A few chairs down, a woman reporter from a rival magazine says to her neighbor, “Welp, that’s it for ‘Emerald’s most eligible bachelors.’ Cosmin Ardelean snapped up last year, and now Klaus Franke is off the market too…”
My hands shake as I collect my things—I can barely get my phone into my bag without dropping it. As I stand, I subtly inspect the belly area of my outfit, but the blazer covers my skirt in a way that camouflages the “bump.”
I guess peopledon’tknow? Nobody’s looking at me, aside from Ian, who—to my shock—says, “That wasn’tentirelyunexpected.”
I shake my head slightly. “What? How so?”
“Your article in August. There was a bit of hauntedness to Klaus Franke in it, didn’t you think? You captured it beautifully. Like… he’s this battle-weary general who can’t wait for the war to be over.” He tips a nod toward where Klaus exited. “Looks like the general has retired.”
I struggle to reply, quickly examining the article in my mind, its shape and texture and tone. “Do you really think so?”
Ian chuckles. “Don’tyou? You must—you’re the one who wrote it.” Shouldering his bag, he gives a friendly wink. “See you at lunch, Evans.”
I walk out as if in a dream… and keep walking. I can’t be here right now.
In the outside pocket of my bag, my phone is buzzing insistently. I take it out and see messages from Phaedra plastered down the screen.
Phae:Don’t keep me in suspense. WHAT DID YOU THINK?
Phae:Omfg you have no idea how hard it was not to say anything
Phae:Bitch, open these messages! I’m dyyyyying to talk
Phae:Looks like you’re out of excuses not to be in love with him
I shut down my phone and shove it back into my bag, then head for the hotel.
I’m trying to keep my expression and body language as neutral as possible, sitting here, because there’s nothing that draws creeps faster in a bar than looking like the proverbial “little lost sheep.” Some smarmy businessman with a comb-over will invariably conclude that you need an umbrella drink and their sparkling wit,and dammit, I want to be left alone. But I know if I go back to my room, someone will find me.
Phae’s words echo:
You’re out of excuses not to be in love with him.
Something could happen to challenge those assumptions…
Your phrasing went from “kinda halfway in love” to “I’m still in love with him.”
Has life called my bluff? I thought I had iron-clad reasons not to take another chance on Klaus, but they’ve fallen away one after another. Which means… the resistance I’m still feeling must be something else. It’s time to be honest with myself.
My aunt said,You’ve got some unresolved stuff, kiddo. It’s not an accident that you always lose your heart to unavailable older men…
It’s the last hurdle, a thing that stands between Klaus and me. Growing up, I still had a great mother figure in Auntie Min. But a dad? Somehow it felt like he’d abandoned memorethan Sherri had, because there was no replacement for him.
My childhood didn’t include “healthy male influences.” There were men at church, but they were just cordial. I didn’t even have any particularly great male teachers.
There’s no denying it: Part of me is afraid to install Klaus as a full-time father because I’m worried our daughter will get used to him,and then he’ll leave.
I thought it was the perfect solution, him being an ocean away most of the time. A good excuse for his lack of involvement. I’ve pictured it in my head a hundred times, me talking to our daughter, telling her consolingly, “Your father would love to be here for [major life event], but it’s just not possible with his job. He’ll visit in a few months and bring you a present.”
Suddenly it hits me with such force, such obviousness, that my hand jerks on the glass and sloshes the contents: Every time I picture a scene of me making comforting excuses for my daughter’s absent dad, she looks around seven years old.
My age, when Sherri and Jason left.
The funny thing is, Jasonwasloyal and steadfast… to Sherri. I’ve learned the whole story while working on the book. He knew I was in good hands with Auntie Min, who’d half raised him too when his own parents were doing a poor job of it. After Sherri went to prison, he could’ve divorced her. But he moved to the town nearest the prison and made a life there.
He visited four days a week—the maximum allowed. He wrote her a postcardevery… single… day, most of them handmade. And California is one of four states that allow conjugal visits, and once Sherri was approved for them, they spent their thirty-six hours of “trailer time” together whenever possible.
A few weeks ago, in a discussion about why he didn’t come back to Kentucky even to visit me, I angrily asked him,Didn’t you thinkoneparent might at least be better than zero?
