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The light, familiar tap against his door told him it was Andrea, probably wanting to remind him of his next appointment.
“Yes,” he called out.
“Sir,” she said, pushing her way through the squeaky door. The noise was becoming louder and more grating by the day. “Something unexpected has come up and I don’t know how to handle it.”
“Those damn hinges are getting on my last nerve. Can’t you get someone to fix that?”
“Sir, our handyman is out sick, but during lunch I’ll step out for something to oil the hinges.” Andrea straightened her posture and took a step forward.
She was a great secretary. He knew he shouldn’t be so testy with her. She wasn’t the cause of his incessant unrest and dissatisfaction.
“Thank you,” he said, trying to manage a smile. “What is it you can’t handle?”
There was little Andrea couldn’t manage, whether it was filling in as a handyman or settling typing pool disputes.
“You’ve an accounting meeting in ten minutes, but there’s a visitor downstairs who seems quite distraught. She’s insistent, asking for your next available appointment, but you don’t have any openings until Friday. Olivia seems to think you might want to see her immediately.”
“Olivia!” The damn girl was sweet, but she was a constant source of aggravation. Unfortunately, there was no ridding himself of her. She was a distant cousin and the daughter of a senator.
Andrea looked down at the floor, knowing what was coming. She’d witnessed more than one of his rants.
“Yes, sir.” Olivia panted the words, having race walked from her desk.
“Tell me. Why would I want to throw a monkey wrench in my schedule for a stranger?”
“Sir, it’s Miss Steele.”
He could scarcely believe his ears.
His heart fluttered at the knowledge. His treasure had returned. This was the day he’d prayed for.
“How long has she been in the building?”
“Reception called about ten minutes ago. I went downstairs and spoke to her myself. Something’s wrong. She’s not herself. It’s none of my business, sir, but I think you should see her.”
He could see from Olivia’s expression that the situation must be grave.
He wondered if she needed assistance finding work. Or perhaps her father has fallen ill and she needs funds. His mind raced at the possibilities.
Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it. She’s come back to me. That’s the important thing.
“Have her sent up immediately. Better yet, go downstairs and escort her,” he told Olivia. He didn’t want Ana changing her mind on the way up. He turned to Andrea. “Cancel the accounting meeting and any other appointments that can be moved. Leave the door open.”
In mere moments, she’ll be here. God, I probably look a mess, he thought.
Pulling a comb and mirror from his desk, he tried to do something with his unruly hair. He was overdue for a haircut, so he ran a dab of Brylcreem through the top, hoping Ana would find him presentable.
Remembering how much she’d liked the scent, he rummaged through his bottom desk drawer for a bottle of Alfred Dunhill cologne. The fragrance was something his sister had been gifting him since he’d returned from the war. Ana had once said the notes of spice and leather made him smell dangerous. Her remark had amused him.
He straightened his tie and stood, leaning against the desk for balance. He put his suit jacket on and tried to smooth away the wrinkles. His slack left pant leg was securely pinned up. He reached for his cane. He was no longer using the uncomfortable prosthesis; he smiled, knowing this would please her.
He debated with himself.
Not wanting to appear too eager, his first instinct was to affect a cool, detached air, busying himself with idle paperwork. But this wasn’t a potential business deal and playing it cool hadn’t worked with her in the past.
Ana had returned to him. He determined that he should stand sentry at the door, so she would know how much he welcomed her return.
He’d pined for her every day since they’d parted.
She’d left because she understood they wanted different things.
Ana hadn’t completely spelled out their differences, but he knew what they were.
She wanted the white picket fence, children, and Sunday barbeques.
He didn’t want any of those domestic accessories.
All he wanted was her. He longed to once again bury himself in her, so he could forget the horrors of war and the grief of his losses.
His post-war plan had been to bury his nose in piles of money, drive fast cars, and acquire anything worth owning. He regarded the entire globe as his personal Monopoly board. The path to fortune hadn’t been easy during the first year, but once he gained momentum, there was no stopping him. He felt completely at ease in the world of commerce.
But once Ana tumbled into his path, he’d been vexed by his feelings for her.
He’d never believed he could fall in love with anyone. But somehow it had happened.
His feelings for her were more than lust and deeper than friendship. By the time he’d worked it all out, it was too late. She was gone.
He’d been disconsolate without her.
Upon Ana’s departure, he realized that she had been his greatest comfort. It was only with her that he’d experienced joy.
After she’d left, the thing he’d missed most was seeing the way she lit from within whenever they were together. He hadn’t realized it when they were together, but time and distance had made him realize that joy was reciprocal, something to be shared.
She’d made him happy, but he’d made her happy as well.
This revelation was an achievement greater than any acquisition could ever be.
Leaning against his office door frame, he waited.
