Chapter 11
“There’s a Cindy Van Horn here to see you,” Ava’s assistant said from the doorway to her office. “She doesn’t have an appointment,
and when I asked what it was about, she said it was personal.”
Ava did her best not to react to the words, despite how surprised she was. Cindy, here?
It had been nearly a week since the family dinner they’d shared. While the evening had been awkward at times, Ava had appreciated
the chance to get to know Shannon and reconnect with Cindy—even for an evening. Afterwards she’d poked at the emotional wounds
she’d carried and found that they’d scarred up and bothered her much less than she would have thought. Oh, if she allowed
herself to get lost in the past, she could bring all that pain back in a heartbeat, but why would she want to do that? Even
though she’d taken both Cindy’s and Shannon’s numbers, she had no plans to reach out to either of them. Of course she would
love to get to know the woman who had, briefly, almost been her daughter, but she knew she was nothing to Shannon. So every
time she was tempted to reach out, she reminded herself that it wasn’t a good idea.
“She’s an old friend,” Ava said easily, as she quickly saved her work and exited her Excel program. “You can show her in.”
Seconds later Cindy walked into her office. Ava rose and started to smile, then stared when she saw the other woman.
Cindy was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her gait was hesitant, her posture defensive. She looked like someone who’d
gotten a bad diagnosis or worse.
“What’s wrong?” Ava asked. “Are you all right? Is it Luis?” Her heart stopped. “Is it Shannon?”
Cindy shook her head. “Everyone is fine. I haven’t been sleeping.” She paused and stared at the ground. “Not since the dinner.
Oh, Ava.” She looked up and tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you and being a coward and not telling
you the truth. I was wrong to keep my doubts from you. You were nothing but kind and I destroyed you.”
The tears became sobs. Ava hesitated for a second before grabbing the box of tissues from her desk, then guiding Cindy to
the corner seating area. She got the other woman to sit on the sofa and took the chair for herself. She gave Cindy about ninety
seconds to cry it out, then said, “It’s been twenty-four years. Do I look destroyed?”
Cindy blinked at her. “No, you look perfect. Like always. I remember you being so pulled together. Even when you were weeding
my garden, you looked like a model in a magazine.”
“Thank you for the compliment. My point is I think you’re taking on too much guilt. You changed your mind. It’s allowed.”
She was proud of how lightly she spoke the words when, in truth, thinking about what had happened all those years ago still
made her feel like her heart was bleeding.
“Have you been worrying about this all week?” she asked.
Cindy nodded slowly. “After our dinner, I felt awful about what I’d done. Or not done. I should have been honest with you
and told you what I was thinking about Shannon.” She looked away. “I was so scared that if I did . . .”
Ava could fill in the rest of the sentence. “You were afraid if you told me what was going on, I’d get angry or try to talk you out of it.”
“Yes. Or that you’d hire a lawyer and take my baby anyway. You and Milton knew everything about the world, and I was just
some eighteen-year-old kid who said you could have my baby and then changed my mind.”
Ava leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know what I would have said or thought,” she admitted. “Obviously I would have been
concerned about your doubts.” Terrified was more like it, and she very well might have tried to talk Cindy into going forward with the adoption. “I like to think
I would have been understanding, but so much was on the line.” She offered a smile. “I’m sorry you worried about us getting
a lawyer. We wouldn’t have. Cindy, the baby was always yours. You’re the mother. You got to decide. Not us.”
Cindy twisted the tissue in her hands. “My head understands, but my heart was so afraid. I knew what I was doing was wrong
and—”
Ava frowned. “What do you mean you were wrong?”
“Keeping Shannon. I’d promised you could have her.”
“We’re not talking about a favorite sweater. She’s your child. She was growing inside of you. The two of you have a bond no
one can break. Wanting to keep her and raise her was never wrong.”
Cindy’s eyes filled again. “But I hurt you and Milton. I was such a coward.”
“You were, as you already pointed out, barely eighteen.”
“I started to feel like her mother,” she admitted, sounding ashamed. “I would feel her kicking when I was in bed, and she
was so real to me. I would imagine what it would be like to hold her and raise her, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about
it.” She wiped her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I should have said something.”
