Destination Connelly (24 page)

N
ora

“
T
hank you
, Mr. Gamby. We’ll be in touch.”

I hang up from my fifth phone interview today. I have three more and a late-day staff meeting. It’s not quite 2:30, yet I’m already exhausted.

Connie, my assistant, pops her head in. “Nora, Mr. Colloway would like to see you in his office.”

Irritation stirs. He all but ignores me and now he’s summoning me to his office through my admin? Well, he can damn well wait.

“I have an interview in five minutes. It will have to wait.”

Her eyes pop like she’s one of those squeeze dolls. And I’d just squeezed. “Uh, he said it doesn’t matter what’s on your calendar—you need to come now.”

I sigh heavily. What I’d like to do is send back my own message that he can’t just demand I drop every-fucking-thing whenever he wants, CEO or not, but I don’t. There’s no reason to get poor innocent Connie involved in our personal mess.

“I’ll need you to reschedule my interview with—”

“Taken care of. I’ve cleared your calendar for the rest of the day, per Mr. Colloway’s instructions.”

Clenching my jaw, I rise from my chair and make my way to the elevator, punching the button for the thirty-second floor so hard I break a nail. All too soon, I’m approaching his office. Lydia, his assistant, rises from her desk when she sees me.

“Hi, Nora. Go on in. He’s expecting you.” I search her face, replay the tone in her voice to see if I can get a feel for what I’m about to walk into. It’s blank.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Connelly’s door is shut. I stand there for a moment staring at the wood that separates us, realizing my heart is racing with trepidation. I feel a flush creeping up my neck and try to stop my pits from sweating. I’m not sure what I expect when I finally pluck the courage to turn the knob. It certainly isn’t what I find inside.

Connelly’s sitting at his round conference table—the same one he set lavishly with freezer crap. I shove that memory aside because he’s not alone. To his left is an older, pretty woman. She’s dressed in a sharp black business suit with conservative matching pumps. Her golden hair is pulled back severely in a bun. Fashionable thick black glasses complete her librarian ensemble.

Only I know she’s no librarian.

“Nora,” Connelly says crisply as he rises. Once again, he’s in complete control of his emotions, but I’m about to fucking lose it. This is a goddamned ambush and he had the audacity to do this at work. How completely irresponsible of him to air our dirty laundry here. “This is Cynthia McNamara. Cynthia, Nora Cantres.”

I barely spare a glance at the pristine woman, who is now also standing beside Connelly. I ignore her, not even bothering with pleasantries. A throat clearing to my right pulls my attention to a man I hadn’t noticed before.

“I need your signature, ma’am,” he says, thrusting a manila envelope into my hands before handing me a pen. Holding a clipboard, he points to a signature line. I have no idea what I’m signing, but I have to imagine it’s the results of the paternity test we took two days ago. I guess they were true to their word about a quick turnaround.

After the courier leaves, Connelly waves for me to sit. I want to kick him in the nuts. Tell him to fuck off, but I need to pick my battles. Besides, I think maybe I’ll need to be seated when I hear whatever he has to tell me with his attorney present.

Nodding to the packet in my hand, he tells me quietly, “The results.” That’s when I see a matching one in his, which is still sealed. “I wanted to wait for you.”

While that should provide me some measure of comfort, it doesn’t. It incenses me. “But we needed an audience?”

Jaw tight, he replies, “I thought it best to have my attorney present to discuss next steps if the results were positive.”

Hurt, betrayal, loss, and despair would have brought me to the ground had I been standing. I hate the way I’m feeling inside. My emotions threaten to consume me whole. My eyes begin to water against my wishes.

After Connelly’s interaction with Hazel the other day, I saw a different side to him, even thought maybe I saw some threads of forgiveness in his eyes, in his tone, in the brief glances he gave me.

Guess I was wrong.

My lips turn up in a sneer. “Well, shame you didn’t afford me the same courtesy.”

“Nora,” he starts before I cut him off with a wave of my hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. Let’s just get this over with.”

Using my thumb, I slide it under the gum of the flap and pull out a single sheet of paper. I scan the page for the only data point that matters, finding it a quarter of the way down.

I stare at that number until it blurs together into a giant blob. I feel such intense relief and happiness in that moment I let a sob escape. I always felt Hazel was Connelly’s, but to have it confirmed provides such a sense of rightness I hadn’t realized I needed until right then.