Soon enough, she emerged from the elevator. She didn’t quite look like herself, but he knew it was her. Her hair fell in soft curls, reaching just past her chin. Dark sockets stood out against her pale, puffy face. He recognized the blue suit from the days she’d worked for him, but she'd put on weight, and the ensemble no longer fit. Her gait was slow, plodding.
She didn’t look well. He supposed either she’d been ill or stopped taking care of herself. She’d always been impeccable in her appearance.
Something in her life had gone dreadfully wrong.
No matter, he thought. She’ll always be beautiful to me.
She stopped to gaze at him. Her expression was pained.
“Hello, stranger,” he said. He grinned, making an attempt at flirtation.
Her weak attempt at returning his smile wasn’t reassuring. She shifted her weight and fidgeted with her handbag.
He wanted her to say something, anything.
Jesus, he thought. Why is she afraid to face me?
If she needed reassurance, he’d provide it.
He hooked the cane over one arm and reached out, beckoning her to him. He longed to hold her.
She rushed into his arms and he used the cane to push the door shut.
Alone together again, they held each other.
Everything about her was soothing. He inhaled her clean, soapy scent.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“And I, you,” she whispered.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s sit.”
She took a moment to remove her hat and place it on his credenza, alongside her handbag. As she refamiliarized herself with the large office, something new caught her attention.
“A television,” she said, eyes wide. “RCA. I saw an ad in LIFE magazine. I thought of you. I knew you’d buy one.”
It pleased him to know that while they’d been apart, she’d thought of him.
“Kavanagh swears he’ll be ready for broadcast before the end of the year. I’m heavily invested, so keep your fingers crossed. I’m financing the new studio. Elliot is doing the build.”
She nodded and looked away, not as interested in his endeavors as she’d once been. He wondered if she regarded him shallow and self-indulgent.
She wouldn’t be wrong, he thought.
He shook off the negativity and focused on Ana’s sweet visage.
He led her to the oxblood leather Chesterfield. She sat next to him, so they were almost touching. This wasn’t close enough for him, so he lifted her onto his lap.
She gasped in surprise, but brooked no opposition. When she leaned against his chest and snuggled against him, he knew she had missed him.
“You said you’d write.” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so accusatory.
“Neither letters nor phone calls seemed adequate for what I’ve come to tell you. Some things can only be communicated in person.”
“Tell me,” he said, not bothering to hide his impatience.
“I will. Just give me a minute.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly.
“Where have you been?” She’d left without any sort of plan as to where she’d go or what she’d do.
“I went to Montesano and stayed with Daddy for a while. Then he decided it was best for me to move to Georgia with my mother.”
It wasn’t enough information to suit him, but he knew this wasn’t the right time for interrogations.
“How long have you been in town?”
“I arrived yesterday evening,” she said. “It seemed too late to call, and I was exhausted. I needed sleep.”
“Which train?” If he’d known, he could have sent someone to fetch her, or maybe if his schedule had allowed, he’d have met her himself.
“You’ll be proud of me. I took my first airplane ride.” A tiny smile graced her lips. For a moment she almost seemed her old self. Oh, how he wished he could turn back the clock. “I took United flights, so I could help line your pockets.”
“I thought you were afraid of airplanes,” he teased.
One of her hands rested gently on his chest. It was a warm comfort. He’d missed this.
“Airplanes no longer frighten me. Time being of the essence, I took the fastest way back to you.” Her eyes closed, as if remembering something, and she frowned.
He didn’t know what to make of it.
“You’re a brave one. I am very proud of you,” he said.
“Not brave. I’ve recently discovered several things more terrifying than flying machines.”
There was a bite to her tone, but he didn’t want to explore it.
“And how did we do? Was our service up to par?” He tried to sound playful, because she’d always liked it. He missed their banter and idle chat. He hated small talk, except when it was with her.
“I was too distracted to notice. I’m sure everything was fine,” she said.
“Where are you staying?” She should be staying at his penthouse, but he knew better than to issue an invitation. Not wanting anyone to think she was a hussy, she’d never agree to it.
“I’m back in my old room at Mrs. Mabry’s.” He opened his mouth to complain about the boarding house, but she cut him off. “You know how fond I am of her. Besides, it’s clean and inexpensive. I’m only going to be in Seattle for a couple of days, so it meets my needs.”
“Do you need money? You left without picking up your last check.” He knew better than to bring up the circumstances of her departure, but he couldn’t help himself.
Fortunately, Ana didn’t take the bait.
“No, thank you. Johnny bought my ticket and I have enough savings to carry me while I’m here. Mrs. Mabry provides breakfast and dinner.”
The mention of another man’s name flew all over him. He picked up her left hand, pulled off the white cotton glove, and searched for a ring. He was relieved to find her hand bare. Reining in his anger, he tried to calmly ascertain what she’d been doing in the months she’d been gone.
