Chapter 13 Diversification of Plants and Animals #3
Kaitlyn again: “I have two thoughts about this I’m going to share with you.
First, maybe you don’t deserve forgiveness.
But that doesn’t mean you can’t become deserving of forgiveness.
Work for it. Earn it. And second, the apology isn’t about you and what you do or don’t deserve.
It’s about what Sam deserves, right? Don’t you think Sam deserves an apology?
Have you considered the fact that she might need to hear it? ”
I felt a strange, electric flush in my chest. It was not an unfamiliar sensation, being scrutinized from afar, a fly on the wall of my own life.
Andreas: “You are saying I should apologize—because she deserves my contrition, and to know that I am sorry for hurting her—even though I know it is unforgivable.”
My lip curled into a sneer. This was so like Andreas, to treat an apology as an exercise in logic and game theory.
Never venturing too far from the door—so I wouldn’t miss their conversation—I moved quickly and quietly through the post-shower steps: toweling off, and wriggling into Kaitlyn’s jeans and T-shirt which were two sizes too big, but I didn’t care.
I kept my movements as silent as possible, not wanting to disturb the delicate tableau outside.
Kaitlyn, her voice rising: “There you go again. Whether she forgives you or not isn’t your decision.
It’s up to Sam. And by withholding the apology, you are still making decisions for Sam, about Sam, just like you did when you froze her PI’s funding.
Stop making decisions for her and just do the right thing.
Why is it so hard to let Sam decide what she wants? ”
Andreas: “Does it not make more sense to earn her forgiveness first, become deserving of it first, before I ask for it?”
A pause, then a snort of laughter from Kaitlyn.
“You are ridiculous, Andreas. That’s not how loving someone works.
She’s not a doll you can play with, or—or a chess piece on a board.
There’s no machinating shrewdly or well enough in order to trap her into forgiving you.
Either she does, or she doesn’t. But the longer you wait, the more you reinforce her perception that you’re a scheming, manipulative a-hole. ”
A sound from Andreas, something like a huff of surprised-sounding laughter. “Admittedly, ‘scheming, manipulative a-hole’ is a fair description of me. But I see your point.”
Kaitlyn: “Which point? I’ve made so many.”
Another chair movement, like someone stood up or shifted position. Then Andreas: “Specifically, Sam deserves an apology. It matters not if she forgives me, that is up to her to decide.”
Kaitlyn: “And?”
Andreas, with a note of humor: “And I need to stop scheming how to stay in her life and allow her to make the decision . . . ?”
Kaitlyn: “Bingo.”
Andreas: “Thank you for your time, and the conversation.”
Kaitlyn: “You’re welcome.”
Andreas: “I am glad you are feeling better. As soon as you see Samantha, please give her this note.”
Kaitlyn: “Sure thing.”
Footsteps, then the soft hush of the suite door opening and closing. Silence. A moment later, Kaitlyn called, “Come out. He’s gone.”
I emerged from the bathroom, hair wet, cheeks flushed, and crossed to Kaitlyn’s bed.
She was propped up in a nest of pillows, hospital tray table in front of her, a blue plastic cup with a straw and folded piece of paper resting next to it.
Kaitlyn picked up the paper and held it out to me. “The note he wrote when he first walked in. I didn’t read it.”
“Thanks.” I accepted the it. “Where are Abram and Joey?”
“Martin showed up right after you went into the bathroom and took Abram and Joey with him to go grab me something that tastes better than hospital food. Which, according to Martin, is literally anything.”
I nodded, then gave her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you for . . . talking to Andreas.”
She shrugged, her expression wry. “For what it’s worth, Martin was just as dumb when we first got together. And I believe you gave me lots of good advice at the time, if memory serves.”
I chuffed out a laugh, then returned my attention to the note.
It was a single sheet of hospital stationery, folded three times and bearing my name in his handwriting—a mixture of precise block letters and elegant script.
I opened it, bracing myself.
Samantha,
I know you’re in the room somewhere. Your guards are right outside the door and Tara would not allow you to leave without following.
As such, I am assuming you will hear my conversation with Kaitlyn, or at least parts of it depending on where you are hiding.
I do not blame you for hiding from me, but I wanted you to know I am aware you are listening.
I do not wish to lie to you or keep anything from you.
I want us to only be honest with each other.
—A
Huffing in disbelief, I dropped my hand holding the note and glanced at the ceiling. “He’s unbelievable.” I wasn’t embarrassed about my eavesdropping. Or rather, I was going to try really hard not to be embarrassed about it.
“What? What does it say?”
I handed the note over and watched her read it. When she finished, she chuckled. “He’s a stinker. And I had no idea he knew. But of course, your guards are just outside the door. I don’t know why I didn’t realize.”
Giving Kaitlyn a smile, I accepted the note back from her. “I believe you’ve had other things on your mind. And Andreas is, like, an apex predator at concealing his thoughts.”
Kaitlyn pushed back her covers and stretched her arms over her head. “What are you going to do about him?”
“I’m not sure.” Glancing down at Kaitlyn’s clothes and my bare feet, I backed up toward the suite door. “First, though, I’m going to ask Tara if she can send someone to the gift shop to pick me up some different clothes. Be right back.”
Turning, I closed the distance to the suite door and reached for the handle, saying as I swung it open, “Hey, Tara. Could one of you—oh!”
Tara hovered next to the door along with my other two guards, as expected.
Whereas, not at all expected, Andreas stood on the opposite wall, facing the door, arms crossed, gaze slightly narrowed, a ghost of a smile curving his lips, obviously lying in wait.