Another Woman's Man (2 page)

Dawn narrowed her eyes at the mention of her mother. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Excuse me?”

“Look, all that it'll take is ten minutes of your time. He came all this way. Just . . . just let him explain himself. Please? He has a lot that he would like to get off his chest and he doesn't have much time left to do it.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Your father is sick, Dawn. He has cancer . . . and the prognosis isn't good.”

Dawn's arms dropped to her sides. She stared at him in disbelief.

God, this was a lot to take in! Here she was in the middle of an exhibition and her apparent long-lost father had suddenly popped up out of nowhere, and now she had the added shock of finding out he was dying from cancer. What was she going to find out next? That a spaceship had landed outside the gallery? Dawn closed her eyes and raised her hands to her now-throbbing temples. She desperately wished her sisters were here. She could use one of their shoulders to lean on right now.

“Will you give him a chance?” wannabe actuary asked quietly. “Hear what he has to say?”

Dawn opened her eyes. She was still furious, but part of her worried that she would regret this moment if she walked out of the gallery and didn't come back.

“Fine.”

She then walked back across the gallery with wannabe actuary trailing behind her.

As she crossed the room, she examined the older man more closely. He had skin the same shade as her own and large dark eyes she could have easily inherited. Those dark eyes now gazed at her worriedly.

Her mother had never talked about her father—or any of Dawn's sisters' fathers, for that matter.

“As long as he takes care of his financial obligations to you, what difference does it make whether you see him?” Yolanda Gibbons would ask when her daughters were younger and they openly wondered why they had not received so much as a birthday card or telephone call from any their fathers. “
We're
important,” Yolanda would insist. “Not a man who knows absolutely nothing about you.”

Though Dawn had longed for her father in her younger years, she had gradually accepted her mother's opinion on the issue as she got older. If Dawn's father really had cared, he would have tried to contact her. He would have moved heaven and earth to let her know he wanted her and loved her. Now as she watched the man claiming to be her father take uncertain steps toward her, she knew there was no real explanation he could offer for his absence all these years. But she would listen. She would give him his ten minutes, then send him on his way.

“Thank you for coming back,” he said gently. He leaned most of his weight on his cane. “I apologize for how I did this. I didn't want to tell you this over the phone, and I didn't know how to—”

“Not here,” she said firmly, cutting him off. “We can talk in my office.”

She walked around him and led him toward a corridor filled with a series of rooms at the back of the gallery. She paused at her office door and turned. “In here,” she said, motioning toward the doorway.

He glanced up at the younger man.

“I'll take it from here, Xavier,” he said. “Thank you.”

Xavier looked at Herbert, then at Dawn. Their eyes met. She cocked her eyebrow in challenge. Was he going to insist he come along?

After some time, Xavier finally nodded. “Okay, I'll . . . I'll wait here.”

Herbert continued down the corridor.

“But call me if you need me!” Xavier shouted out to him.

Herbert nodded and waved him away. “Don't worry. I'll be fine.”

“Is he your bodyguard or something?” she whispered when Herbert stood next to her.

She still eyed the actuary guardedly. He equally scrutinized her from the other end of the hall.

“Close,” Herbert said with a soft chuckle. “He's my lawyer . . . well, corporate counsel for my company.”

Lawyer, huh?

Well, she guessed he wasn't an actuary after all.

Dawn ushered Herbert into her small eight- by eight-foot office and shut the door behind him. She had kept the space simple in its décor with an industrial design desk and leather chairs. A bookshelf was on the right wall. The only adornment in the office was the several paintings by the gallery's many artists and a few works of hers.

“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs opposite her desk.

She sat down in her rollaway desk chair and watched as he carefully lowered himself into his. When he sat down, he let out a barely stifled groan.

He does look sick,
she thought as she looked at his slightly ashen face.

“Dawn,” he began, “I understand that you're angry with me, but I didn't want to put this off another day. I've been putting off coming to see you for weeks now.”