“I don’t think you could have. You were feeling guilty and confused. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend everything is fine.”
Like now, Ava thought, holding in the pain.
Because Cindy’s words about holding her baby brought back so much of the past. How many times had she herself thought about holding little Shannon?
In her mind, she’d pictured her and Milton at the hospital, the tiny child in their arms. She’d imagined the slow drive home, the first time she put Shannon in her perfect nursery.
Feeding her, changing her, the first smile, the first laugh, tracking all her progress in the baby book she’d bought.
She remembered the fierce love she’d already felt for the baby that had never been hers.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” Cindy whispered, drawing Ava back to the present. “I missed my mom so much, and you were there
for me.” She sniffed. “It was never about the things you bought me. I hope you know that. It was always about how you were
there for me. You were the only friend I had. You took care of me, and I repaid you by keeping my baby.”
Ava recalled that Cindy had lost her mother the year before she got pregnant. She’d talked about her constantly through the
pregnancy, missing her and wishing she was there with her. Ava had envied the relationship. Her own mother had died in childbirth.
Ava had never known what it was like to have a mother in her life. She’d vowed that she and her daughter would be as close
as Cindy and her mom had been. Something that hadn’t happened with Victoria, she thought with a sigh.
“You have to let that go,” Ava told her. “It was a long time ago. Milton and I have moved on. You need to do the same.”
“But you were so good to me.” Cindy leaned toward her. “You listened while I complained, you read all the pregnancy books
with me, you took me to my doctor’s appointments. I couldn’t have gotten through my pregnancy without you.” She wiped her
face again. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear. The friendship was real to me, and after I kept Shannon I missed you so
much.”
“I missed you, too,” Ava told her. “We’d talked about an open adoption and you being part of the baby’s life. I meant that. I hope you believe me.”
“I do. You were there when I needed you most, and I’ll always be grateful, and I am so sorry for all the pain and how I just
disappeared. That’s what I came to say. I wanted you to know you were wonderful and that I’ve always regretted my behavior.”
She unexpectedly stood. “Thank you for listening. I appreciate it so much. Goodbye, Ava.”
She walked out before Ava could decide if she wanted to stop her or not. In the end, she sat there in her office, thinking
about all Cindy had said. It was the closure Milton had talked about. She had it now. She knew what had happened and why.
Cindy felt badly about what she’d put them through. It was all good.
She walked back to her desk and sat down, then opened her Excel program. But she found it difficult to concentrate. Not only
had Cindy’s visit brought old memories to the surface, it had reignited the longing she’d felt all those years ago. The ache
for a child and how she’d given her heart to a baby she would never have. But what surprised her the most was the realization
that after Cindy had changed her mind, she hadn’t just mourned the loss of her daughter. She had also missed someone she’d
come to think of as a friend.
Victoria used her crutches as she hop-stepped into the community center classroom. The desks had already been pushed into
a large circle, and several people had claimed their space. But as soon as everyone saw her, the room went silent. Ollie,
one of her writing friends, rushed to greet her.
“You look terrible. What happened? I know you texted you were hurt, but you never said you were on crutches!” Ollie, a thirtysomething
who’d never come out of her Goth era, pressed her dark lips together. “Oh, and hi. It’s good to see you again.”
Victoria felt a rush of affection and annoyance—a combination that reminded her too much of the emotions she dealt with when she was around her mother.
When she’d been getting ready, she’d been pleased by how good she looked.
The black eyes were completely gone, and she was steadier on the crutches.
Apparently all that didn’t translate to Ollie or the rest of the world.
It was always tough to see herself one way and find out everyone else saw her differently.
“I’m happy to be here,” Victoria said lightly. “I feel fine. Much better than I did.”
She maneuvered to one of the desks and lowered herself into the seat before sliding the crutches underneath the desk. She
shrugged out of her backpack and set it on the floor next to her, then waved at the other people in the room.
“Hi, all.”
Ollie sat next to her. “I wish you’d told me how bad you were hurt. I could have helped by getting food in your place or keeping
you company.”
The sweet offer surprised her and made her feel badly about being annoyed. “Thank you,” she said as graciously as she could.
“I promise the next time I’m hurt in a stunt, I’ll text the details.”