“Who’s Johnny? I’ve never heard you mention him.”
“My stepbrother. He’s been a good friend,” she said. “Very supportive of my decisions.”
Anger bubbled in his chest at the thought of Ana having ‘a good friend.’
He couldn’t risk her leaving again, so he decided to drop any discussion of a stepbrother, saving it for later.
Missing the closeness they’d once shared, he ran a hand up and down her back.
Something felt lumpy under her suit jacket.
“What’s this? Feels like a bandage.” He ran his hand over it again. “Have you been injured?”
“Yes, but not the way you’re probably thinking. My breasts are bound,” she said. A tear ran down one cheek.
He’d never heard of such a thing.
“What the hell.” He braced himself for dreadful news. He’d find the best medical care available for his Ana.
“When I left the hospital they bound my breasts with cotton sheeting.”
She may as well be speaking Greek. He couldn’t comprehend what she was telling him.
“Why? Dammit, tell me what’s wrong.”
Her shoulders shook and the dam burst. She burrowed her face into his chest. Her muffled sobs pained him.
“My breasts were bound… to suppress lactation.” She gulped and gasped, choking on her tears. “A week ago…I had a baby.”
The world closed in on him.
He was a father.
It was the last thing he’d wanted. He’d told her multiple times and in different ways. He was not a family man. It simply wasn’t in him.
“Where’s the child?”
“Dead, according to the doctor.” She said it in a strangled sob. “He told me our baby was stillborn.”
An immediate feeling of relief washed over him, quickly followed by an unexpected wave of sadness. While he wouldn’t be faced with the responsibilities of fatherhood, he could see this loss would always be something that stood between them.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wanting to acknowledge her grief.
“Why?” Using the heel of her bare hand, she wiped tears from her face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She was going easy on him.
All his life he’d done plenty of wrong, but his most regrettable misdeeds concerned the woman in front of him.
As she cried softly against him, he wondered about the timing of her visit.
Did she think she could halve her grief by sharing it with him? He carried enough sorrow. No matter how unfair or selfish it was, he didn’t want more misery.
Part of him wished she hadn’t come.
“I don’t believe our baby is dead,” she whispered. “It’s not true. Our child is alive.”
What the hell is she thinking, he thought. She’s supposed to be the well-adjusted one. The sane one.
“But the doctor said the child was stillborn,” he countered.
“I don’t understand it yet, but Dr. Fox is lying. He said our baby had been dead inside me for days. But I felt constant movement every day, including the morning my water broke. When I walked into that hospital, I’m certain our son was alive inside me.”
“Son…Oh, dear God.”
They’d had a son. He didn’t want to hear the specifics. He didn’t want any of this to be real.
“A red-haired boy. They gave me an injection to put me under. They called it twilight sleep. It’s supposed to stop the pain of childbirth and make you sleepy so you won’t remember. But I woke to the sound of our baby wailing. And I heard a female voice say ‘What a beautiful boy. A red head.’ Don’t look at me that way. I know what I heard.”
Christ. She’s delusional, he thought.
“Maybe you dreamed it, while you were under anesthesia,” he said. “The doctor wouldn’t have any reason to lie to you.”
“You sound just like Dr. Fox and everyone else. I can’t explain it, but I’m sure of what I heard. No one believes me. Not Mama or Daddy or Bob. They’re all very sweet to me, but they won’t accept what I tell them. Johnny says he wants to believe what I’m saying, but he doesn’t understand.”
Johnny, this. Johnny, that. Christ.
“After the delivery did you question the doctor about what you’d heard?” Again he knew his tone was accusatory. He felt angry at the possibility she hadn’t pursued her suspicions and fears.
“Of course I did,” she said. “I told Dr. Fox that I’d heard my baby cry. He patted my hand and told me women imagine all kinds of things while under anesthesia. Grief makes women hysterical, he said.”
“Have you considered the possibility he might be correct?”
He asked this in his most gentle tone, but was met by fists pounding on his chest.
“Stop! You know my scars are very sensitive. Have some mercy.”
Her pummels didn’t stop.
“Out of everyone, I thought maybe you’d believe me. I hate you,” she cried. “I hate everything about you.” He captured her wrists and folded her arms across her chest. She struggled to get loose, but was no match for him. “Let me go.”
“No,” he said. “We aren’t finished here.”
“I came to ask for your help, but I’ll do this on my own.”
“As much as I’d like to bring our child back to life, I can’t. I’ll help you work through this. You need rest, good nutrition, and fresh air.”
Once again she struggled against him, but he held fast.
“For someone who’s supposed to be brilliant, you’re an abject idiot.” She snarled with fury. “Fresh air? Really? Our baby is alive and you have the resources to help me find him.”
