by Arden, Susan
Fine. Whatever. She’d made peace that the two most important men in her life had no desire to be part of her world.
It hadn’t mattered if Rob wasn’t a direct part of her baby’s existence. The moment he’d turned his back, coupled with her father’s reaction, nothing in the world could have hurt as deeply or impacted her as greatly. She taken what life had given and made her way in the world of writing. With the birth of Isabella, her life had changed. Profoundly.
She wasn’t the same woman he’d met, slept with, and then disregarded. And that lesson he’d soon learn. And she wasn’t going to tolerate his demands. No Sir. The pain had dulled, never had fully abated, and now, in Rob’s presence it was as though her body was drawn and quartered.
She led Isabella out toward the parking lot. She felt as if her knees would buckle. For the love of God, he was right behind her.
Cynthia stopped and spun around. “What?” she hissed.
“Mommy?” Isabella asked, a note of concern in her voice.
She smiled down at her daughter. “It’s all right. Mommy’s just in a hurry.” She took a deep breath and said in a mock apologetic tone to Rob, “Sorry. Is there something you want?”
“Don’t you think it’s a good idea to take my card? In case of an emergency?” He held out his card to her.
“Not particularly.”
“Please. Take it.”
She pinched the corner, unwilling to touch his fingers. Cynthia glanced at the writing on the card. Apparently, he owned a gallery. “You live in New York? That’s a big help. Huge. So, what should I do if there is an emergency? I guess I’d need to plan an emergency around your schedule. Or, is there someone I should contact, if I require your immediate assistance?” She couldn’t help but arch a brow at him.
“I still live here. This is the only card I’ve got on me. The number on the back is local. There’s more marketing potential up north, so…” He gestured at the card in her hand. “I’m in New York once a month, if that. I teach here at the University of Miami. A semi-regular job during the winter semester.”
This couldn’t get any better. Soon he’d say that he played golf with her father. One big happy family. Her eyes stung, and she blinked back tears resembling shards of glass. Why did she allow him to have this much clout?
Each passing moment in his company, she found it was becoming more difficult to feign disinterest. Her daughter resembled Rob in so many ways. His eyes were as bright blue as she remembered, and when she looked into her daughter’s eyes, she saw him. Her mind clouded with visions of the past that included a balmy afternoon spent with him overlooking the Atlantic. She clutched her throat and said softly, “This isn’t the time to discuss any of this.”
“Then give me your telephone number, and we can arrange a time and a place. I’m not about to leave without knowing where you and Isabella are living. You know as well as I do a father has rights. I’m more than certain the law will be on my side.” His eyes flashed a calm but steady warning. He lowered his voice and stepped closer. “Do you want to take this to court? Sam?”
Jesus, could he get any harder-headed? Not many people called her Sam. She’d put away that persona. Or so she believed. She was Cynthia now. A strong, independent woman.
“My name is Cynthia.” Her voice sounded less certain in her ears.
“Well, I knew a different woman. Once. But I see Sam is long gone.” His voice held a bittersweet note. Rob briefly glanced away. When his gaze returned, his brow was creased. “Anyway, I’m not doing all this to annoy you. It’s hard to digest in a few minutes. You’re not the only one whose life has been impacted. But I’m not going to be punished for not knowing about Isabella. If you can’t see your way clear to understanding I’m not going away, then do what you feel is right. Okay?”
“Fine.” She murmured.
Sam. Her father called her that. And some of her cousins she’d grown up with. Namely Carolina, her best friend. To them she was Sam. And now Rob standing before her brought another vision of who she was…or had been.
But the way he said her name made her chest ache. All the more with her child’s tiny hand pressed against hers. She didn’t want to lose her daughter. Even with an interview in The Times, her royalties were not providing them with a high-on-the-hog lifestyle. If—and it was a big if—she sold the rights to her book for a screenplay, that would take months. Court costs were expensive.
“Fine? I want you to call me. We need to talk. Whoever you are…this isn’t about you and me, it’s about Isabella.”
She’d had friends who’d divorced, and she knew attorneys were expensive, even when the divorce was agreed upon. A child custody suit would be even more emotionally infused. The last time she’d sat in front of an attorney, it had all come down to who had what dirt on whom. Lucky for her, Tia Sonya had been on her side.
She glanced up at Rob. What would he say about her? Heavens, he might be awarded custody instead of visitation. Shared custody. Equal time. She didn’t even know what type of life he lead. Or, if he was married. Her eyes shot to his left hand. Nothing. She wiped away droplets of perspiration sliding down her neck. The glaring heat hit her right between the eyes, and she grew lightheaded as she stood on the smoldering blacktop next to Rob.
“I think I’ve got something to write on in my car. Let’s get Isabella out of the heat,” she finally said. This wasn’t something she needed to solve right that second.
If she could determine what she was facing, then she’d know how to react. Crazy, shooting from the hip—she might be the one to be injured. No, it wasn’t what could happen to herself…it was Isabella. She was so young. If Rob tried to assert his rights, and then up and left or closed the door on her little girl, it would break her daughter’s heart. Both of their hearts.
