to coffee?
But it wasn’t the coffee that woke me up. The name Kelli Richards scrawled across a missed call note in Diane’s handwriting was enough all by itself to get my blood pumping.
“This is Kelli,” she answers her extension and I smile at the phone.
“Hey, it’s Lydia. Had a note to call you.”
“Yeah, hold on just a sec.”
I hear her heels echo off the floor, then quiet as a door closes. “You were right. Another report landed on my desk this morning involving the name you texted me and some structure over on South Wacker Drive. I checked the report today and the one from the other day, both initiated from the office of Joseph Cameron. They were sent directly from the mayor, so it’s pretty clear it was done as a favor.”
“I knew it. I freaking knew it. You’re a life saver.”
“Still on for drinks next Friday?”
“You bet your ass. I’m buying.”
“How could I say no to that? See you then. I’ll text you the address.”
“See you then.”
Of all the things a senator must deal with, why would he be so intent on screwing someone like Stone over? To the point, he’d shut down his businesses? None of it makes sense. We have a few resources at our disposal for gathering information for clients while building a case, but I highly doubt I’ll be able to find any traces of corruption on Cameron. I wonder if Stone even knows that it’s Cameron who’s behind this?
I know none of this is my business, but if I felt this wasn’t connected to Rush’s case, I wouldn’t be so curious about it. I’m just determined to gather all pertinent information, to present the best defense for my client. Right? Just because Stone’s a total dick and we are so not ever hooking up again, doesn’t mean that I can’t be concerned. Right?
Tired of fighting with myself, and curiosity winning out as it always does, I text Rush.
Lydia: When you told me that Stone was going to ‘fix this’, what did you mean?
After five minutes of silence, I text again.
Lydia: You can trust me, Rush. I just want to help.
Rush: Cameron wants him to fight, said they would drop the charges against me.
Lydia: Then what’s the problem?
Rush: Stone got out of the underground, hasn’t fought in a year. I told him he wasn’t getting back into it, doing Cameron’s dirty deeds just to save my ass.
The bubbles indicating he’s typing start and stop several times before his words finally come through.
Rush: But he’s hard headed.
Lydia: But why Stone? Can’t he find someone else? And I just can’t figure out why Cameron has dealings in the underground. I mean, I know corruption runs deep in politics but fighting? That just seems like small potatoes to me.
Rush: It’s a lot bigger than you think. I heard him and Thorn talking and he said Cameron wants him to fight some Russian guy, and I thought that was weird because the Cameron’s have a foreign exchange student from Russia.
I feel like I could do a cartwheel. That’s got to be something. It must be.
Lydia: Thank you. I hated to ask you, but I’ve got to have all the facts. You know?
Rush: I get it. Stone’s not a talker when it comes to this stuff.
Lydia: If you think of anything else, or you need my help, just call.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and walk to the window, looking down at the rain gathering on the streets below, people carrying on with their day because weather never gets in the way of business. Planting my forehead against the glass only serves to remind me of that first night, and I have to shuffle my stance to rid myself of the instant ache between my legs. That’s the thing about attraction and chemistry and need, they all kind of compile to create this kaleidoscope of vivid, colorful pictures that play on a reel in your mind at the wrong times.
I can think the worst of him and what he does, but I can’t take back the willing surrender of my body to his.
I tell myself that most women experience raw, primal sex like that, and if I hadn’t been so underprivileged in that area prior to my encounter with Stone, it wouldn’t have left such a mark on my brain, and especially, my body. When I replace them with new experiences, those will be old news. Surely.
I know it’s likely that I’m reasoning with myself, convincing myself that there isn’t anything wrong with it because I wasn’t raised that way. But the part of me that’s never truly accepted my parents’ views knows that it’s more my own views that dominate my thoughts.
