by Donna Fasano
“I’m sorry,” Cathy whispered.
Confusion bit deeply into Heather’s brow. “Sorry for what? What do you mean?”
“I didn’t mean to.” Cathy swiped at her nose with her napkin. “It was purely by accident, I swear to you. But I told him.”
“Told him what?”
“I’m sorry, Heather.”
“Told him what?” she pressed.
Cathy’s usual cocksure attitude had vanished, and it was as if the fearful, apologetic woman sitting in her spot were a complete stranger.
“About the scars… and… and the rest of it.”
Humiliation and shame rained down on Heather like a horrendous gale, lashing at her, stripping her bare.
He knew.
Her thoughts spun with such force, her head began to throb.
He knew.
Because Cathy told him.
Anger sparked to life like a lit match touching dry kindling. The fire caught hold and burned inside her chest.
“How could you do that? Why would you tell him?”
“It was an accident. You have to believe me.”
“An accident? How the hell could—” Heather yanked the napkin from her lap, tossed it onto the table, and stood up. “I am so out of here.”
“Wait,” Cathy pleaded. “You have to let me explain.”
Sara reached out and grasped Heather’s wrist. “Honey, sit down a minute.”
But the fury blinded Heather. She shook Sara off and snatched up her purse. “I can’t stay here. I can’t look at your face another second, Cathy.” The whole time she talked, she scrambled in her purse. Finally, she tossed money toward the center of the table and then grabbed her coat, not bothering to put it on before turning away from them.
“Heather, wait a minute! Come back. Please!”
“Shut up, Cathy,” Heather called over her shoulder. She didn’t give a single damn that people’s heads were turning to stare at her, she just kept marching toward the door as she seethed and muttered through gritted teeth, “Just shut the hell up.”
* * *
What made a friend?
The question tumbled across Heather’s mind like grains of sand caught up in a stiff sea breeze.
Better yet, what made a good friend?
Someone who could appreciate the differences in others, came one silent answer.
She and Sara and Cathy all three had different personalities. They had different talents, different interests, but that never stopped them from loving each other and caring about one another. As different as they were, they also had shared interests. And over the years, they had focused on those, built on them, until they had forged strong friendships.
Good friends were open with each other, honest, and real. Heather knew down deep in her soul that Sara and Cathy were all of these things. Hell, wasn’t it Cathy’s particular brand of punch-in-the-gut honesty that had Heather sitting in her dark, freezing car, feeling so thoroughly infuriated that she couldn’t—
No, it wasn’t Cathy’s honesty. It had been her utter betrayal that angered Heather. Never would she have imagined that Cathy would reveal her humiliating secret.
The mere thought had Heather clenching her fist and pressing her knuckles hard against her mouth and chin. Keeping her fury clamped inside was imperative. If she let go of her tight hold on her emotions, she knew she would scream and wail and pound the steering wheel.
It wasn’t just rage she was containing. She was also filled with fear.
As she stared at the back door of The Loon, she realized that the temperature in the cab of her car had dropped to the point that she was beginning to tremble from the cold. Soon, she would either have go inside or she’d be forced to start the car and turn on the heater. Again.
Daniel knew.
He knew. About her scars. About her missing nipples.
That agonizing thought was worse than physical torture.
While he had made love with her, he had told her it didn’t matter. At the time, she’d been blissfully ignorant of the secrets Cathy had revealed to him. And the fact that he had gone to bed with her while knowing the truth… Well, it was only logical that his reassurance had been sincere.
But he didn’t really know. He had no clue just how deformed she looked. The contempt she felt when she looked in the mirror and saw the breasts of a mangled mannequin.
Her phone chirruped and seeing Daniel’s name on the screen made her feel such dread that nausea began to churn in her stomach.
For the span of five long seconds, she considered letting the call go to voice mail. But he never called her on a whim. He must need something.
She slid her finger across the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Daniel?”
“Heather, where are you?” Without waiting for an answer, he barreled ahead, “I’ve got to go. Mia’s been found. Jakob is already on a plane with her. They’re flying into JFK. I’ve packed my things. I’m leaving for New York. I had hoped to see you before I go. I’ve waited over two hours for you. I can’t wait any longer. I have to go meet Mia.”
Every vestige of dark emotion—anger, embarrassment, fear—evaporated like a puff of mist. She latched onto the joy she heard in his voice… and the urgency he was clearly feeling to be away, and all she could think about was seeing him before he left town. It was a strange shifting of emotion—craziness, really—but this kind of impassioned lunacy was something she was actually getting used to since meeting him.
“I’m here.” She tugged the key from the ignition and then reached over to the passenger seat for her purse. “I’m right outside. I’ll be there in five seconds. Five seconds!”
She struggled with the backdoor lock, making a mental note to squirt some graphite powder into it. After shouldering her way inside, she rushed into the kitchen. Daniel was standing by the table, an array of emotions displayed on his face.
