Take This Regret (10 page)

“I can’t believe they’d give him custody,” I said, wishing to sound confident. Instead, it came out more a question.

After what he’d done, how could they possibly grant him parental rights? Could they? More tears came.

“Liz . . .” Matthew paused, before looking at me with something akin to pity. “He’s an attorney, and you’re a bank tel er . . . ,” he trailed off. I knew he wasn’t criticizing me. He was stating a simple fact; Christian had resources, access to the best family attorneys, and knew every aspect of the law. I had a couple hundred dol ars and some change in my checking account.

“How can I stand by and watch my daughter get her heart broken by her own father when he leaves? I just . . .

can’t let that happen.” The thought was just too much. If I let Christian have his way, I’d be throwing Lizzie to the wolves.

Every part of me screamed to protect my daughter from the harm Christian would surely bring, though realistical y I knew what Matthew was saying was right. It would be much worse if Christian had legal rights. I couldn’t imagine him having any legal say in the upbringing of my daughter.

A soothing hand rested lightly on my back as Natalie said in a soft voice, “It’s going to be okay, Liz. We’l get through this.”

Matthew leaned farther across the table and smoothed the matted hair from my face. “She’s right, honey. We’l get through this, I promise. Whatever happens, we’l be here for Lizzie. She’l never be alone,” Matthew promised.

Through bleary eyes, I looked up at Matthew and Natalie. I took a tissue from the box and dabbed at my eyes, nodding as I sat up and took a deep breath to try to ease the dread I felt. I took some comfort in knowing that in the end, Matthew and Natalie would be there just as they always had. What I found no comfort in was the knowledge of what I needed to do next.

I rose, and Matthew and Natalie fol owed. Sadness hung in the air with the decision that we had made. I hugged them, first Natalie and then Matthew. Pul ing away, I held onto Matthew’s hand and smiled somberly.

“Thank-you.”

He returned the embrace, pursing his lips as he nodded once, his expression stressing his reassurance.

“We’re here, Liz . . . always.”

“You guys better go home. It’s getting late.” It was wel after midnight, and it had been a long, emotional y exhausting day.

“You sure?” Matthew asked. “We can stay if you need us.”

I shook my head. “No, I’l be fine.”

Matthew hesitated, glancing at Natalie, before he agreed. “Okay. We’l see you tomorrow.”

Fol owing them to the entryway, I hugged them each again, wishing them goodnight. Slowly, I shut the door behind them and locked it. The moment it was closed, I was gripped with emotions I wasn’t sure I had enough strength to deal with. It had al been too much. I turned and slid down the backside of the door. Grasping my head in my hands, I buried it between my knees, crying out into the stil ness.

The pain coming from my mouth echoed through the house.

How could I just hand my daughter over to him? I knew exactly what he’d do, what game he played. He would make Lizzie fal in love with him, just as he had done to me, make her believe she meant everything to him. Then he would leave my child and take her heart with him. How could any mother make a decision to put her child in harm’s way? But I’d been left without a choice.

I pushed to my feet and marched upstairs. Once in my room, I dug through my purse on the floor and retrieved my cel phone. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I dialed the same number that had caused me a near anxiety attack every time it had rang over the last week. It was late, and I prayed it would go straight to voice mail.

I lost my voice and nearly my nerve when Christian answered. Warmth spread through my body with the sound of his voice. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook the foolish reaction away. I hated him, I reminded myself, and he was
dangerous
. No matter what feelings I stil harbored for him, I could not forget those two crucial truths.

Lying on my bed, I stared at the ceiling, clueless as to where to go from here. I knew I should give up, stand down, but found myself unable to entertain the thought of not seeing Lizzie again.

I rol ed over and buried my face in my pil ow, hoping to find answers there. None came. I lifted my head to my nightstand, looking at the clock that read twelve thirty-seven. It was late in San Diego and much later in Virginia, but there was no one else who would understand. Making a quick decision, I sat up on the side of my bed, picked up my phone, and dialed. She answered on the first ring.

“Christian, what’s wrong?” Mom’s voice was raspy from sleep, but her mind was clear enough to know I would not have cal ed her in the middle of the night if something weren’t wrong.

I uttered the first words that came to mind. “Mom, they’re here.” Silence hovered thick in the air. The miles between us were fil ed with an unspoken language, soundless joy and overwhelming regret.

Final y, Mom spoke when the shock wore off, and I could tel she was crying. “Tel me about my grandchild.” I cleared my throat of some of the emotion, just enough to speak. “Her name is Lizzie.”

Claire whimpered, causing my chest to constrict further. The gathering of moisture in my eyes brought me as close to crying as I had since I’d been a smal boy. My voice was ful of adoration as I described to my mother our first encounter, how I’d known I was connected to the child the first time I saw her, how I’d fal en in love with her in the same moment.

My tone became alarmed as I told her of going to their house and about Elizabeth sending me away. My distress increased to near hysteria when I got to the part about going to her work.

“Mom, Elizabeth hates me.” Her assertion that afternoon had devastated me. To have injured this beautiful creature to the extent that she hated me—I couldn’t bear to think of the pain I’d caused her.

“She’s angry with you, Christian, and she has every right to be, but I can’t believe that she hates you.” I shook my head against the phone. Mom hadn’t seen Elizabeth’s face. I knew what she had said was true.