But then the direness of the situation slams back into me. My relief quickly morphs to undiluted rage and profound sadness.

Connelly hates me.
He has every right to
, I remind myself.

With unchecked tears rolling down my face, I lift my eyes to his and see pure joy. For just a split second that throws me off track, but then I steer myself back on the bumpy road.

His attorney starts talking. The only word I hear is “custody.”

Oh.
Fuck
. No.

“I won’t let you take her from me,” I put out there. My voice is hard, unyielding.

Lawyer girl opens her mouth to speak again when Connelly places his hand on her arm. She snaps it shut. I hear her stark white teeth clash and I secretly hope she chipped one.

“Take her from you?” he replies incredulously. “I don’t want to take her from you, Nora. I would never do that. You’re her mother. I only want my equal time with her.”

My anger deflates, leaving me with nothing inside but a deep ocean of bleak sadness that now falls in endless streams.

“I would have given that to you, Connelly. I would give you anything you asked for. I know you have no reason to think otherwise but I do want our daughter to know you. I know I was wrong to keep this from you. I was wrong to keep you from Hazel and her from you. I know that now.”

My eyes shift to Cynthia before landing back on him. I stand, clutching the results in my hand. “I understand the need to protect yourself legally. I do, but I don’t appreciate being ambushed at work and I sure as fuck don’t appreciate having an outside party be witness to such a private moment. You took something that should have been reserved for the two of us and you demeaned it by having her here.”

“Where are you going,” his loud voice booms as I make my way to the door.

“To secure my own legal counsel.” I pivot and he’s so close I almost run into him. Fucker. “You didn’t need to do this,” I say in a low, resigned voice.

“How was I supposed to know that?” he clips. “I have no idea what I
am
supposed to be doing here, Nora. My entire world has been shaken and stirred. My head hasn’t stopped spinning for nine fucking days.”

I shake my head, not knowing how to respond because mine has too. “I know it was foolish, but for Hazel’s sake, I’d rather hoped we could have figured that out together. I know now that’s not possible.”

When I turn back toward the door, this time, he lets me leave.

N
ora

T
he doorbell chimes melodically
. It would be soothing under any other circumstance. Not today, though. Today it signals the second half of my atonement. Zel is practically vibrating with excitement as she runs to answer it. I, on the other hand, am shaking with anxiety. Nerves have twisted my insides until they hurt. I hope my daughter doesn’t hate me, too, after today.

After I left Connelly’s office the other day, I couldn’t breathe the same air as him. I ended up leaving work early for the day, something I never do. Sitting in the parking lot, I called Mira and cried. After she spent ten minutes graphically detailing how she was going to systematically cut off his balls slowly and painfully before starting on other important body parts, she made a few calls, getting me the name of a family law attorney. She’s female, she’s bloodthirsty, and she only takes on mothers as clients. I spent an hour late in the afternoon with Ms. Hilary Parks of Parks, Smith, and Woodford and sent her name and contact information to Connelly that night via text.

I didn’t expect to talk to Connelly directly again. I thought we’d impersonally communicate through e-mail and couriered letters from our respective legal representation, organize drop-off dates and times, and stay in our cars while Hazel shuffled between us. It sickened me this is where we seemed to be headed. It was an unhealthy relationship for all involved. One that would be hard for Zel to understand. She is such a loving, caring, and forgiving human being.

But he surprised me by stopping by my office the next morning, apologizing for how poorly he’d handled things. Again. It was a strained conversation, emotions still running high on both sides. We agreed that we’d table the attorneys for now. Try to work things out amicably. Ms. Parks very outspokenly disagreed—but my life, my decisions. I never wanted to involve her anyway. I just felt I had no choice.

So here we are. Three days later. It’s time to tell Hazel about Connelly being her father. We agreed to do it together. When I suggested it, he jumped all over it. I was grateful because I’m not sure I can do this alone.

I have no idea how Hazel will react. All I’ve told her about her father over the years when she’s asked is that sometimes fathers or mothers can’t be with us the way we want, but that I know her father loves her very much. I have never said one disparaging word to Hazel about Connelly. No matter what happens between us, I never will.

Voices draw closer to the kitchen. I take in a shaky breath, letting it out gradually.

“Mommy, Connelly’s here,” Hazel hums from behind me.