I will always turn to my mother for advice. With every large decision comes the uncertainty and self-doubt that only a mother can sooth. Of course, up until today, it’s just been boys and law school for me. Law school wasn’t a forgone conclusion as you might think. My father’s career was never appealing to me. He worked long tedious days at the office five days a week, and still had leftover ends to tie up on the weekends at home. Trips cut short, movie nights and dinners canceled. I wish I could say that he was a dishonest cut-throat because then, I might have had more childhood memories that included him and he might have had an easier go at building such a prestigious firm. But I can’t say that. Not because he’s my dad, but because I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
There was nothing at all appealing to me about becoming an attorney until I was about fourteen and one of my friends was being beaten and raped by her stepbrother on a regular basis, and all anyone wanted to do was ignore it. That lit a fire inside of me that will never die. When she confided in me, begging me to help her because she was almost certain she needed to see a doctor and nobody would take her, I made my mother take her home with us and call her friend two streets over who was a nurse practitioner.
Her father came over, furious and saying he would press charges for kidnapping and forcible medical treatment, and a whole gaggle of charges that my father just scoffed at. Apparently, this guy didn’t know who my father was. My father scared him so damn bad by the time he was finished with him, the man left without his daughter or another word. She stayed with us a couple of days before her mother flew in from wherever she was to get her. She hugged me so tight and told me that I changed her life, that she would be okay because I was brave enough to stand up for her.
I admired my father and his work about as much as you can admire anything, but it was that statement and my mother’s direction that set me on the path I successfully completed six months ago. Six months ago, when everything in my life changed. Six months ago, when I passed the bar exam and could finally stand up for all those other Jessica’s out there… but couldn’t even stand up for my best friend—my sister.
And now I must decide if I’m strong enough to stand up for her baby. But before I do that, I need Kora Norberg’s direction like only she can give it.
Her art gallery is small in comparison to some of the massive ones Chicago has to offer, but it is stunning. Like everything my mother touches, it has turned to gold in the eyes of the art community here, and maybe even elsewhere.
The smell of brightly polished wood floors, gleaming from the reflection of low hanging lights, the smell of canvas and paint that never leaves no matter how many paintings and sculptures come and go, it all meets me as I walk through the door. There is one couple looking at pieces on the far wall, but other than that, vacant. I look down at the vintage Cartier watch my mother gifted me the day I passed the bar exam.
“Five minutes till close.” I grin at Sam, my mother’s assistant, running my hand along the smooth surface of the front counter as I pass.
“God, like you have to tell me.” He winks and holds up his hands that already hold his messenger back and coat. I chuckle, turning toward the large glass windows of Mom’s office in the back. She waves me in with the phone stuck to her ear.
Sliding into one of the comfy armchairs in front of her desk, I peruse her space, smiling at how similar our taste is. It makes me feel good because there is nobody better to emulate than my mother. Her taste is impeccable. My eyes fall on her pretty face as she places the receiver back on the station.
“Selene.” When I hear her call me by my middle name, her Greek accent thick, I know she’s missed me.
She stands and I do the same, squeezing her extra tight.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Sit, sit. There’s worry in your eyes. Talk to me.”
I let go of the weighted breath in my chest as we sit back down.
“I’m going to Liz and Aston’s when I leave here, but I knew I had to talk to you before I did.”
She leans forward, her fingers intertwining her hands together atop her desk.
“So, you’ve decided?”
I nod. “It wasn’t ever really a decision, Mama. I guess I just needed to process everything, believe that this is something I can do. I didn’t really consider myself the best candidate; only child, no real experience with babies. You know, the stuff that seemed important.” I look my mother straight in the eyes and I see her understanding when tears glisten against her lashes. “Until I realized that I’m the only person that Madi would’ve wanted to do it.” She nods her head in agreement, folded hands covering her lips.
“I may be a total screw up for a while and I’m sure I’ll have some nights where I beg you to come save me, but I know this baby will have a village to care for it until Madi comes back to us. And I guess I just needed you to give me your blessing.”
She stands, slowly walking around and sitting on the front of her desk, taking my hand in hers.
“You have been such a blessing to your father and I, and you have made us as proud as any parents could be. But I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more proud than I do right now. Our Madi will be fine, and she will be so happy to know that you’ve taken care of this baby in her absence.”
I stand and hug her tight.
“You will be fine and your father and I will be there every step of the way if you need us.”
“I hate to break up the cry fest in here, but this bitch has a date with tall dark and handsome.” Sam’s voice comes through the open office door. I pull back slightly and look at my mom and we can’t help but burst into laughter.