“Why?”

He lowered his eyes. “Because I know it's something I should have done years ago and I feel like such a . . . such a bastard for taking so long to do it, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?
It was odd hearing a stranger call her that.

He hesitated. “When you were a little girl, I had thought about seeing you. But your mother and I did not part amicably, to be honest. I allowed my feelings toward your mother to taint whatever possibility we had of developing a relationship. I was . . . I was wrong for doing that.”

Dawn didn't say anything in response. What was there to say?

“I didn't find out about you until after you were born,” he continued. “My lawyer at the time got a letter from your mother stating that she had a baby and that she was seeking child support. I was . . .” He paused again. “I was very shocked . . . and angry. You see, Yolanda and I hadn't dated for very long.”

“Long enough to make a baby, though,” Dawn interjected, leaning back in her chair.

“That is true. I'm not denying that. But again, we had dated only briefly. We were together for only a month or so and then I was transferred to my company's satellite office in Europe. I never got the chance to really know her. Then my lawyer found out a bit more about her . . . her background. The marriages . . . How she dated wealthy men almost exclusively. When I found out, I felt . . . manipulated . . .
duped,
in a way. Like she had used my affections and—”

“Trapped you?”
Dawn finished for him. She rolled her eyes. “Look, if you're here to talk shit about my mom, we can end this conversation right now.” She began to rise from her chair. “Thank you, Mr. Allen, for your visit, but—”

“No, no! That's not what I intended. I just . . .” He took a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know why I did what I did. There's no excuse for it, but that was my thinking at the time. Please, Dawn. Please sit down.”

Her nostrils flared. She slowly lowered herself to her seat, crossed her legs, and adjusted the hem of her skirt.

“Sweetheart, I didn't come here to insult your mother or to make you angry. I came here to try to make amends. I'm not well. I have . . . I have prostate cancer, and despite my doctors' best efforts, it's . . . it's spread.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” she said quietly, and she meant it.

He cleared his throat. “When you're faced with an illness, you start to reexamine your life and the mistakes you've made. Not building a relationship with you was one of my biggest mistakes, and I would like to rectify that if I can.”

“How?”

“I'd like to get to know you, Dawn, and to spend time with you, if you will allow it. Maybe we can have dinner together or spend a day or two together. Whatever you would like to do, I'm willing to do it.”

Dawn closed her eyes again. She didn't want to be cruel, but this was too much,
way
too much. She hadn't even known this man existed until fifteen minutes ago. Now he wanted to build a relationship. She opened her eyes.

“Maybe. But can I . . . can I take some time to think about this?”

He gazed at her for a long time then finally nodded. “Sure, I understand.”

But he didn't look like he understood. He looked disappointed.

Dawn rose from her chair and he followed suit. She walked him to her office door. When she opened the door, he turned and looked at her.

“Even . . . even if we don't see one another again, Dawn, it was a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, offering her his hand.

She shook it. “It was a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Allen.”

He gave a small smile. “Please, you don't have to call me Dad, but at least call me Herb.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Herb.”

He opened his jacket and handed her a business card. “If you do wish to meet again, here is my number. I do hope . . . I do hope to hear from you, Dawn. I sincerely do.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking his card.

She watched as he stepped into the corridor. He was still gazing at her as she shut the door behind him. When the lock clicked, she fell against the wooden slab and let out a pent-up breath she didn't know she had been holding all this time.

“S
o he just showed up at the gallery?” Cynthia exclaimed.

“Shh!
” Dawn said, raising her finger to her lips and silencing her sister. She glanced at their mother, Yolanda, who was smiling and chatting with the salesgirl on the other side of the bridal shop. The older woman pointed to an off-white, off-the-shoulder wedding gown on display on one of the mannequins in the shop window. The eager salesgirl nodded, climbed on the dress platform, and began to undo the buttons and zipper at the back of the gown.

