Chapter 13 #2
“If I’m not there, pushing him past his fears, they’ll conquer him. He’ll forget he has a daughter.” He’d forget about me.
“Your dad doesn’t think Leo deserves you.”
“I know. I heard yesterday, remember?” I’d also heard Leo agree.
“Want to know what I think? He probably doesn’t deserve you, not after all the mistakes he’s made. The man sure isn’t making it easy. But deserve you or not, Leo needs you. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”
“What if he never does?”
“You’re not walking away from this empty-handed, honey.” Mom placed her hand on my belly just in time to feel the baby shove an elbow or a knee or a foot into my side.
I smiled. “You always know what to say. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She kissed my hair again, then as I sat up straight, she stood. “I’ve got a bunch of meetings today but call me if you need anything.”
“I will. I’m going to spend the day working too.” The distraction of a task would keep my mind off Leo.
Waiting until Mom and Dad each left for work, I found my laptop and settled at the dining room table. I hadn’t even had the chance to use the desk Leo had bought for me—for work.
Why would he go to that trouble for me but not help me set up the nursery for the baby? Why would he spend all day creating a space I could call my own, then go to the bar and score a hookup?
None of it made sense.
And after the day spent working, I still hadn’t righted any of it in my mind.
The book I was transcribing was for an author I hadn’t read before. It was only her second story, but it was engrossing and her writing, even dictated, was impeccable. At one point, I’d gotten so lost in her voice and tale that I hadn’t realized my fingers had stopped moving over the keyboard.
Her story was about a nurse in the Civil War, living in Virginia. The nurse, Ester, was charged with attending to injured soldiers after General Robert E. Lee had surrendered his Confederate troops to the Union in 1865.
Ester’s home burned down in the war and her only living relatives, a brother and father, had both been killed.
Having had enough blood and death, she used what money she’d saved and the money her father had stowed in the family graveyard to leave Virginia.
She set out West, hoping to find a new life in California after the Gold Rush.
The book was fiction but infused with history, the events accurate, the narrative addictive and the settings so descriptive I could close my eyes and be on the journey, sitting beside Ester in the covered wagon as it bounced and bumped along the California trail.
My plan for years had been to graduate with my PhD, then teach. One day, maybe I’d write nonfiction. Books that others might one day use when they were embarking on their own studies.
Yet with every paragraph of this addictive story, a longing for something new bloomed in my heart. Nonfiction in my field typically required a doctorate. But historical fiction did not.
What if I wrote a book like this?
The idea came to me so quickly that it startled me. I wouldn’t need to pay for school or move to a college town, juggling a baby and my education.
What if I just . . . wrote a book?
As enthralled with Ester’s story as I was, I put the transcription aside and spent the rest of my afternoon researching the various ways to publish a book.
Maybe that was putting the cart before the horse, but the urgency to explore this was so overwhelming that I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I was so busy making lists and jotting down follow-up questions that I nearly missed Leo’s text message just after five o’clock.
All thoughts of writing and publishing vanished as I read the words on my phone.
I hate this.
My jaw dropped and the anger from earlier came back with a vengeance.
He hated this? Was he trying to make me feel guilty? Like I was the one to blame here? My fingers flew across the screen and before I could think better of it, I sent my reply.
What exactly do you hate? Me not being there to warm your bed at night? Don’t you have a brunette for that?
Instead of replying, his name flashed with an incoming call.
“Leo, I asked you for space,” I answered.
“Cassandra.” His gravelly voice, full of remorse, went straight to my soul.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have answered the phone. “What do you want?”
“We have a lot to talk about, babe. I don’t want to do it over the phone. I’m sorry I went to the bar. I should have stayed and helped with the nursery. Just know I didn’t betray you. I didn’t cheat.”
Lies. “You told me that you haven’t been with anyone but me since the first time. I believed you then. I don’t now.” Not when I could see that woman’s face so clearly. When I could see her lips pressed to his.
He blew out a long breath, the whoosh so loud I could practically feel his breath on my cheek. “I’ve never lied to you.”
God, I wanted that to be true. But what I’d written to Leo in my note had been the truth. I needed time to think about the future and what would be best for this baby. I needed space to collect the pieces of my heart.
“Please . . . let me be,” I whispered.
He was quiet on the other end of the line. The clock in the kitchen ticked louder and louder with every passing second. Until finally, he spoke. “I’ll respect your decision. For now.”
It took effort to pull the phone from my ear and end the call. Then I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t cry. Because I really, really wanted to cry.
He’d respect my decision. He’d leave me alone.
He might be sorry. He might hate this.
But he hadn’t asked me to come back home.