Aston and Liz still live on the Upper East side where Madison and I grew up. When the firm and Mom’s art business took off, I was graduating high school and headed straight for college, so the need for the house and neighborhood weren’t a necessity any longer. They sold my childhood home and moved into their condo near the business district, nearly eliminating their commute.
At first it was strange, but logically I knew it made sense. It’s hard not to compare my life with Madison’s because we basically lived the same one, but at the same time, our parents couldn’t be more opposite. The Eriksson’s are flashy and prefer lavish living, while my parents are more frugal and toned down. One of the reasons why my parents sold their vehicles, minus Dad’s two-seater convertible when they moved to the city. Also why, especially after Madison’s attack, my father requested I use the car service for transportation instead of the train or burdening myself with the expense of having a car in the city.
Armed with the coercion of my mother, my father agreed to let me take it tonight with the agreement I would text when I arrived and when I leave so that he would know when I was on the road. Considering how much he loves this car, I’m not entirely sure his intentions are geared more toward my safety or the car’s.
It’s been so long since I drove, that using the convertible tonight to have dinner with Aston and Liz was daunting, to say the least. My grip on the steering wheel doesn’t loosen until I pull through their community gate.
Their house is lit almost blindingly, making the evening sky surrounding it appear darker than it is. I laugh to myself as I pull into their driveway, remembering that Aston had the flood and motion lights installed around the entire perimeter of the house because Madison used to sneak out all the time.
Laying my head back on the headrest, I take a moment for myself, going over everything I’m about to say, chastising myself that there was ever a question in my mind to begin with. I send Dad a quick text and exit the car, the cold wind hitting my face, inspiring me to run to the front door instead of walk. Thankfully Margaret is quick on her feet and I don’t wait more than a second before the door opens.
“Lydia!” She pulls me inside, hugging me tightly before the door even closes behind us. “I didn’t believe it when Aston informed me you were coming.” She holds my shoulders, looking me over. “If it’s possible, you’re more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”
“I’m ashamed that I haven’t been by sooner.” We walk into the main room, arm in arm, understanding in her eyes as she smiles over at me. “How have you been? Things okay around here?”
“I’m doing just fine, and things here have been—” She glances to the ground. “Well, things are better than they were.” She pats my arm. With Liz’s epilepsy, and the depression that’s taken over much of her days since the attack, I knew Margaret would have her work cut out for her. Although she is a paid employee, she’s become family during the ten years she’s been their live-in housekeeper.
“That I believe,” I say, taking my coat off and laying it over the arm of the couch.
“Here, I’ll take that. Aston and Liz are in the back. Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll get dinner plated up.”
I smile and nod.
“Thanks, Margaret.”
I smell Aston’s cigar before I enter the family room. Paired with the sounds of Wheel of Fortune coming from the T.V., I can almost pretend that Madi will be sitting on the couch next to Liz like she would in the past. The one rule Liz did enforce with Madi and Kason growing up, was family time before eating dinner together. But rounding the corner, I’m all too aware that she isn’t here like she should be.
“Well, I made it without wrecking Dad’s precious car,” I say, getting their attention as I enter the room, attempting to start the evening out on somewhat of a relaxed note.
“Thank God,” Aston says, looking up from his newspaper and moving to stand. “I’m not sure which he loves more, so either way we’d never hear the end of it.” He smiles, leaning in and hugging me to him. Not in the way he would before, but a hug all the same.
“Don’t you look pretty. Blue is definitely your color.” Liz pats the seat beside her on the couch, the knowledge of that being Madi’s spot isn’t lost on me. “How was your day?”
I sit and she pats my leg, and whether it’s what I choose to see, or what’s really there, pain reflects in her eyes and I see how much she’s missed being able to do this with her own daughter.
“Good. No clients today, so mostly transcribing documents.”
“So, the fun stuff?” she kids.
“Pretty much. You know, putting my law degree to good use.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Ah, you’ve got plenty of time to find your niche, and when you do, you’ll be glad you eased into it.”
I smile and nod, her comfort a nice reprieve from my father’s constant questions about taking on clients of my own instead of being his assistant.