Drying my hands, I swivel from the sink to face them. I have to hang on to the counter behind me when our eyes connect. Hummingbird wings flutter against the insides of my belly. He looks so damn edible in his fitted dark-wash jeans and black pinstriped button-down. It’s untucked and the cuffs are rolled, giving a casual yet sexy air about him.

God, I love him so damn much it pains me.

“Hi,” I practically wheeze.

“Nora.” He tips his head in greeting. It’s stilted, awkward. I hope Hazel doesn’t notice.

“Mommy, can I give Connelly a tour?” My baby girl’s eyes are twinkling like holiday lights, so she’s apparently none the wiser about the tension that’s running like electric currents between her parents.

“Not now, Ladybird. After dinner, maybe. Why don’t you show Connelly where he’ll be sitting, okay?”

“Sure!”

Grabbing Connelly’s hand, Zel excitedly drags him to the kitchen table, pointing to his place. I thought it best if we keep things pretty informal, so I made a simple meal of baked fish, salad, and crusty French bread. Luckily for me, Zel likes fish and I know what a health nut Connelly is. I ridiculously debated for an hour on wine. Wine, no wine. Wine, no wine. Finally, I ended up setting white wine glasses out, but now I’m wondering if that was such a good idea. I guess it’s too late to pull them off now.

“I hope mahi-mahi is okay?” I set down a platter containing the seafood, along with the bowl of salad. Hazel has already placed the basket of bread on the table.

“It’s fine, Nora. Thanks.” He’s short. His smile seems forced.

It makes me ache, this awkwardness between us. Is this how it will always be from now on? Painted-on smiles? Fake pleasantries? Barely leashed animosity?

I feel like crying. I paste on a smile instead.

“Mommy, can I say the prayer?”

“Sure, Zel.” I chance a quick glance at Connelly to see he’s utterly fascinated with her.

Hazel folds her hands and squints her eyes shut. “Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the world so sweet. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you God for everything. And thank you for having Connelly here for dinner,” she adds at the end, throwing me a look that already begs forgiveness in case it would make me upset.

It’s silent for a very long heartbeat before Connelly chuckles, which makes Hazel giggle, and pretty soon the tension has completely fizzled because we’re all laughing loudly.

The meal goes by quickly and, much to my surprise, comfortably. Hazel keeps the conversation going single-handedly. She talks about her new school, the photos of trees and a bird in flight she took last weekend, and a new friend she made this week named Callie. If there’s one thing that Zel excels at more than taking pictures and designing, it’s talking.

Hawk barking at the door gets our attention. He knows we’re eating and he’s missing out on table scraps. I normally let him run around but I think he could sense my nerves. He’s been hugging my leg all damn day, afraid to leave me for a second.

“You have a dog, Hazel?”

“Yep. We got him from the Humane Society in our old home.”

Connelly gives me a look that may border on warm. I try to return it, but feel my bottom lip quiver.

“Do you like sports, Connelly?” Hazel asks, drawing the conversation back to her.

“Sure do.” He smiles, pushing his empty plate away.

“Do you like hockey?”

Uh oh. I know for a fact Connelly is a die-hard Red Wings fan.

“What all-American male wouldn’t like hockey?” he feigns with a wink, which makes her giggle again. She hasn’t stopped grinning since she found out he was coming over.

“Who’s your favorite team?” she asks excitedly.

“The only one worth anything. The Wings, of course.”

“The Wings?” she groans while rolling her eyes. Her disappointment is clear. I have to work to hold in a laugh.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re a Blackhawks fan?” Connelly asks, choking on Blackhawks like it’s a dirty word.

“All the way.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You do realize that the Wings have won nearly double the cups as the Blackhawks, right?”

His stats are futile. Hazel has a binder full of her own. They start winging fan-filled mud, nicely of course. I have a feeling this back-and-forth bantering could go on for hours, neither of them giving an inch.

I start to clear the table while they each try to convince the other about the error of their ways for their NHL team selections and am surprised when Connelly stands to help. We all move around the kitchen in synch like we’ve done this a hundred times before. I have to tamp down the feeling of rightness. I know it won’t last.

When we’re done, Hazel asks again if she can give Connelly a tour. I want to say yes so we can delay the inevitable.

“Maybe in a few minutes. Connelly and I,” I pause casting him a quick glance, “we, uh, have something we need to discuss with you.”

Her eyes volley between the two of us as if she senses something in our lives is about to significantly change. “Okay.”

