Page 62 of The Love Dose
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yes, stop worrying, fairy godfather.”
He furrows his brow then grins. “I like it.”
I kiss his cheek and head for the Dakota.
I’m backin the offices of Flannery and Baker, reviewing the paperwork Howard placed in front of me. He sits behind his desk, frowning. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Page. I was sure they would make a better counteroffer.”
The terms are ridiculous, as if Bernard’s kidswantme to fight them in court.
“According to opposing counsel, the daughter rallied for a better deal for you but her brother would hear nothing of it.”
I think of Rachel’s apologetic demeanor at the hospital and try hard not to let resentment sour me.
Howard leans back in his swivel chair. “We can dispute this. Of course, the legal fees will make a dent in whatever you may walk away with but you’ll still come out ahead, if you win.”
“What are my odds?”
“Their grounds are shaky but the length of your marriage, your age discrepancy, Bernard’s age . . . if you get the wrong judge, they may agree that he wasn’t of sound mind when he left you most of his estate. So to answer your question, anyone’s guess.”
Which means Howard is covering his behind. But my gripe isn’t with him. It burns that anyone would think Bernard was not cognitively intact. That his own children are arguing that in order to scam me out of my rightful inheritance, is hurtful and offensive. I think not only of the low brow way Bernard’s kids managed this but how they’ve never accepted me even as I cared for their father.
Howard interrupts my downward spiral. “Your friend Evie pulled strings to get you a deferral but you need to make a decision. Now.”
I’ve made up my mind days ago. I could fight this, should fight this.
I tell Howard what I want him to file. I stand, nod perfunctorily and walk to the door.
He comes up beside me, his hand on the doorknob, a single brow raised. “Are you sure about this?”
I assure him that I am. I walk out without a second thought. The decision is made.
Chapter Forty-Four
Calvin
My hands are sweating bullets. Arriving passengers push past me, their trolleys laden with bulging suitcases. Africans in colorful kanga dress begin to spill out the doors, speaking in what I recognize as Swahili, and my heart races like a runaway train.
When Chacha exits, I move toward the oncoming crowd like a salmon fighting its way upstream. I have aWelcome Homeballoon in one hand, a child-size puffy coat in the other.
He spots me and races forward. I kneel down, arms spread wide, risking the balloon floating free.
Chacha is in my arms and I’m overcome with emotion. Oh, how I missed this boy.
I kiss his forehead.
“Hi, Daddy,” he says, brightly, the name on his tongue bringing me joy, the word rhyming with ‘hot toddy.’ I missPapi, but I’ll take it.
“I want to be a pilot,” he says.
I clear my throat, lifting him up. “I thought you wanted to be a doctor like me.”
He furrows his brow. “Both, then.”
His English has improved since I saw him last. My guess is he’s been following the Anglos around the village, picking up words and phrases.
The escort extends a hand. I put Chacha down and we shake. The man grins broadly, his white teeth bright against his ebony complexion. “Chacha hasn’t stopped chattering about you since we got on the plane.”