Mom sighed. “Christian, I’m not going to lie to you to make you feel better. What you did to her was terrible . . .

hurtful, and you’re going to have to realize you can’t undo almost six years of wrong in a day. You’re going to have to be patient.”

I fidgeted uncomfortably. I didn’t want to be patient. I wanted my daughter.

“Think about it. She hasn’t heard from you since the day you essential y kicked her out, and then out of the blue you show up at her house. She has to be shocked, and honestly, probably a little scared of the way you’ve been acting. She doesn’t know your intentions. If I were her, I’d probably react the same way.”

Resigned, I lay back against my bed, rubbing my eye with the heel of my hand. Mom was right. Elizabeth was probably freaking out. I’d been acting like a lunatic, showing up at her house unannounced, cal ing incessantly, and going to her work. I shook my head at my stupidity.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I could almost feel Mom relax through the phone as she realized she was getting through to me. “I know, Mom. I just want to fix this so bad. What if she won’t give me the chance?” Mom’s voice was soft, comforting. “I know you do. But you need to take a step back . . . give her some space to breathe. She wil have built her own life, one without you in it; and it’s going to take some time for her to find a place where you do fit in it.” She paused, giving me time to absorb what she was saying. When she spoke again, her voice was stil sympathetic but firm. “You owe her that time, Christian.”

This was exactly why I’d cal ed my mother. She always had a way of putting things into perspective when I couldn’t see it. “You’re right. I promise I’l give her some time.” Claire’s satisfaction traveled through the phone. “You’l make this right. You’l see.”

I couldn’t help but grin. How many times had she encouraged me to make it right? I just hoped one day Elizabeth would actual y let me. I sighed.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, honey. Now hang in there a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” I promised. “Sorry, I cal ed so late.” I could hear my mother shaking her head. “Don’t apologize. I’m here for you . . . always.”

“I love you Mom.” It meant so much to me to be able to say those words to my mother, free and without hesitation.

“I love you, so much, Christian.” It meant even more for her to say them back to me. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night.”

Pacified, I placed my phone on the nightstand and curled into my pil ow. I could rest with having a plan, with having some insight, some guidance. I would give Elizabeth some time to deal with my resurgence in her life, and then I would slowly try to make contact with her. Like my mom said, I owed her this.

Drifting toward sleep, I jerked, startled by a vibration on the nightstand. I grinned when I realized where the offending noise was coming from and answered the phone, eager to hear whatever advice Mom had forgotten to tel

me.

“Hel o?” I mumbled through my sleepy smile.

Where I anticipated hearing my mother’s voice, there was silence. “Hel o?” I asked again, my stomach suddenly uneasy. I pul ed the phone from my ear, checking the number I’d paid no attention to when I’d answered. My heart almost stopped.

“Elizabeth?” I pled, more terrified than excited to hear her voice, having no idea why she would suddenly be cal ing me wel after midnight.

After what seemed like a forever, she final y spoke, her words teeming with disdain. “If you real y want to see Lizzie, meet me at the McDonald’s on Fairmount and University at five thirty on Saturday.”

Relief flooded me, and I exuded an audible force of air from my lungs, preparing myself to thank her, but the line went dead before I was given the chance.

Gripping the steering wheel, I peered up through my windshield at the yel ow arches and fought to bring my breathing under control. To merely say I was nervous would be an injustice. The anxiety was suffocating. I knew today would be the defining moment in my life.

Today I would meet my daughter.

I wanted nothing more, but truthful y, I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect, how to act, or how to be a father. I didn’t even know if Lizzie knew I
was
her father.

Worse than al of those fears was the worry that this would be the one chance I would have, the one encounter with a daughter that I knew nothing of but loved with al my soul. I had no idea what had made Elizabeth change her mind, what caused her to cal me in the middle of the night, but I had to hold onto the hope that she saw my sincerity, that she understood I only wanted to make things right.

I rubbed my damp palms against my jeans before stepping from the car. Elizabeth’s little red car sat empty across the lot from where I’d parked.

My heart pounded, and I tried unsuccessful y to keep my hands from trembling as I moved to the entrance.

Pausing at the door, I drew a breath deep into my lungs in an attempt to calm myself before stepping inside. There were people everywhere, but my eyes were drawn across the restaurant to where Elizabeth and Lizzie stood, waiting hand-in-hand. Lizzie’s face was graced with the most amazing smile the moment she saw me. My racing nerves were soothed by her warmth and an uncontained smile spread across my face. She started bouncing in place as I made my way across the room and, if it was possible, her smile grew. The only thing that kept me from running and sweeping Lizzie into my arms was Elizabeth. Her face was nearly expressionless, though I could see everything behind her eyes, could feel it radiating off her body.

Hate.

Elizabeth hated me.

My face fel along with the hope I had had that perhaps she was softening toward me.

I held her malignant gaze for a split second before tearing my attention from her and placing it on the reason I was there. I knelt on one knee in front of my daughter.

Lizzie’s blue eyes gleamed with delight, her smile unending. My eyes wandered over her, and for the first time, I was able to ful y take in my daughter.

Her black hair was pul ed into pigtails on each side of her head, accentuating the roundness of her face. She wore denim shorts and a pink T-shirt with flowers and butterflies embroidered across the front. I couldn’t help but grin when I saw her smal feet clad in bright pink flip-flops—