She spoke in a suffocated whisper. “Take this. It’s our home number and that’s my cell. Email address is underneath.”
“I want to see her,” he said with no signs of relenting.
“I did what you asked. I gave you our contact information. So typical. Ask for an inch and take a foot.”
“I’m not asking to move in together. Jesus Christ.”
“In your dreams,” she retorted in cold sarcasm. “Can you try and understand, for once, that it isn’t all about what you want? You can’t seem to look at an issue from another point of view. Odd, considering you are a photographer. You think you’re ready to walk in these shoes? Parenting isn’t a hobby. I don’t do it part time. I’m here for my child twenty-four/seven. I can’t just hop on plane and travel around the world whenever I feel like it. You need to think of what’s best for her. Take some time and do that. Then call me.”
He said nothing. Rob bent down and hovered within the backseat over Isabella. Their child sat in the back in a child’s safety seat. He’d need to get one of those. So many things. He more than likely couldn’t imagine how his life would change if he was serious.
Her daughter was sound asleep in the air-conditioned car. Rob leaned over their child, and brushed aside her hair, almost dry by now. The color was a close match to his own hair. Isabella’s cheeks were pink from the sun, and he gently kissed her child’s forehead.
Without meaning to, she leaned closer and the sight of Rob’s tender exchange with her child forced Cynthia to sharply inhale. Only a punch to her ribs would have felt equally painful.
He stood up, his eyes widened, and he nearly collided into her. His face on recovery went serious. “Isabella feels cold.”
Cynthia stopped herself from rolling her eyes, opting to simply hold out the blanket in her hands. “Hard to believe we’ve managed this long? Really, Rob, think about what’s best. This isn’t a competition.” She stared at him long and hard.
* * *
Rob stood in the parking lot alongside his car. Unable to move, he watched her back out and pull away. He didn’t even know if this telephone number was good. He got out his cellphone and dialed the number. He should have done this with her stand
ing there, but with Florida tags on her car, finding her wouldn’t be that difficult even if he needed to hire a private detective.
A message machine picked up. It was her unmistakable voice. He had proof she wasn’t evading him, so he hung up. He wanted to throw his bag into his car and follow her.
Forget about getting on a plane headed to Africa in ten days. His schedule had him traveling through Morocco until he reached Chad. There were several volcanoes and sand storms that he’d wanted to capture…until now.
All those plans paled in comparison to the storm that held his attention in the form of swaying hips and high-heels. Not to mention an unrelenting sassy mouth. Christ, he knew of ways to staunch her sharp responses. Hadn’t he made her scream his name once before? Fuck. This wasn’t about getting into her panties. Just the thought had his dick twitching. He slammed his hand down on hood of his car. He wasn’t going to get side-tracked by her feminine charms to evade the important issue at stake: his paternal rights.
If he let his dick do the thinking, this would end up a mess. No, this time he needed objective assistance from Sam or Cynthia Cainwright tantalizing wiles.
He dialed his agent. “David, what can I do to rework the Africa shoot?”
“You can’t. Get it done. I’ve already sold the spread, and Travel Weekly has it slated for publication in December. No wiggle room on this one, pal.”
“I didn’t think so.” He hesitated in bringing up the subject of an attorney. He reminded himself it was his agent who had mentioned his own family problems last year. “David, can you give me the name of your divorce attorney?”
“You didn’t recently get married, say, in the last week?”
“No, it’s not about marriage. I just found out I’m a father, and I need someone to help me understand my rights. I’d like to meet with an attorney who knows a thing or two about custody and visitation before I take off for the shoot.”
“Shit, Rob, I’m sorry. Sucks when a woman sics her attorney on you. My guy’s a pit bull in a suit, though. She won’t know what hit her.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He had no intention of hurting Sam…Cynthia. Hell, he’d done enough by being an absentee parent. “No, it’s not like that. She doesn’t have an attorney.”
Rob began to pass next to his car.
“Wait. She doesn’t have one…you do realize that now you’ll force her into the position of hiring a legal gunslinger? You might get hit with not only your own legal fees but hers, as well.”
“I don’t want to go to court, and I don’t think she’ll let it go that far. I just need to understand my rights, to be part of my child’s life.”
“Oh…I get it. She’s married and doesn’t want you interfering.”
Rob shook his head. “Hey, enough with the twenty questions.” His agent was looking at the world through a different lens. Shit. That was her exact point. “David. Can you text me the attorney’s name and number?”
“Sure, man. Just don’t miss that plane to Africa.”
He hung up and drove home. His focus seemed to target every parent and kid on the street. The image of Cynthia’s face was locked in his mind’s eye. He envisioned them walking down the street with Isabella.
Hah, he thought. When hell froze and pigs flew. She was the mother of his child, and she wanted him flung to the farthest point on Earth. Not exactly a cozy reunion with open arms. But considering everything, she’d kept it classy. Or this was a taste and measure of her control, and that wasn’t cool if she had preemptive plans. Cynthia was, after all, a Cainwright.
