16. Lissa
Lissa
The next morning, I wake up before dawn, slipping out of bed, careful not to disturb Henry.
As I make my way into the living room, the house is damp and cold, and I pull a cardigan from a chair, wrapping it around my shoulders.
Getting out my phone, I open my banking app, watching the little icon swirl on the screen. My cell is so old that I barely have a signal most of the time, and everything always takes forever to load.
I fill the coffee machine with water and clean the filter before I look at the screen again.
When I do, I nearly drop the pot in shock. There is over twenty grand in my account.
I pick up my phone, staring at the number in front of me in total disbelief. I’ve worked at the firm for only four days. Surely this isn’t a standard pricing plan.
Opening WhatsApp, I fire off a message to Bethany.
LISSA: IS 10k NORMAL FOR ONE SESSION???
The reply comes through almost instantly.
BETHANY: IT’S SUPER GENEROUS, BUT I’VE HAD SOME CLIENTS PAY ME THAT MUCH BEFORE. YOU MUST HAVE BLOWN HIS MIND. LITERALLY!
I lean against the kitchen counter. I’ve never even seen that much money before. James handled everything related to our finances. He sent me money when I needed it, but usually only the very specific amounts he deemed necessary for groceries and clothes for Henry.
He never gave me a credit card that I could have used to escape him.
Henry’s hospital treatment is going to cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, but, for the first time, my ability to pay it actually feels like a possibility.
Tears well in my eyes as I stare down at that beautiful, shiny number. That will soon be enough for the treatment deposit.
The doctor explained to me that, without insurance, the hospital doesn’t just assume I’ll be able to pay. They make sure to get a down payment in advance, and the plan is aggressive if any payments are missed. The interest is eye-watering.
But now I have the money to cover it.
I have it!
The thought is empowering. Yes, I might have opened my legs to get that money, but I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I have to to keep Henry healthy and safe.
Besides, Bethany isn’t ashamed of what she does for a living; why should I be?
I look over at Henry sleeping in the bed and let out a breath that I feel as if I’ve been holding for weeks.
If things keep going as they are, I’ll be able to see this through right to the end.
It isn’t a pipe dream anymore; I’m going to be able to save my son without relying on his father or anyone else.
All I have to do is keep Oliver Heath happy.
With renewed vigor, I start cleaning the whole apartment, getting the laundry together, and making Henry breakfast. By the time he wakes up and walks out of the bedroom, rubbing blearily at his eyes and squinting at the daylight streaming through the windows, everything is spotless, and there are eggs cooking on the stove.
“How are you doin’, baby?” I ask, smiling at him as he rubs at his tummy. He’s started doing that every morning now, his belly distended and swollen on one side.
In only 24 hours, we will have met with the doctor, and he’ll begin the treatment plan. That’s no time at all.
I can do this.
After Henry has gotten dressed for school, we sit together at the kitchen table, giggling over our eggs as he teases me about my hair, which is sticking out in all directions.
I allow myself to bask in the relief my bank balance has given me, letting myself really relax for the first time in forever.
Then, once I’m dressed and ready to get to work, we head out. I open the front door of our apartment building, and I see a man at the base of the steps waiting for us. My good mood is instantly shattered into tiny pieces.
“Daddy!” Henry shouts, running past me and down the stairs toward James. My ex is standing there, a wide grin on his face, his arms outstretched to embrace his son.
He looks as handsome as ever, wearing an olive green cashmere sweater over his toned chest, his light brown hair wavy and thick. There was a time when I loved to run my fingers through it, but now the sight of it makes me feel physically sick.
What the fuck is he doing here?
The protective order I have against him should stop him from showing up unannounced, but James has a habit of bending the rules in his favor.
Even the judge had been lenient with him the last time he’d broken the terms of the order.
James had turned on the charm, telling her he ‘only wanted to see his son’.
I stand frozen at the top of the steps, watching James embracing Henry’s small body, his arms going all the way around him as he smiles happily.
The picture of a perfect father. Such bullshit…
I pull my bag higher up my shoulder and walk down the steps. James is always on his best behavior around Henry; he rarely lets his true colors show, but sometimes, just occasionally, I see the mask slip. I can only hope that today won’t be one of those times.
James’s hazel eyes meet mine as he lowers Henry to the sidewalk, and I hold out my hand for my son, who comes over to take it.
“Hey, Lissa,” James says, putting his hands in his pockets. “You look tired.”
Fuck you.
“What are you doing here? Your visit isn’t until next weekend.” I try to keep my tone light so Henry doesn’t detect how angry I am.
“I know, but I wanted to see my little man.”
Henry giggles, gripping my hand a little tighter. He’s not scared, he’s excited to see his dad. It’s perfectly natural that he enjoys seeing him, yet I can’t help resenting the happy look on his face.
“Hey, Hen, why don’t you show me how fast you can run, okay? All the way to the bus stop and back,” James murmurs with a grin.
He doesn’t need to ask twice. Henry bolts away from us, wanting to prove himself to his dad, running at full speed toward the bus stop.
“Why does Henry have an appointment with someone named Dr. Erkhart tomorrow, Lissa?” James asks immediately.
His mouth is twisted in an unhappy line as he takes a step toward me. I can’t help retreating. It’s an impulse, an automatic response to a threat. My body feels as if it’s two seconds from running in the opposite direction.
