Chapter One
May 2010
I stood in the middle of my office, taking in a deep breath as I looked out over San Diego Bay. What seemed like thousands of sailboats dotted the water, bobbing in the cool breeze. It was beautiful, calming, and so different from the urban chaos I’d lived in during my first two years as an attorney serving as a public defender in New York City.
I’d never been to San Diego, though I’d heard so much about it.
Elizabeth was from San Diego, growing up here. I’d spent countless hours listening to stories about her, her mother, and her two sisters. Every Saturday they’d take a trip to the beach no matter what the weather. They didn’t have a lot of money, and it was an outing that cost nothing more than the small amount of gas it took to get them there. Elizabeth would never say they had been poor, though clearly they had been. She would assert so many were far worse off than her family. She would say her mother worked hard and she and her sisters never went without the things they needed.
I wondered about her often, even though it had been almost five years since I’d walked out of that hospital and carried on as if there weren’t a completely different life I should be living. I’d always expected to hear something, a subpoena for a child support hearing or a request that would be altogether unbearable—one asking that I relinquish my rights as father because somebody else wanted that title—but none had ever come. I’d ensured I would always be easy to find, it taking nothing more than entering my name in a search engine, and Elizabeth could pick up the phone and call me directly. But she never did.
I was haunted by the choices I’d made, plagued by insomnia and anxiety with most nights spent wide-awake in regret. I knew nothing of my own child. Countless times, I’d typed Elizabeth Ayers into my computer, but found I could never complete the search. As much as I wanted to know, I didn’t deserve to know. What gave me the right to delve into their personal lives, to know where they lived, if Elizabeth had married, my child’s name? No, I had no right, but that never kept my thoughts far from them.
I sighed heavily when the buzz from my phone pulled me from my thoughts. I dug into my pocket, sliding my finger across the faceplate to accept the call.
“This is Christian.”
“Christian, how are things coming over there?” Without greeting, which was no surprise, my father got straight down to business.
I proceeded to fill him in on my perception of the building, the office manager, and my assumption that everything was coming along as planned, even though I’d only arrived the day before. I’d gone directly to my condo, exhausted from the three-day drive.
I’d flown out the month before to meet with my realtor and purchased a new high-rise condo just a five-minute drive from the new office. I’d always known one day I would work for my father’s firm, I just had no idea my father would open a new branch on the other side of the country and ask me to head it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
As the years had progressed, my respect for my father had dissipated and my resentment had grown, leaving us little more than business partners. The night of my graduation dinner had been the last of the family I had known. It was the night my mom had packed a suitcase and my father had watched the best thing in his life walk out the door and had done nothing about it. I hated him for it because it only made me see myself.
When I had glimpsed the discontent in my mother’s eyes that night, I’d had no idea how deep it went.
It had been a new beginning for us as mother and son. She had come to me, weeks later, distraught and in tears, confessing the many ways she believed she had failed me. She told me that as a young woman, she had been blinded by wealth and society, and she had pushed me to do great things because she loved me and wanted the best for me, but had somehow forgotten to teach me to be compassionate and kind along the way. She had told me she’d grown to care nothing about those things, and when I’d sat there and told her about Elizabeth, it had broken her heart. She felt that she’d somehow failed me. I had disagreed. My failure was all my own.
But most of all, her concern had been for Elizabeth—the girl who had given birth to a grandchild Mom would probably never be given the chance to know. Mom had admitted then that she’d been so fond of Elizabeth, though regretfully she’d never shown it. Mom had said that Elizabeth had reminded her too much of the girl she used to be before she’d lost herself to a world that had been so appealing when she’d married into it.
Through it we’d become desperately close, relying on one another because we were the only person the other had. She was my closest confidant—my only confidant—and it was clear to her that I held myself in reproach. Honestly, she did too. She wanted to know how I slept at night, knowing I had a child out there somewhere. I told her I didn’t. She begged me to go find them, still encouraging me to make it right.
She disagreed with my rationale. She told me that keeping distance would do nothing but cause more pain, not nullify it. Obviously, the distance caused me pain. Yes, she knew I was to blame, but she insisted that didn’t mean I didn’t deserve a second chance.
Since my mother had left him, my father had never once mentioned her name. Every conversation had centered on my schooling and, once I’d graduated, the firm. Just like today. I finished the short call with my father and hung up after promising him I would call him the next day with an update.
Looking around my office, I wondered where to begin. A large mahogany desk sat facing the door, the dark wood gleaming with the sunlight shining in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. On its surface sat only a phone and nameplate, belying the clutter of the rest of the room. Stacks of boxes leaned against one wall and volumes of books sat in front of the matching mahogany bookcases waiting to be organized. Years of case studies needed to be filed, most of them sent from the main office in Virginia.
I exhaled a weighty breath through my nose, not yet ready for the task ahead of me.