“Look at it from my perspective,” he said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Let’s say the doctor deceived you and our child is alive. What motive could he possibly have for lying?”
His question provoked more tears.
“I have no idea,” she cried. “I only know what I heard. Now let go of me.”
“I will, but only if you promise not to take off. I may be physically stronger, but a two-legged girl will always win a foot race against a one-legged abject idiot,” he smiled when he said this, hoping she’d return the gesture. When she didn’t, he loosened his grip a bit. “Give me your word and I’ll let you go.”
“You have my word,” she said, with a begrudging nod.
He released her. She moved off his lap and slid to the other end of the Chesterfield.
He pressed his handkerchief into her palm and she used it to dab her eyes.
“There’s more,” she said. “I was told to stay in my hospital room, but as soon as I was able, I went to the nursery viewing window. There were six babies, all swaddled and sleeping in bassinets. One had red hair. The card taped to the foot of the bassinet was labeled ‘Boy - McGee” in bold, black letters. It said he was born at the same time I was delivering our child. That was our baby. Don’t you see?”
The poor girl is grasping at straws, he thought.
He was out of his depth, with no idea how to make her see logic.
“I’m sorry. I think you need a bit of time and perspective.” He pitied her for wanting to believe the red-haired infant might be theirs. For a moment, he considered that she might be experiencing some kind of paranoia.
“While I was at the nursery looking at our son, a nurse tried to shoo me away. Her voice matched the one I heard during delivery. I told her the McGee baby was mine, but she called an orderly and the two of them dragged me back to my room. She said I should accept that my baby was dead. She couldn’t look me in the eye when she said it. I’m sure she was lying to me. Don’t you see? It’s some kind of conspiracy.”
In the aftermath of battle, he’d seen what they called a psychotic break. He’d watched a young Marine under his command lose all relationship with reality. He couldn’t bear to think his Ana was experiencing the same thing.
Perhaps he could reason with her.
“Forgive me, but I’m having a difficult time with your news. You’ve said our child was stillborn, then you claimed the doctor lied to you. You think the nurse was in cahoots with some nefarious plan to take our baby and you want to believe some other family’s child is ours. Can you not understand why everyone in your life would have difficulty with your story?”
She’s going to leave, he thought. He was filled with fear. She was in need of psychiatric help. It felt wrong to humor her misplaced, ill-conceived suspicions.
“Prove me wrong,” she hissed. “Investigate what I’ve told you. If you can prove me wrong, I’ll go away and never darken your door again. I asked to see our baby’s body, but the doctor told me the child was too badly deformed. He said the body was incinerated. It’s hard to explain, but with every fiber of my being, I know our baby is alive.”
“Sweetheart, please,” he said. He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “Let me get some help for you. I’ll find the best sanitarium, using all the latest treatments. I’m sure the right doctors can get you back to your old self in no time.”
“We’re wasting time,” she shrieked. “While you fret over my sanity, our baby is with the wrong family. You’re the smartest person I know. You have contacts and resources. You’re the only person who can help me.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said.
“Please. If you’ve ever cared about me, even just a little, please help me.” Her voice was hoarse from crying.
“You’re asking for the sun, moon, and stars. I can’t bring our child back from the dead.”
“I once deemed you the bravest man on the planet.” She sniffled into the handkerchief. “But you’d rather think me crazy, than dare to consider what I’m telling you is the truth.”
There it was. She’d found him out. As much as he loved her, he didn’t want to deal with her suspicions. The cost to his emotional well-being would be too high.
There was nothing he could say to make her feel better.
When he didn’t respond, she cried out in frustration, releasing a long, mournful sob.
It was deeply distressing to see her so broken. He reached out to comfort her, but when his hand touched her shoulder, she shook him off.
“Ana,” he said softly, wanting to soothe her.
“With or without you, I’ll find our child.” She gritted the last words, poking out her chin in defiance. “Say it. Are you in or out?”
He was at odds with himself. He could give his honest answer or he could give the answer she wanted to hear.
Their eyes were locked in an impossible standoff. Her blue orbs, once sweet and loving, reflected an icy fury.
Tossing the handkerchief into his lap, she turned away.
She plucked her left glove from between the leather sofa cushions and stood.
When she straightened her skirt and walked to the credenza, he knew this was it, the point of no return.
Opening her handbag, she produced a gold wedding band. She held it up so he could see it clearly. With a sad smile, she placed it on her left ring finger.
The door produced a loud, discordant creak when she closed it behind her.
He didn’t hear a thing, save the sound of his breaking heart.
Author Note: Hello, reader! I’m sure you have loads of questions. This chapter is the mid-point of a multi-chapter work, so there’s more where this came from. Thank you for taking the time to read and offer feedback.
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