Page 5 of Damon
“And how is that going to work? How many hours a week do you spend at work? Since your promotion, Connie said you’d hardly been home. When do you have time to be a father?”
“I’ll make time.”
“No, you’ll employ another woman to bring up the child. My daughter will be forgotten. You can’t do it all, Damon. If you want to remain within my family, get rid of it.” Before Damon could respond, Connie’s father turned and left.
I watched as this broken man dropped to his knees and rested his head in his hands. He muttered something to himself, inaudible but pained. I stepped out of my hiding place; the sound of my footsteps caused him to look up. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. My heart broke for him all over again, as it’s done every day for two weeks.
“You heard that?” he whispered, and I nodded. “I’m sorry you had to, but he’s right; the child will never know their mother.”
“We will make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said, lowering myself beside him to sit on the floor. “Every day they’ll be told who their true mother is, and that she loves them with all her heart.” His mouth quirked into a small smile. “I’ll help you.”
“Emma, you have a life to live and plans to fulfill. Our agreement doesn’t change. You will have this child then move on.” My stomach fell. Those were not the words I wanted to hear. “There is no place for you here long term.”
“Maybe,” was the only word I could manage past my lips as I pushed myself up to stand. Now was not the time for this discussion. What he didn’t know was that I had no plans to leave. “Do you want a cup of tea? I was going to make one.”
“No thank you,” he replied, rising then disappearing back into the office and closing the door.
His voice shouting once again into my bedroom snaps me from my recollection. All I can make out is “hurry up” and “the car is fucking waiting.” I automatically roll my eyes as the handle rattles on the door.
“It’s locked,” I shout.
“I can see that,” he snaps back, then I hear him striding off.
Once I'm happy with the final result of my preparations, I stand and move to the wardrobe, removing the black dress from the hanger and slipping it on. With a final look in the full-length mirror, I make my way toward the door and out to a day where I'm not sure what to expect.
When I reach the front porch, Damon is waiting not so patiently. He paces back and forth like a caged animal in the small space. A petite woman stands at the entrance steps smoking a cigar. I blink to ensure I’m not seeing things. Her dyed, jet-black hair is tied tight into a knot on her head, while her fine-boned face is heavily made up with eccentric colors. Cherry-red lips move into a sad smile as she turns to face me.
“Mother,” Damon says, looking between us. “This is Emma.”
“Hello, Emma, I’m Marjorie. It is lovely to meet you, although I do wish it was under better circumstances.” She holds a dainty hand in my direction with long, painted black nails. “How are you keeping?”
“I’m okay,” I reply, taken aback by the question, my plan to stay invisible disappearing with the query. Damon wrings his hands together, unsettled by the conversation.
“Your pregnancy is progressing well, Damon tells me. Twelve weeks I believe?”
“Fourteen,” I correct her with a glance at Damon. He holds my gaze for a moment, then drops his eyes away before resuming his pacing once more. “I thought the car was here?”
“No,” he says abruptly. “But I wasn’t taking any risks at being held up.”
“You lied to me?” An unfamiliar sensation stabs my chest. Hurt, I think. He didn’t trust me not to ruin today. “I would have been ready when you needed me.”
“I wasn’t taking any chances.” He doesn’t look at me, but his cheeks flush a soft red, I think in embarrassment. My focus remains on him as I take in his appearance. The dark suit he’s wearing strains across the muscles beneath it, covering the array of tattoos below. He’s handsome, but not in a pretty-boy way. He has strong and determined features with eyes you could get lost in. I find myself staring, even though I shouldn’t.
His mother clearing her throat breaks the moment and reminds me where I am. Immediately, guilt consumes me for ogling a widower on the day of his wife’s funeral, a man more than a decade older than me, whose child I am carrying thanks to a financial arrangement.
“When should we expect the car, son?” Marjorie says.
“Waite called. They will be here in ten minutes,” he replies. She nods, obviously knowing who the man called Waite is. I’ve met him a few times, too. He’s a fast-moving lawyer in the city.
Marjorie fills the ten minutes of silence with idle chit-chat. She asks me about my studies, my childhood, and my hobbies. I don’t have much to tell her. I answer evasively, not lying but not providing any personal information. I’m careful to keep my secrets close. There is so much people can’t know about me; it would be too dangerous for everyone involved. After another round of interrogation, Damon lifts his hand.
“Mother, enough. Emma doesn’t need to tell you her life story. Leave her alone.” He glances out of the door as three black limousines stop in front of the house. Harrison Waite pushes open the back door of the front car. He is in his early thirties, wearing an identical suit to Damon’s. He walks up the front path, a solemn expression cemented on his face. When he arrives in front of his friend, he pulls him into a hug, which surprises me. Damon McKinney doesn’t look like a man you hug.
“How are you?” the man says softly, his eyes searching his friend’s face for a clue to how he’s feeling.
“Dead inside,” he responds bluntly. “This is it, Waite. It’s time to say goodbye.”
Chapter three