Instead, I found myself on the waterfront. I wore a light coat, my hands stuffed in the pockets as I walked along the paved trail and kept to the side in order to stay out of the way of the runners and cyclists. The air was cool, but not unpleasant for an afternoon in early May.
Everything felt so foreign.
I’d been so accustomed to the rush of New York, the surge of the mass, the sense that there was not a moment to spare, but here it felt as if the second hand had been slowed. I faced into the wind and closed my eyes. My hair whipped around my face while the sun warmed it, my senses filled with the sound of gulls and the scent of the sea.
In the calm and peace, I’d never felt so alone.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed. I needed to hear the familiar voice. She answered on the second ring.
“Christian, sweetheart.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“How was your trip?”
I laughed humorlessly. “Tiring.”
“I can only imagine. You should have taken me up on my offer to help you drive out.”
“I wish I would have.”
“So, what do you think of San Diego?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really had the chance to explore yet, but . . . it feels lonely.” I supposed I was always lonely, but being somewhere so unfamiliar made it worse.
Claire sighed. “Christian, please . . .” I could hear the urgency in her tone. “Make the best of it, meet new people. It’s a new place, a new start.”
I ran my hand through my hair as I stared out over the water, wishing I could. It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried. I’d dated, once even somewhat seriously, but I’d only ended up hurting her. She’d wanted more than I could give, my heart and my hand, and I refused to marry someone I would never really love. With that realization, the idea of dating had become pointless, and I refused to wake up in another stranger’s bed, so for more than a year, I had slept alone in my own.
My pause told Mom more than any response I could give, and with the growing unease, I changed the subject.
“When are you coming out?”
“Soon. Possibly in the next couple of months.”
“Good. I miss you already.”
I could sense my mother’s sad smile and it made me miss her even more. “I miss you too, sweetheart. Call me soon, okay.”
“Okay, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Bye.”
The small amount of comfort my mother’s call brought passed quickly, leaving me once again questioning my decision to move to California.
I lingered by the water for more than an hour after my call with my mother, immersed in the solitary tranquility of the bay, before finally forcing myself back to my empty condo. I figured since I had taken the day off, I should put it to good use and get some things done before I dove into the massive workload I had waiting for me at the office tomorrow.
Thankfully, I’d purchased a furnished unit, and the moving trucks had already delivered my belongings from my apartment back in New York, but my kitchen cupboards and refrigerator still stood barren. Though I was a bachelor, it was rare to find an empty pizza box left haphazardly on my coffee table or frozen meals in my freezer. It wasn’t that I especially liked to cook, but that I liked to eat well.
I had to admit there was some draw to San Diego as I climbed into the driver’s seat of my gray Audi A8. I’d had little use for it while living in New York, and I was sure, as I pulled into the huge parking lot in front of the grocery store and parked in one of the many free spaces, it was something I could easily grow accustomed to.
Slowly I moved up and down each aisle, filling my basket with every item I would need to stock my kitchen. The store was not busy, as I presumed was probably common for a Thursday afternoon. I took my time and was in no rush to get back to the emptiness of my condo. I took even more time as I walked through the produce section.
As I filled a bag with peaches—I felt it—eyes upon me. The fine hairs prickled on the back of my neck, not in dread, but with a sense of awareness.
Turning to glance over my shoulder, seeking the source, I froze when I was met with the origin.
She stared back at me, looking at me as curiously as I looked at her, neither of us able to turn away. She was absolutely beautiful. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail. Her round face was framed by short bangs and a few strands of hair that had fallen out of the band. Her cheeks were pink against her pale skin, unblemished by the sun, but it was her eyes that stopped my heart in my chest. Their intense blue watched me in fascination, wide and intrigued and so familiar.
I tried to shake myself out of it and turn away. I was sure my mind was only playing tricks on me, punishing me a little more by teasing me with the idea that I knew this girl.
But then her mouth turned up in an earth-shattering grin, exposing a row of perfect square teeth, so small there were little gaps between them.
The staggering amount of emotion that hit me nearly brought me to my knees as I fell in love with the tiny person in front of me.
The small child continued to grin up at me from where she clung to the leg of a woman standing with her back to me. I couldn’t help but smile back at her. It caused her to giggle and made me smile even wider.
The woman glanced down at the girl to see why she was laughing. She followed the child’s attention to where I still stood, grinning wildly at her. I reluctantly looked up at the woman, loathe to pull myself away from the moment the child and I had just shared, but immediately felt self-conscious when met with the disturbed expression on the woman’s face.
She was young, maybe in her early twenties, and barely over five feet tall. Her blond hair was cut short above her shoulders, and her body was curvy and clad in a hooded college sweatshirt, shorts, and flip-flops. The casual attire was something I was quickly coming to appreciate as very common in this new town.