In a whirlwind, he’d been faced with a choice. Isabella like her mother reached in and grabbed hold in seconds. She was his child. His.
Gritting his teeth while considering the problems that Cynthia and he would have to work out, he was more than ready to be a father to his little girl. There were plenty of unmarried parents in the world, and the divorce rates were already high enough; that sacred institution could do without one more failure.
He pulled into his driveway and looked at the yard, trying to imagine a swing set. More than three years earlier he’d renovated the place, back when Mrs. Rubio had left to go live with her sister. Since then, they’d exchanged Christmas cards every year, one of the few things he bought and personally sent.
Instead of an old-fashioned duplex, he’d renovated the house into a four-bedroom, three-bath gated home. The neighborhood was forever changing, and street was busy enough from the South Beach crowds. And now he regarded the six-foot stone wall an excellent investment considering he’d not have to worry about Isabella running out into the street when she came over to visit.
Parked inside the garage, he threw his sunglasses up on the dash and sat for a moment. Today, he’d pushed boundaries he hadn’t even realized existed. He hadn’t had a drink in over three years, since drinking had nearly killed him back then. One drink too many, and he’d been in a car as a passenger. That hadn’t stopped the driver from wrapping the car around a telephone pole. While he’d walked away from the accident unscathed, the driver had not been so lucky. Rob’s equally intoxicated friend had suffered multiple fractures and gone through numerous surgeries, and he still suffered from constant headaches. The experience came as a wake-up call, a chance to change his life, and he had definitely learned vicariously about the dangers of drinking too much.
After that episode, he’d stopped drowning his sorrows. He’d also given up the pursuit of liquid courage to face his life. The bottle and he had parted ways. He began working on reshaping his life and his career. The renovation on his house became a tool with which he worked his vow to transform, and so far he’d stayed the course.
Rob stretched getting out of the cramped car. He entered into the house through the garage and immediately a high-pitched mewing ensued.
“How’d your day go?” he asked Shelby, shaking his head. She hopped up onto the counter. He scratched under her chin and then poured a pouch of food into her bowl. He stroked her arched back a few times, then sent a text to his neighbor, asking her to set out food and water during the coming weeks while he’d be gone. It was a good arrangement, and he didn’t mind exchanging photography of his neighbor’s ever-growing family for cat-sitting.
He poured a cup of cold coffee and heated it in the microwave. He sipped the hot liquid and decided to get ahead of his schedule by diving into the work of digital editing his shots.
This part of the work required his complete concentration. He heaved his camera bag, ambled to the other side of his house, into his office, and flipped on his computer. He used several computer screens simultaneously inside his dark office. Sitting down, he clicked on his iPod, and sank into the groove of working through the hundreds of shots he’d captured earlier.
Digital editing for some of the photographs could take seconds or countless minutes, if not hours. Tonight’s session didn’t turn into a headache given the lighting in Florida was easy to deal with. He prepared a memory stick to store his cataloged work and finished the last task, emailing the proofs to his client. Inside that room, he was lost in the timeless blank walls that kept the world shut out. Without a glance at his computer screen, he’d have had no idea how much time had gone by.
He made his way through the hall, into his darkened house. He turned on the living room lights and noticed his phone blinking on the table. Picking up his cell, he touched the screen.
“Shit,” he said aloud, seeing Cynthia’s name displayed as a missed call.
Real good. Instead of him being available to her, he’d proven her point. She’d left a message. Great. Some father. His first day on the job, and he’d successfully shown as soon as they parted he was off the parenting clock. From then on, he’d have this goddamn phone next to him, even if it meant strapping it on.
He listened to Cynthia message. She didn’t sound as snappy this time, relaying she was ready to talk. Okay, it was a start. He dialed her number, listening to his heartbeat hammer away as her phone rang.
/> “Hello?” she answered, sounding at least reasonable.
“Hey. You called,” he said.
Her inhalation was audible. And, her exhalation was even louder. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“I’m Isabella’s father. I want to be part of her life. Helping you raise her. Supporting you and her.” He’d not done his homework and was spewing things out in an inarticulate, clichéd manner. She was right. He needed to sit down, without any distractions, and determine what he wanted versus what he could actually do.
“Seriously, I don’t need your support.”
“Can’t we start by getting to know each other? No one’s heading out the door, and we’ve got a child between us. I promise I won’t treat this like a hobby, as you said. I’m not an idiot. My parents have been married for thirty-eight years. And, happily for the most part. I appreciate the give and take required to raise kids. Isabella has a grandmother and grandfather, not to mention aunts and uncles and cousins. I want to take her to Boston to meet them.”
“What? Take her away to Boston? How can you even—”
“Not this week. In time. Cynthia, if I’m not allowed to treat our child like a hobby, you have to agree to let me treat her like my daughter. Our child has two parents. That means you need to learn how to share and play nice. This is how it goes when parents live apart. Ask your divorced friends. In spite of how you feel about me, I intend to be an active part of our child’s life.”
“I understand the concept. I need to make certain you know how to care for a child. I’ve been doing this for almost four years. It isn’t always easy.”