“It’s a routine appointment,” I mutter. “He?—”
“I smell bullshit,” he says, taking another step.
He is so much bigger than me, and as I stare up at him, I can’t help comparing him to Oliver.
They’re both big men, but I can’t imagine Oliver ever hurting me, turning against me, breaking my bones in a rage.
Yes, he can be grumpy, but I wouldn’t describe him as an angry person. Now, James on the other hand…
I sniff, wincing as the low wall along the steps hits my calf as I almost topple backward over it.
“You had better not be keeping anything from me about our son, you fucking whore,” he breathes, the low, angry quality of his voice so familiar I feel nausea rise in my throat.
This is the James I know, the man who flips a switch and becomes someone else, who blames me, hates me, twists everything I do.
“I—I’m not k—keeping anything from you,” I stammer, clutching at the bricks behind me, the gritty surface pressing painfully into my skin.
“How quick was I?”
James steps back, turning to Henry, who appears around the wall. His little face is flushed, too flushed, his eyes shining. I look him over. He shouldn’t be running anywhere; the doctors told me to make sure he takes it easy before the operation.
“You were under a minute, Buddy. That’s amazing. Have you been practicing?”
“Mommy says I have to go slow,” Henry says as my stomach clenches.
“Well, Mommy doesn’t always know best, does she?”
Henry tentatively shakes his head. This started before I left, too. The digs at me in front of Henry, as if everything I do is inferior.
James knows best.
“You were so quick!” I say, stepping around James and gripping Henry’s hand. I step deliberately away from my ex, the distance calming my heart. “We’ll see you at your visit next week,” I say as James scoffs at me, his eyes filled with suppressed rage.
“If I find out the truth, and it’s different from what you’ve said, you’ll be seeing me again real soon,” he says, in a tone that’s light enough not to make Henry suspicious.
Hen is staring down the road at something and tugs on my arm. “The bus is coming, Mom.”
I glance back at James, who is smirking at me, the wind ruffling his hair, his handsome face bathed in light as the sun comes out from behind the clouds.
I drag Henry away as quickly as I can, stuck at the back of the line as we all file onto the bus. Henry and I just make it on, and it’s packed.
As the bus moves off, I look back at the steps to our apartment, where James is still standing, watching us go.
I can only pray he never finds out about Henry’s condition, but, right now, it feels unlikely.
By the time I get to the office, it’s past 9, and Adelaide gives me a concerned look when I get to my desk, coming over to stand beside it, watching me remove my bag.
“Is everything alright? You look like you’ve been crying,” she says, as I glance up at her in surprise. I was expecting a tirade about my lateness, but instead she looks worried.
“Oh,” I say quietly. “No, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
My coat is half off, bag hanging loosely from my fingers. I’m so exhausted I can barely think straight, and I shrug.
“Just family stuff. My son’s not well.”
Adelaide’s eyes soften instantly. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lissa. Do you need some time off?”
“No!” I say desperately. “No, I need to be here. I need this job.”
“That’s not what I…” She trails off, shuffling the envelopes in her hands together, and pats me gently on the arm. “You’re doing great here. I hope you know that. Not many people can figure it all out as fast as you have.”
“Thanks, Adelaide.”
“Would you mind giving these to Noah? I said I would get Mr. Heath his coffee.”
She hands me some files and the envelopes and walks away. After I’ve checked my makeup and straightened my clothes, smoothing back my hair and hoping I look somewhat presentable, I go into the conference room.
Noah is sitting at the table, a pen between his fingers, one hand shoved into his hair, reading over a pile of papers. There’s a highlighter in his mouth, and as he looks up, I notice how bloodshot his eyes are.
“Hey,” he says, removing the highlighter and smiling at me. “Oh, thanks.”
I hand him the files, looking around the room. A lot of the boxes have been moved around, and some of the archived ones have been replaced with more robust plastic bins that make everything look more official.
“Thanks for your help,” he says warmly. “I couldn’t have done all this without you. Oliver mentioned that you’re mainly working with Adelaide, so I’m not allowed to steal you for this case. Hated to hear that.”
I laugh, grateful for the praise. “Well, at least it was helpful while it lasted,” I say. “Is this everything that’s coming?”
“I think so. Although there might be a few more boxes arriving tomorrow, but I’m told it’s only about twenty or so.” He grimaces, and it’s so over the top I chuckle, shaking my head at him.
“There is one good thing about you working with Adelaide, though,” he says, his eyes flicking to the door behind me.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Well, there’s no conflict of interest now. Not that there would have been a big one before.”
“Conflict of interest?”
“About me asking you out for a drink. I figured I’d shoot my shot. What do I have to lose except my pride, right?”
My throat tightens as his bright, overly enthused green eyes meet mine.
Holy shit, did I just get asked on a date?
Noah seems nice, but do I really want to date him, given everything going on?
My mind flicks to a dark, low-lit place, a deep voice instructing me to do whatever he wants, and the intoxicating thrill of obeying his every whim.
Then James looms large in the image, a twisted, cruel sneer on his face as I cower away from him.
Don’t I deserve to be happy? To be cared for by someone for real?
“Sure,” I say, the word sounding foreign on my tongue. “That sounds great.”