I studied the woman’s brown eyes, searching for recognition, any proof to confirm the connection my heart had already made. I found nothing. I was certain I had never seen this woman before.
But the child.
With longing, I turned my gaze back to her, sure she was no stranger.
The woman set a protective hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave me a fierce stare, a warning that caused me to look back at her face.
I wanted to say something to explain, but before I could form the words, the woman took the girl’s hand and hurried her away, her voice stern and gentle at the same time as she reminded the child to never talk to strangers.
Grimacing, I attempted to turn back to my fruit selection, but my intrigue was too great. Trying to keep a distance, I trailed behind them, pretending to shop for items that were already in my cart as I followed them down the same aisles I’d already visited. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I was every bit as drawn to that little girl as she seemed to be to me.
In vain, I attempted to appear nonchalant as I essentially stalked the pair, counting to one hundred in my head before I followed them into the next aisle. This time when they came into view, the child was no longer walking but sat in the seat in the front of the cart.
God, I felt like a creep. I was making the woman nervous, and I could only imagine what she was thinking. Fear was palpable as it radiated from her. She began to move faster, literally throwing things in her cart.
But what could I do? Call out to her that I wasn’t some sort of sick pervert? Assert that I thought I knew the child—that I believed she was mine? Even to me those words sounded crazy. They would only frighten the woman more.
When they finally got to the checkout, I slipped into a line a couple of rows down from them, absentmindedly loading my groceries on the conveyor belt while I tried to watch them out of the corner of my eye.
She was precious—perfect. I was completely mesmerized.
From where she sat two rows down, I could really see her, her plump arms with the small gold bracelet that she wore on one of her wrists, the pink bow that held her hair in the messy ponytail, and the little cleft in her chin that matched my own.
“Sir?”
I jumped when I realized someone had been speaking to me. My attention was so wrapped up in the girl I’d forgotten where I was. I looked at the cashier, having no idea what she’d said.
She rolled her eyes at me before repeating, “One-hundred and seventy-two dollars and ninety-three cents.”
Digging out my wallet, I made my purchase while still keeping an eye on the girl. Every time we made eye contact, she smiled again.
When they headed for the exit, I felt as if I were in a race for time, as if this were the one chance I’d been given, and I felt desperate to catch one last glimpse of the girl before she was gone from my life forever.
Pushing my cart through the sliding doors, I scanned the lot and easily spotted the blonde woman awkwardly throwing her plastic grocery bags in the trunk of a small white sedan while she kept one hand across the belly of the child who still sat in the cart.
I felt bad for causing the woman so much distress, but I was powerless to the call the child had on me. I pushed my cart up the opposite side of the same row they were parked in, stopping a mere fifty feet from them. I stood, staring unabashedly, allowing myself a sad smile in return to the brilliant one the girl gave me.
The woman gasped when she looked up, finding me so close to them. She slammed the trunk shut and yanked the girl up in her arms, catching the child’s shoe on the basket. It tumbled to the ground. She looked at the shoe and then at me, her eyes wide with fear, before she turned and abandoned it on the ground. From over the woman’s shoulder, the child watched me, her little hand reaching out to me. I lifted my own in a silent goodbye, filled with an immense sense of loss as I watched the small car jerk into reverse out of the spot, then speed quickly away.
Sighing, I shook my head, suddenly wondering if I had completely lost my mind. I had just terrified a complete stranger because I was inexplicably drawn to a little girl, and I couldn’t help but feel more than a little ashamed for it. But it had been a nagging pull, one that could not be ignored.
Walking slowly to where the woman’s cart had been abandoned in the middle of the parking lot, I picked up the tiny pink canvas shoe and held it to my chest, wondering what in the hell I was supposed to do now.
~
I tossed uneasily in my bed, unable to force my eyes closed. I was more than accustomed to sleepless nights, but this was something entirely different. My whole body protested against lying idle, singing out that I had something to do.
I realized now that subconsciously this was what I’d hoped for and probably was the real reason I’d ever agreed to come to San Diego, believing there was a possibility Elizabeth had moved here, hoping one day, though I knew the chances were slim, I would run into her or one of her family. Just the idea had been enough to make me accept my father’s offer.
Sitting up on the side of my bed, I clutched my head in my hands as my elbows dug into my thighs. I took deep breaths and tried to calm my racing heart. I looked at the tiny pink shoe resting on my nightstand and knew there was nothing else I could do. It was no different now than it had been all those years ago. If I saw the child, I would never be able to walk away.
Just this afternoon I’d questioned my choice to come here, but now I knew there had been a reason.
I stood and crossed the room to the desk where my laptop sat. The screen lit as I raised the lid, illuminating the otherwise darkened room. I took a deep breath as I entered the name—something I’d done so many times before—but this time it was different.
This time I completed the search.