Their mother was picking out the wedding gown she planned to wear when she married a widower and her
sixth
husband, Reginald Whitfield III, two and a half months from now. Her daughters were helping her with the selection, though Yolanda could have easily chosen the dress by herself. She certainly had enough practice at it.

Dawn, Cynthia, Stephanie, and Lauren sat on the plush velvet chairs near the shop's three-way mirrors and dressing rooms while their mother flitted around the front of the store, pointing at dresses, floating in a sea of satin, organza, and tulle. Cynthia was nursing a complimentary glass of champagne. Stephanie was stuffing her face with the box of mint chocolate cookies she had stashed in her leather purse. Lauren was leaning over her infant son Crisanto Jr., who was sleeping in his carrier, and Dawn was recounting the story of meeting her long-lost father.

“Try to keep it down!” Dawn whispered shrilly at Cynthia. “Mama might hear you.”

Dawn didn't want to ruin her mother's day by bringing up one of her exes. She didn't know when she would approach the topic with her mother, but now certainly didn't seem like the best time.

Cynthia rolled her hazel eyes heavenward. “Fine.” She dropped her voice to a whisper so that she could barely be heard over the harp music tinkling in the background on the bridal shop's hidden speakers. “So he came to the show after we left?”

Dawn shrugged. “He could have been in the gallery when you guys were there, for all I know. He and his lawyer looked like they had been there for a while.”

“He came with
his lawyer?
” Stephanie asked between munches of cookies. She pushed her long hair over her shoulder then slowly rubbed her ample pregnant belly. “Who the hell brings their lawyer with them to meet their daughter for the first time?”

“I don't think he was, you know, a regular lawyer. He called him his friend. And he seemed like a friend. He was very . . . very protective of him. Besides, I think he was only there for moral support.”

Suddenly, the image of her father's lawyer Xavier came to mind: his firmly set jaw, those pale gray eyes, and that sculpted mouth. He didn't look very old, in his early thirties, maybe. A handsome brother like that probably had women clamoring for him. She hadn't noticed a wedding ring, but she bet Mr. Prim and Proper was already taken. He practically had “wife, dog, and two kids in a sensible two-story colonial home” written all over him.

Dawn shook her head, pushing thoughts of Xavier aside. He wasn't the focus right now. Her father was.

Cynthia placed her champagne glass on the end table beside her. “Well, what are you going to do? You said he left you his business card. So are you going to call him?”

“I don't know. I haven't decided yet,” Dawn admitted.

“What do you mean you haven't decided?” Lauren asked. She adjusted the yellow baby blanket over her son and turned to look at her sisters. “Dawn, honey, I would jump on this one. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You said yourself that he has cancer. You have no idea how much time he has left.”

“But that's the thing,” Dawn said, throwing up her hands. “He finds out that he's dying and he suddenly decides he wants to look me up! What was he doing? Checking me off his bucket list?
Goal Number Four: Contact the daughter you deserted thirty-seven years ago and suck up to her.
I suddenly mean something to him now that he gets a bad prognosis from his doctor? I mean, come on! I'm sorry if I sound selfish, but I'm a little pissed off!”

“Maybe it's the season,” Lauren suggested. “Christmas and the holidays tend to make people more reflective. Maybe that's another reason why he contacted you.”

“Oh, that's even better! So if he got his prognosis in August he wouldn't have even bothered,” Dawn said.

“I can't imagine walking away from my little girl,” Stephanie confessed suddenly with a frown, rubbing her belly again. She stopped eating her cookie. “It would be like ripping my heart out of my chest.”

“I couldn't do that to my little one either, Steph, but think about it,” Lauren said. “If Keith and you were to break up and the baby never got a chance to know him, wouldn't that break your heart too?”