Without thought, she set her purse on the counter, tugged off her gloves, tucked them into her pockets, and began unbuttoning her coat, but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against his chest.
“I’m so damned relieved, Heather,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against her hair.
It was as if he were hanging onto her for dear life.
She slid her hands across his back, tucked her forehead into the crook of his neck, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t begin to describe the rush of emotion that hit her like a tsunami. Sensations powerful enough to knock the breath out of her, bring her to her knees, whirled and eddied, filling her entire body.
The fact that he was sharing this precious moment with her brought her a stupefying sense of euphoria.
She loved this man, she realized in that instant. Loved him desperately.
“I talked to her, Heather.”
“Mia? You did? I’m so glad.” she asked. “Is she okay?”
He pulled away from her, but only enough so that he could look down into her face. “She’s angry and upset. I didn’t talk long because I… well, she started to cry when she heard my voice, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Finally, Jakob took the phone from her, told me they had to go. Their plane was boarding.”
Daniel shook his head, the memory making him frown.
“He didn’t call me until they were changing planes in London.”
“Why did he wait so long? It must have taken hours to get to the airport and fly to England.”
“He was talking so fast. It was hard to catch everything he said.”
Daniel ran his hands over her back and shoulders, and Heather sensed that he was taking comfort in touching her.
“Apparently, everything changed on Mia’s birthday.”
Heather tipped up her chin to look into his eyes. The smile curving his lips looked sad.
“My little girl knew I wouldn’t let her birthday pass without planning something special just for the two of us. When she didn’t hear from me, she became inconsolable. She screamed for me. Told anyone w
ho would listen that she wanted to go home. She called Anica a liar. She tried to run away. Nothing Anica could do would calm her.” His eyes glistened. “Mia wanted me, her daddy, and she was determined to get to me even if it meant going into double-time-tantrum mode.”
“Because that’s what she’s been used to on her birthday,” Heather breathed. “Being with you. Oh, Daniel, your making her birthday a father-daughter celebration over the years is what solved everything. It’s what made all the difference.”
She felt his shoulders lift a fraction beneath her hands.
“Isn’t it crazy? Parents start family traditions and practices, we instill values, never knowing how our kids will be influenced by those habits and principles.”
Heather let her fingertips glide down his arm a few inches. “Well, in this case the habit is what is bringing her back to you.”
After a moment, he said, “Anica demanded to fly along with them as far as London.”
Heather gasped. “And your father-in-law allowed that? Why would he do that? After what she did.”
Daniel sighed. “She’s his daughter, Heather. She’ll always be his daughter. His only surviving daughter.”
The last three words were spoken slowly and with gentle emphasis, as though he was forcing himself to come to terms with the situation just as much as he was explaining it to her. Heather might not like the notion of Anica continuing to be allowed access to Mia, but with that kind of clarification, at least she could understand Jakob’s motives.
“He said Anica wanted to try to make Mia understand the meaning of family,” Daniel continued. “But Mia would have nothing to do with her. She screamed every time Anica came near her. Finally, a flight attendant forced Anica to change her seat… for Mia’s sake.”
“Thank goodness someone was watching out for her.”
“Jakob waited until Anica was on a flight back to Burgovnia before he called me. He knew I wouldn’t want Anica anywhere near Mia. And he’s right. I don’t.”
“That’s understandable given what you’ve had to live through. Never feel you have to apologize for that. You’re simply looking to protect your child.”
“He’s very worried he won’t ever see his granddaughter again. He must have mentioned it a dozen times during the few minutes that we talked.”
“How do you feel about that? About he and Anica spending time with Mia?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Daniel eased himself away from her, his hands lingering on her upper arms for a moment before he completely released her. “I can’t even think about that right now. I just want to focus on getting to JFK. I’ve got a four and a half hour drive ahead of me.” He glanced at his watch. “It’ll be late when they arrive. Mia will be exhausted both physically and emotionally.”
Heather hugged herself, the thought of his departure leaving her chilled and desolate inside.
“Do you know where you’ll go?” she asked.
“A hotel near the airport for tonight. Then I’ll take her home.” His dark eyes latched onto hers. “But I’ll be back.”
Immediately, she lifted both hands, palms out. “Oh, I wasn’t asking about that. I’d never press you about—”
“Shhh.” He gently touched the pad of his index finger to her lips. “We’ll talk. I promise. I have your number. I’ll call you.” His tone softened as he added, “And before long, I’ll see you.”
Heather nodded vaguely, then let her gaze slide to the floor. There was so much she wanted to say, but there was no time in which to say it.
“I left a file folder for you,” he said. “It’s on your desk. I want you to wait to look at it… until you have a day when you’re feeling positive. And open.”
He went quiet, and when she saw his jaw clench, her brow knitted.
I want you to wait… until you’re feeling positive. And open.
The words reverberated in her head, heavy and ominous.