“Stellan would give me hell for saying this, but I have to agree with Liz. The time I took before we started the firm was something I’ve never regretted.” A knowing look passes between us. I’ve always wondered if my father wishes he’d done the same.
“I’ve got dinner ready in the dining room. Come before it gets cold,” Margaret says from the doorway.
When we take our seats at the table, my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything other than a protein bar and a ridiculous amount of coffee today.
“This looks amazing,” I say, looking up at Margaret.
“And I’ve made chocolate molten cake topped with strawberries for dessert. So, leave some room.” She winks, patting my shoulder as she leaves the three of us alone.
“I heard you and Kason enjoyed the concert. I’m glad the two of you got to visit while he was in town,” Liz says. I nod, swallowing my first bite.
“We did. I told him he needs to come home more often. Didn’t realize it’s been so long.”
“Seems he’s bouncing between a small music label in Los Angeles and some music streaming company. I doubt his visits will increase any time soon,” Aston says. I’m impressed to hear a tinge of usually absent approval when speaking of Kason. He’s always made it known that he didn’t consider the music business an obtainable, or reliable, career path for him. But maybe he’s coming around now that he’s finally recognizing how good Kason is at what he does.
“He was telling me about that. I’ve no doubt great things are in store for him. He’s got your drive.” Aston sips his drink, shrugging subtly.
We eat and small talk for the rest of dinner, skirting around what we all know I’m here to discuss. But when Margaret brings dessert and the room falls silent, I know there’s no need to delay any longer. Talking about Madison in any capacity is something that’s nearly been off limits when Liz is present, but given the fact that they’ve invited me with this discussion in mind, I’m comforted knowing she’s had time to prepare.
“I want you to know that I’ve given this a lot of thought. For the last month, it’s pretty much consumed my every thought. But today I realized something.”
Aston reaches over, taking Liz’s hand in his, both of their eyes now focused on me.
“The question has never been would I take care of this baby, but rather could I. I would do anything for Madi, but the thought of filling her shoes, whether it be temporary or permanent, is not only unbearable, but has caused me to question my ability to do this and do it well.” I look to each of them. “But being fortunate enough to be raised by such wonderful parents, and near equally by the two of you, I realized that I’ve had the best examples of what loving and caring for another person requires.” The inevitable tears that have lingered all day spill silently down my cheek. Not because of the gravity of this discussion, or the fact that it’s Liz and Aston I’m having it with, but because the acceptance of being a parent for this baby feels like an admission that Madison is never coming back. And it kills me to know that it feels that way to them, too.
“After the initial shock and grief waned, and we recognized the probability of saying goodbye to our little girl was higher than that of bringing her home, those feelings were replaced by anger and the inability to see clearly when considering this child. Loving Madison as you do, I’m sure you’ve formed some resentment toward us for that,” Aston says, Liz unable to speak and wiping away tears at his side.
“Resenting either of you would be impossible, but I will admit to not understanding your position initially. Now I understand. My bad days have outnumbered the good throughout this, and at one time I forced myself to consider how you must be feeling. And I get it. Truly I do. But above all, I know the two of you, and I know in time, regardless of the outcome, you will find your own way to accept this child and forgive yourselves.”
They look to one another, years of love and adoration visible through the cloud of grief surrounding them.
“You love your kids no matter what, and eventually, even if only by default, your grandchildren. Know that we love this child. We love them enough to know that until we fully grieve and accept what is or will be, this is what’s best. At our age, and with my increasing health issues, we fear it would be an unfair decision and one not in the best interest of this baby.” A sob breaks free from Liz, tears spilling rapidly. “And if she doesn’t wake up—” she struggles, causing my tears to come harder and faster. “If she doesn’t come back to us, I think it would bring her great peace to know you were raising her child.”
I all but leap from my chair and go to them, hugging them and crying for us all, the pain more real than it’s ever been before.
No matter what, I believe with my whole heart that she will wake up. I believe that she will wake up, that she will recover, and that she will one day be the mother that she’s always wanted to be. But now, I also believe that we all can and will do this together. This child will never want for love and that alone is a gift.