Page 93 of Quiet Beautiful Things

She looks down at the ground, her eyes focusing on weeds coming through the cracks in the sidewalk. It’s strange for me to have a conversation with someone while not looking into their eyes. Oh, how things have changed.

“That was the plan. But I’m not so sure anymore. I know now that seeing her would only be for me. And I guess I don’t deserve it.”

“If she were older and could understand what’s happening, I’d give her the choice. I’m just worried it might cause a setback. But I’m also worried she’ll hate me later on if I don’t let her say goodbye, even if she doesn’t understand. I mean what would I tell her? I’m not sure what the right answer is.”

“You don’t have to tell her anything. She never loved me. I know she didn’t. All I was to her was someone who provided food and a warm place to sleep. She had a better relationship with the maid my dad hired to clean my apartment once a week. I know what I did. I wasn’t highallthe time. I yelled at her as if she could hear. I expected her to understand. I shoved her in front of the television when she was awake. I was the worst kind of mother. And I was selfish to want you to bring her here. I’m nothing to her.”

She picks her phone up from the bench, searching through her own pictures, then texts me one. Finally, I see the resemblance to the woman I hooked up with in college.

“If you ever want to tell her about me, you can show her that picture. But it’s okay if you don’t. The lady in the pictures looks at Maisy as if she could be her mother. Maybe you should let Maisy think she is.”

Jesus, this whole situation is truly fucked up.

“I’d better go,” she says. “I’m really tired and nauseous.”

It’s strange to be looking at someone and think this person won’t be alive soon. What am I supposed to say to her?

I stand. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, no matter what they did.”

She nods. “Thanks.”

I walk away, having no idea what I’m going to tell Maisy. I guess the good thing is, I have time to figure it out.

“Blake?”

I turn and look into her sunken eyes.

“If you do tell her about me one day, tell her I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And, Blake?”

I raise a brow.

“Thank you… for everything.”

I nod and walk away.

Chapter Thirty-three

33

Ellie

An exhausting afternoon at the park leads to naptime for Maisy. She snuggles Bolt in her arms. He’s a happy recipient of her attention. The two of them are inseparable. Standing in the doorway, I watch her drift off. When I’m certain she’s out, I walk back down the hall, passing Blake’s office. He wouldn’t mind if I checked out his wine collection, would he?

It’s a lie I tell myself to assuage the guilt for entering his private space. I do look at the extensive wine rack, but then I slip into the large office chair behind his desk. I sink into the comfortable leather, imagining him typing away on his laptop or having remote meetings with… whoever he does that sort of thing.

He’s the heir to a successful winery. That means Maisy is too. That may make her life easier in some ways, but, like me, she’ll still be the deaf child of hearing parents, which comes with its own obstacles.

Suddenly my mouth goes dry. What if Lucinda has changed? What if she not only wants Maisy back, but wants to give it a go with Blake? After all, isn’t the best thing for a child to be with both biological parents?

I sigh, thinking of the monster who is my own biological father. No, it’s definitely not always best.

Without even thinking, I get up, leave his office, and turn the corner into Blake’s bedroom. I’ve never been in this room before. I inhale and get bombarded with his cologne. My eyes close and my mind wanders as I bask in the scent. Before I knowit, I’m making his bed. Then I’m sitting on it. I’m sitting on it wondering how many women have sat here before me. How many has he—

My phone vibrates.

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