Keith was Stephanie's man—a rugged private detective whom no one would have pegged as Stephanie's type. The two had a whirlwind romance that began nine months ago when she hired him to find her ex-fiancé, a con man named Isaac who had swindled her out of her money. The couple now lived in Stephanie's townhouse in Chesterton, Virginia, and they were expecting their first child.

Stephanie scowled at Lauren's question. “Of course it would break my heart! I love Keith! I'd want the baby to love him too.”

“Soooo,” Lauren said slowly, “if your baby got older and she got the opportunity to finally meet her father, you'd encourage her to do it, right?”

Stephanie thought for a minute. “Well, yeah.”

“Exactly!” Lauren exclaimed. “I rest my case.”

“What do you mean? You rest
what case?
” Cynthia asked. “My little girl Clarissa—”

“Cindy, Clarissa is almost nineteen years old. I think you can stop calling her your ‘little girl' now,” Lauren muttered sarcastically.

“My baby,”
Cynthia insisted, “has only seen her father six times after he and I divorced, and if you ask me that was six times too many.”

“But you hate your ex's guts,” Dawn argued.

“For a good reason—he's an asshole!” Cynthia shouted, drawing the salesgirl's and their mother's attention.

The salesgirl lowered the tulle veil she had been holding. Yolanda glared in her daughters' direction. “What are you girls talking about?”

“Nothing!” they answered in unison. They all forced smiles.

Yolanda stared at them warily for several seconds before returning her attention to one of the wedding gowns.

“But not everybody's ex is an asshole like yours, Cindy,” Lauren whispered, continuing their conversation. “Dawn's father actually could be a nice guy, and the only way she'll ever find that out is if she agrees to see him again.”

“Well, I'll be honest with you, Dawn,” Stephanie said, nibbling at another cookie. She clutched the half-empty cellophane package in her other hand. “I'm a little jealous that he came looking for you.”

“Me too,” Lauren concurred with a nod.

“I'm not!” Cynthia loudly proclaimed.

“I mean, my father didn't come looking for me. I've always wondered what he was like. Unless I track him down, I'll never know.” Stephanie turned and gazed into Dawn's eyes. “You don't have to do that. He came to you. Now all those nagging little questions you've ever had about him will be answered.”

Dawn stared at her sister in surprise. Stephanie wasn't usually the most insightful person. In fact, Dawn had always considered Stephanie to be the most self-involved sister in their little family, but today Stephanie was making a damned good argument. Like her sisters, Dawn had always wondered about her father. Where did he grow up? What was his family like? What traits might she have inherited from him? It was as if there was an entire side of herself that she knew absolutely nothing about. Her father had now offered her the opportunity to find the answers to all of those lingering questions. Whatever time she spent with him, she knew instinctively that he would treasure it. He saw this as a chance to right past wrongs. Meanwhile, it could be a chance for her to discover new things—perhaps even new things about herself.

“All right,” Dawn muttered. “I guess I'll give him a call.”

“Good decision!” Lauren clapped her hands and beamed. “Honey, I am so proud of you!”

Just then Crisanto Jr. opened his eyes and began to whimper. His tiny face formed into a tight ball of irritation at being woken up. Lauren quickly leaned forward and gave him his pacifier before gently rocking his carrier.

“So how does this work?” Dawn asked, glancing at her sisters. “Where exactly do you go on a first date with your father?”

The three women sat and contemplated Dawn's question for several seconds.

“Well, the few times Clarissa met her dad, they always went to Chuck E. Cheese's,” Cynthia volunteered. “That seemed to be his thing. I always saw lots of fathers there with their kids.”

“Considering that I'm thirty-seven and not six years old, I don't think Chuck E. Cheese's will work in this case, Cindy, but thanks for the helpful suggestion,” Dawn said with a droll roll of her big brown eyes.

“Take him to a place where you feel comfortable,” Stephanie suggested, wiping away cookie crumbs from the front of her silk blouse. “Where's your favorite place to go?”

Dawn thought for a minute. “I know just the place.”