Positive. And open.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” he promised. “And we’ll need to talk, I’m sure. I’ll be happy to discuss everything with you.” He reached for his coat and shoved his arms into it. “But I have to go now. I have to take care of Mia.” He took a step to his left and lifted his suitcase from where it had been sitting on the floor.
Funny. She hadn’t even noticed it there when she’d walked in.
“Of course,” she murmured.
He closed the gap between them and bent to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for everything, Heather.” Sadness shadowed his small smile. “That sounds damned inadequate after all you’ve done for me. After all that’s happened between us, but…”
He moved toward the door. “I’ll call you.”
She gave him a silent nod. “Good luck. Drive safe.”
The latch on the door clicked, and the house was silent.
* * *
Hours later, Heather sat cross-legged on her bed, the half glass of wine sitting on the nightstand forgotten. The papers and photos from the file folder Daniel had left for her were scattered across the bedspread. She’d cried until there were no tears left.
He’d said that the awful results of her surgery didn’t matter to him. But apparently they did. Why else would he have left all this… this… information? Pages and pages of research he’d done. The newest innovations in breast implants and implant surgery. Abdominal flap, gluteal flap, inner thigh flap procedures for skin extraction. New methods of tissue support, including synthetic mesh or something called acellular matrix. Nipple and areola reconstruction. Various tattooing techniques. Laser treatments for the lightening of scars.
Ever since her surgery, she’d felt repugnant. Deformed. She’d felt deficient, inadequate. And seeing all these grotesque images, this medical data, only served to confirm that Daniel felt the same way.
He hadn’t actually laid eyes on her chest. What would he do, what demands would he make of her, if he were to ever see her disfigured breasts? Not that that would ever happen.
Her phone rang and she snatched it up.
“Yes?” She wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t been able to offer a proper greeting. There wasn’t a single shred of pleasantry in her.
“Hey, I wanted to let you know I’d made it to JFK.”
“Has Mia arrived?”
“Not yet. But she’ll be here soon.”
She could hear commotion in the background, people talking, a flight announcement being made. She had no idea what to say to him.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No.” Her eyes landed on the hideous photos lying on her bedspread. “Daniel, I don’t want you to think about coming back here. You need to focus on Mia. Take care of your daughter.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Heather, what’s wrong? Why would you—?”
She heard his breathy exhale.
“You didn’t wait, did you? You read the file.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.” Her words sounded straight-jacket-tight even to her own ears.
“I didn’t go to any trouble, Heather,” he said. “That was all research I did for the book I wrote. I told you about it. I just printed it out from the file I already had on my laptop… in case you might find it helpful.”
“Helpful?” She nearly choked on the word. “But I don’t want more surgery. I had a terrible time with the reconstruction.”
“Did you see the tattoos? The 3-D tattoos are amazing.”
Heather hadn’t thought there was any lament left in her, but her vision went glossy with moisture.
“You said it didn’t matter.” Her throat had closed to the point that the sentence came out sounding strangled.
“Oh, honey,” he breathed. “It doesn’t matter. Heather, sweetheart, it doesn’t matter to me. I gave you the information because it matters to you. Every time I tried to kiss you, to touch you, you tensed up with… with… I don’t even know what. I assumed it was fear. Of being vulnerable? Of being seen? I know you have
a… a terrible apprehension about being in a relationship. About being left. About being abandoned. I felt it. Every time I came too close.”
What he said was true. She’d spent a lot of years trying to get over the hurt Steve had caused her.
“I want you to be comfortable in your own skin,” he continued. “I want you to look in the mirror and love what you see.”
“I’ll never love what the mirror shows me.”
“Like, then,” came his quick-silver reply. “I want you to be able to look at yourself and at least… smile.”
She couldn’t ever image that happening either. But his justification for giving her the file did make the tension in her throat and in her chest ease a little.
“But how do you know what I look like under my clothes doesn’t matter to you?” she asked. “You’ve never seen me.”
“That’s very easy to answer.”
The pleading quality left his voice, and his soft words sounded calm.
“Because I love you.”
Heather’s breath caught and held.
“I love your kindness, your caring. I love your beautiful face. I love your mind. I love your creativity. I have a wonderful video gift to show Mia. To let her know I didn’t forget her birthday, and I have that because of you. I love your devotion—to your friends, to your home, your business. To me. You treated me with thoughtfulness and compassion. You were warmhearted when I needed it.”
With each sentence he spoke, Heather’s heart grew more tender.
“I love your laugh,” he told her. “I love your wit. I love your body. I love the shape of your calves, the curve of your hips, the hollow of your cheek, the length of your neck. I love all of you, and that includes your breasts. I don’t ever have to see them if you don’t want me to. But if I ever do, I will love them… I promise you. Because they’re a part of you, Heather. They’re just one piece of the perfect picture that is you.”
She didn’t know what to say. His eloquent assertions had left her mute and wonderfully mystified.
“You’re the kind of woman I want in my life.”
Silence stretched over the air. Finally, he whispered, “Please talk to me, Heather. You’re scaring me here.”