Connelly agreed to let me take the lead with this conversation, but if I don’t get some air about now, I may pass out. “How about let’s sit on the patio.” I pick up my liquid courage, walk to the glass sliding doors that lead to the enclosed backyard, and step outside.

Hawk runs right up to me and demands to be petted. I comply. He follows me over to the patio furniture as I sit. He stands protectively in front me, not really growling at Connelly, but not warmly welcoming him either. Hawk relaxes a bit when I start scratching behind his ears but never lets down his guard.

I’ve racked my brain about what I’m going to say to my ten-year-old. I decide the best approach is to be as honest and direct as possible. That’s the way Hazel and I have always been with each other, except for this one thing. And she’s mature enough to handle the truth.

Once we’re settled, Hazel and me on the loveseat, Connelly in a lounger across from us, I focus my attention on my daughter and start.

“Hazel, first I need to apologize because I wasn’t quite truthful the other day when we went to get that test.”

Her brows crease. “But I thought you were always honest with me? ‘Honesty is the best policy’ you always say.”

I choke on my guilt. So much guilt. “I made a mistake, Ladybird. I’m so sorry.”

She grabs on to my hand and tells me it’s okay. So forgiving. I hope she still feels that way in five minutes. It takes a few beats before I can go on. “I love you more than all the stars in the sky. Nothing will ever change that. You know that right?”

She nods.

“Do you remember what I’ve told you about your daddy?”

Her eyes now flick to Connelly and stay there. She knows exactly what I’m about to tell her. I feel like I’m going to barf.

“Hazel,” I gently prompt. When she finally tears her eyes away from her father and back to me, my breath hitches. I don’t see anger or blame or even confusion. I see…
hope
. And a thousand times more than Connelly’s acceptance, I need Hazel’s. I need to know I’m not going to lose her over this secret I’ve kept.

“Is Connelly my daddy?” her small voice asks.

My eyes fill so fast I can’t see. Now it’s my turn to nod silently and a few of them spill. Her attention lands on her father once again. For the first time since we sat down, I allow myself to look at Connelly. Leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between his legs, he has a gentle smile on his face as he raptly watches our exchange. He’s trying to hide it, but he’s as nervous as I am.

“I know this is kind of coming out of the blue and I know you probably have a lot of questions. I promise we’ll take as much time as you need…”

My words fade into the background, trailing off when Hazel rises and walks over to Connelly. She stands there for eons as they view each other in a new and different light.

Father to daughter.

Child to parent.

Blood to blood.

Relief is palpable, and I know everything will be all right with Hazel and me when she throws her arms around Connelly’s neck in acceptance. It’s a tender moment I will never forget until I close my eyes for the final time. Connelly’s frozen for all of two seconds before he wraps himself around her tiny frame, holding her tight.

His eyes connect with mine. My hand flies to smother my sobs when I see tears glistening in the sunlight.
Thank you
, he mouths silently. All I can do is nod.

“Wanna tour now? Wanna see my drawings?” she asks, bouncing up and down in front of him. He looks to me for permission. I silently give it.

“Sure. I’d love that, Hazel.”

“Mommy, do you wanna come, too?”

“No,” I choke on a whisper. “Don’t you have any questions you want to ask first?”

Her eyes roll to the sky, but don’t come back to me. They land on her father. “Can I call you Daddy?”

A strangled noise escapes me.

“You can call me whatever you’re comfortable with, Hazel.” When I hear his voice crack it almost ruins me.

“I want to call you Daddy,” she replies enthusiastically.

This is the single best trait about Hazel. She is
the
most accepting person I have met, whether it be child or adult. She doesn’t question, she doesn’t argue. She has mentioned her father only a handful of times since she was old enough to understand he wasn’t with us. Every time, she just accepted my vague answer that he couldn’t be, but it wasn’t his fault. Now that he is here, she’s not questioning why, she’s just accepting that he is. I love her all the more for that.

Hazel gets halfway inside before she turns around and runs back to me, enveloping me in an enthusiastic hug. “I knew he was the one, Mommy. I just knew it,” she whispers in my ear. I don’t even try to stop the water cascading freely down my face.

Hazel rejoins Connelly and holds out her hand for him to take. They connect for the first time as father and daughter, walking inside with the biggest grins on their faces I could possibly imagine.

My heart has never been so full, yet so profoundly empty at the same time.