Page 62 of Daddy's Unexpected Gift

Her face was red and tear-streaked, and my yell scared another high-pitched scream from her. She tried to get away from me as I approached the crib. She was sweaty and upset, and I had come in like some monster.

“Oh, baby girl, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I lifted Georgie into my arms. She was soaking wet. No wonder she was miserable.

My focus shifted. I was very aware that I needed to call Cecelia and explain myself, but right now, Georgie needed me, and Georgie was my priority.

I peeled her wet clothes off and wiped her down with baby wipes. She really needed a bath. I could imagine that it would be a disaster. She was already miserable and upset. Shoving her into a shower wouldn’t make her feel any safer. I got her dressed in something clean and dry before I carried her into the kitchen and warmed up a bottle.

It took her a long while to settle. Whatever she had dreamed about had spooked her. Or maybe waking up covered in urine was really that upsetting. She didn’t want me to put her down.

With Georgie clinging to me like a baby koala, I found my phone where I had left it in the kitchen and tried to call Cecelia. It went straight to voicemail. I suspected she hadn’t even turned the phone on for the day yet, and I doubted she was home.

She was pissed off at me and the world. She needed to calm down before I felt like I could reasonably talk to her. Moving to Amarillo wasn’t a bad idea, but only because no one would know who I was there.

I could visit her whenever I had time or wanted, and we wouldn’t have to hide. But I hadn’t said that. I hadn’t responded the way Cecelia had wanted, had needed me to respond. And then I went and barked at the baby.

I kissed Georgie on the head. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. I hadn’t treated either of my special girls very well.

32

CECELIA

I was numb. The elevator doors closed, and I was alone. I had no feelings. Everything I thought I knew was wrong. A weird, disjointed calmness took over.

Sterling didn’t care. I had been willing to risk my job, my career for him, and in return, he just looked at me as if I wasn’t speaking English. I wanted to be mad, I wanted to rage and scream and kick. But I felt nothing. I was a little hungry. That’s all.

I stopped by a take-out sushi place, got my favorite crab roll and a bowl of miso soup. They wouldn’t sell me a beer to-go, so I stopped and picked up a couple of bottles of Sapporo from the convenience store on the way home.

I set up my little dinner. The last time I had gotten sushi was to celebrate getting the job. Was this a celebration of my transfer? Or was I celebrating something else?

My insides twisted. There it was, the regret, the sadness. I took a sip of beer, and my insides settled. No, that was not emotional distress. My body was hungry and telling me to hurry up and feed it.

The sushi was good, the soup still warm, and the cold beers wrapped it all up nicely. I felt accomplished. I was large and in charge but had zero motivation. I scanned my apartment. Letting out a heavy sigh, I got up from the table and began cleaning.

I was going to Amarillo for a temporary placement. That meant that I still needed to keep this place, at least until they let me know I was being transferred permanently. I figured that would come in a week or two. Well, if I was going to be gone for a few weeks, I wanted to make sure I came home to a clean apartment.

I’d clean first, and then I’d pack. I had tonight and tomorrow, and then I’d drive up. I needed to be in the office there first thing on Monday. I wasn’t given an opportunity to summarize my case notes on Hector. I had to hand over the files immediately.

Greta had sat in her chair in her office and told me to bring everything to her immediately. I still had that stupid shirt in my hands when I walked out of her office. I moved like a zombie, or maybe a puppet was a better description. I was doing what I was told to do and not taking steps of my own accord.

“I haven’t had a chance to write down today’s update,” I said when I got back to her office, file folder clutched in my arms.

“That will have to be okay,” she said. She held up a slip of paper. “This is the property manager’s number and the address of the company-owned apartment you’ll be staying at.”

I put the file folder down and took the piece of paper.

“Corporate apartment?”

“Yes, we need you there for the week. If we decide to transfer you, of course, at that point, you’ll be expected to be responsible for your own housing.”

“I have a lease. I can’t afford to break it,” I pointed out.

“Relocation services will negotiate getting you out of that if necessary. And they’ll cover the expense as the cost of moving. You’ll be given a moving allowance.”

Shock had rolled in about that time. “But what if I don’t want to move to Amarillo?”

“You want to keep your job, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” And suddenly, I was the naughty child, and this was my punishment. And it was the worst possible of all outcomes. In that moment, I felt the overwhelming weight of every mistake I had ever made in my entire life.

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