Take This Regret (5 page)

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, stil 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 nul ify 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 cal with my father and hung up after promising him I would cal him the next day with an update.

Looking around my office, I wondered where to begin.

My 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 wal , 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 masses, 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 fil ed with the sound of gul s and the scent of the sea.

In the calm and peace, I’d never felt so alone.

Pul ing 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 real y 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 through 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 real y 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. Cal me soon, okay.”

“Okay, Mom. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Bye.”

The smal amount of comfort my mother’s cal 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 cal with my mother, immersed in the solitary tranquility of the bay, before final y 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.

Thankful y, 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 stil 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 especial y liked to cook but that I liked to eat wel .

I had to admit there was some draw to San Diego as I climbed into the driver’s seat of my grey Audi A8. I’d had little use for it while living in New York, and I was sure, as I pul ed 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, fil ing 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, inspecting each variety.

As I fil ed 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 pul ed into a ponytail, a few pieces that had fal en out, and her short bangs framed her round face. 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 smal , there were little gaps between them.

The staggering amount of emotion that hit me nearly brought me to my knees as I fel in love with the tiny person in front of me.

The smal 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 fol owed the child’s attention to where I stil stood, grinning wildly at her. I reluctantly looked up at the woman, loathe to pul 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 tal . Her blond hair was cut short above her shoulders, and her body was curvy and clad in a hooded col ege 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 fol owed 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 essential y stalked the pair, counting to one hundred in my head before I fol owed 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, literal y throwing things in her cart.

But what could I do? Cal 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 final y 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 real y see her, her plump arms with the smal 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 rol ed her eyes at me before repeating, “One-hundred and seventy-two dol ars and ninety-three cents.” Digging out my wal et, I made my purchase while stil 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 her smal white sedan while she kept one hand across the bel y of the child who stil sat in the cart.

I felt bad for causing the woman so much distress, but I was powerless to the cal 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, al owing myself a sad smile in return to the bril iant 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, fil ed with an immense sense of loss as I watched the smal 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 pul , 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 hel 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 al 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, il uminating 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.