Pieces of You(48)
I really am deliriously tired from not having slept. The idea of food or alcohol in my stomach is only making it worse. I lie back in bed and pull the covers up to my nose.
“I’m going to shower and get ready in there so you can sleep. Do you need me to drop off any assignments to Collins?”
“I already emailed him the chapter review. Thanks.”
I clench my teeth as I attempt to hold it together for just a few more seconds until she leaves. She looks at me with that motherly concern that reminds me of Jackie.
“It’s okay to cry, Claire.”
As soon as the door closes behind her, I reach for my phone again and stare at Abigail’s picture. She’s asleep and there are a million tubes coming out of her body, but she looks so peaceful, so blissfully unaware of the turmoil caused by my decisions. Will she grow up to resent me for giving her up? If we do come to an agreement on the open adoption, will she resent her adoptive parents because they’re not rich and famous like Chris?
I pull the phone against my chest and the covers over my head before I close my eyes, trying not to think of all the studying I’ll have to do whenever I wake up. Instead, I imagine Adam beside me, holding me, and whispering jokes in my ear.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chris
Three weeks later
THE RIDE TO XANDER’S OFFICE is uncomfortable. I refuse to take the pain pills they prescribed me. I’ve seen too many people strung out on that shit to touch them. The last thing Abigail or Claire need is a junkie for a father or a… I don’t know what the fuck I am to Claire anymore. But I hope what I’m about to do will help Claire make up her mind.
She won’t return my calls anymore unless I have specific news about Abigail, and I haven’t had any since Claire’s meltdown in the hospital. Lynette and Brian don’t want to agree to an open adoption at this point. They think that my fame and Claire’s past make us “unstable.” That has to be the worst fucking insult I’ve ever had lobbed at me, and Claire doesn’t deserve it either. I’d like to see Lynette and Brian suffer through just a fraction of what she’s had to endure.
I make it out of my mom’s SUV and onto my crutches easily enough. The doctor wanted to put my leg in a full cast, but there’s no way I was going to be wheeled around everywhere. If it takes one to two weeks longer to heal this way, so be it. I’ll do the extra time in order to hang on to a shred of dignity.
I laugh to myself as we make our way to the elevator in the lobby and I punch the button. I wrote a song last week about being injured, so I guess this broken leg stuff isn’t a total loss. If Claire knew this, she would say it’s my insistence on turning every negative into a positive. I think I have a pretty good track record with that, considering how broken she was when she came to us five years ago. But you can’t mend a broken heart like you can a broken leg.
“I’m going to the café next door to use their WIFI. Will you be okay?” my mom asks as we wait for the elevator to descend eleven stories.
My mom is a crazy mobile gamer. She downloads every new game that has enough sparkly jewels or flashy colors to get her attention. She insists that some of her games require WIFI, even though my assistant got her the largest data plan available. She’s always sneaking off to ask people for the nearest hotspot whenever I’m out with her, which has been quite often lately.
“I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”
She sets off out of the building and turns right toward the café next door. The elevator doors open and I hobble into the cabin then punch the button for the eighth floor. I make it to the Greenway Management office and Cheryl holds the door open for me to get into the back office area. I knock on Xander’s door even though it’s wide open. He’s on the phone and it’s hard to lose the manners my mom drilled into me. She always insisted I had to be a good example for all the foster children she took in.
Xander waves me in and I sit carefully in an armchair across the desk from him then lean my crutches against the desk. I shake my head as I think of me being an example for dozens of foster kids and unfit for my own daughter. I run the tip of my tongue over the thin ring in my lip and wonder if Lynette and Brian found my piercings and tattoos offensive. Probably.
He ends the call and lays the phone on the desk as he studies me for a moment. “What the heck are you here for? You should be lying in your bed with a bell while your momma brings you cold beers.”
“I’m not going to L.A. on Monday.”
Xander’s eyes widen. “I have a bad feeling this has nothing to do with your leg.”