“What are you talking about? It wouldn’t have been best for me to have the father of my child with me during my pregnancy?”
“There are things you don’t understand. You don’t know all the factors involved in our decision. Please just trust me.”
“Trust you?” I ask indignantly. Everyone wants me to trust them while they know everything and I know nothing.
“Everyone wants me to trust them, but no one wants to trust me,” I say, leaving the office. I’m proud of myself that I don’t slam the door. I round the corner and swiftly head towards the stairs when I bump into someone else rounding the corner.
“I’m sorry,” I say as the hand grips my arm. I look up and see an older man in maybe his early fifties with dark chestnut brown hair and one silver streak through it. He’s tall and his presence is almost intimidating though he hasn’t said a word.
“It is always my pleasure to bump into a beautiful woman,” he says, his voice smooth, I imagine like an expensive cognac, the kind of man that seems like he could buy your life in a second without thinking twice. He lets go of my arm, a knowing smile spreading across his face and a cold chill makes its way down my back.
“I was just leaving,” I tell him as I try to make my way past him.
“Lauren Brooks…or Scott now isn’t it?” I turn back around and see him standing, or positioned is the better word, his hands crossing each other in front of him.
“Have we met before?” I ask. I see Helen appear, walking towards us swiftly, a nervous smile on her face.
“Mr. Crestfield, I didn’t know that you’d be in town. Dexter didn’t mention anything. Lauren was just leaving.”
“Dexter Crestfield, Sr.,” he says, extending his hand out to me without giving Helen a glance. I glance back at Helen whose eyes are avoiding mine. I cautiously extend my hand to him.
“Would you mind if we have a little chat?”
“Lauren has somewhere to be, Mr. Crestfield,” Helen interrupts.
“I’d only need a few minutes of your time. I think it’s about time I meet the granddaughter I’ve heard so much about,” he says coolly.
Dexter Crestfield Sr., who I remember is my in-law.
*
Dexter’s office is twice the size of the one Helen was in. All dark colors and paneling, not much natural light coming in. It feels like the rest of the house, stoic and ridiculously expensive. One thing that seems out of character is that his desk is filled with pictures, some looking like they date back to the early 1900’s. Several are of Dexter Jr. and I notice one that looks like a young version of Mr. Scott and him…and Chris.
“I apologize that it’s taken us so long to meet. I have been out of town on business,” he says as he settles into his desk. He must have been out of town a lot, seeing as I never met him the entire time Cal and I were together. I also don’t know why he’d feel the need to meet me.
“I can understand why Cal took such an interest in you,” he says, his eyes giving me a once over and I feel more uncomfortable than I already am.
“Christopher is my favorite of the two, I must admit. You always know what you’re going to get,” he says bluntly.
“Tell me. What is it like to love someone who are two separate entities?” he asks and I wonder why I am even sitting here with this man.
“I’m sorry Mr. Crestfield but I’d like to know why you asked me here. I know that you are a man whose time is important and I’m sure I’m not here just for you to catch up,” I say, shifting in my seat. He smiles at me and rests his elbows on the desk.
“Christopher is like William. He’s honest, a man that plays by the rules and who has values. Plagued by his conscience,” he chuckles.
“He’s not fond of me. That’s something he gets from his father as well,” he continues, as if I didn’t just say anything to him.
“Cal on the other hand. He’s unpredictable, stubborn, and calculating. As if he was born from my own genes. He fit right in,” he says, picking up a picture of Dexter and surveying it.
“Family is so important. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my family and the ones I love. Even if it is from themselves.” The Crestfields are like no other people I have met. You never know what to think of them. You can hate and detest them but they have an air that demands respect.
“I wanted to speak with you personally. Since we’ve never had a proper introduction,” he says, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over one another.
“Thank you, but this really wasn’t necessary,” I say, sweeping a stray hair from my face.