Chapter 88
HAZEL
PRESENT TIME
I remain perplexed by my ongoing inability to resolve the issue with the client. Despite my attempts to reach out, they steadfastly declined any participation in the upcoming exhibition and have been evasive about providing me with any substantial explanations for their decision.
Out of a mixture of both anger and frustration, I made the impulsive choice to take a brief respite from my professional responsibilities and spend some quality time with my beloved daughter, Daisy. While not necessarily in the mood for a conventional vacation, I opted to embark on a visit to David’s mother, whom I had not seen since that unfortunate incident. My days have been overwhelmingly consumed by the demands of my work and time with Ravel, making it challenging to allocate time for her, and this visit was long overdue.
David had also reached the point where he felt compelled to take a break from his own professional duties, a sentiment I wholeheartedly understood. Truth be told, the atmosphere at the office had become rather lackluster, especially since the news of Warren and Jericho’s withdrawals had prompted other artists to reconsider their participation as well.
As I prepared to depart, the unmistakable sound of a car horn resonated through my compound, signaling David’s arrival. In a swift motion, I retrieved my suitcase from atop the bed, handing it over to Robertson, our trusted helper. With my precious daughter, Daisy, cradled in my arms, I exited the building and found David busy loading bags into the car’s trunk.
David, ever the melodramatic soul, couldn’t resist planting an exaggerated, messy kiss on Daisy’s cheek, all the while cooing in a comically exaggerated baby voice, “I’ve missed you, my little pumpkin.”
Rolling my eyes at his theatrics, I settled Daisy into the back seat, ensuring she was safely strapped in, before taking my place in the passenger seat beside David.
David settled into the driver’s seat, ignited the car’s engine, and smoothly exited my driveway. Throughout the drive, he couldn’t help but steal occasional glances in my direction, genuine concern etched across his face.
“Are you okay?” he inquired, his voice laced with worry.
I couldn’t help but smile at the somewhat obvious question. “I’m fine,” I reassured him, my tone resolute. I had weathered far more formidable storms in the past and emerged unscathed; this situation wouldn’t be any different. “Could you please roll down the window? I could use some fresh air.”
David nodded in understanding, obliging by lowering the window and gradually increasing the car’s speed, ensuring the safety of all passengers. Retrieving my phone from my purse, I powered it off, stashed it deep within, and extended my hand out through the window, savoring the caress of the cool breeze against my palm.
The soothing embrace of the cool breeze and the picturesque countryside scenery worked their magic, granting me a temporary respite from my worries. It was as if, for a while, I could set aside the weight of my concerns. The journey to Monica’s place passed in serene silence, with Daisy eventually drifting into peaceful slumber. Fortunately, David respected the quiet atmosphere, allowing only the gentle strains of music and Daisy’s soft snores to fill the car.
As we pulled up into Monica’s driveway, her warm, welcoming smile greeted us from afar. Stepping out of the car, she enveloped me in a heartfelt hug before kindly offering to take care of Daisy’s belongings. I cradled my sleeping daughter in my arms and followed Monica to the room she had prepared for us.
After a refreshing shower and a change of clothes, I emerged from the room, only to learn that David had ventured into the woods to gather firewood for the fireplace. Monica, who was busy preparing dinner, welcomed my offer to assist. I diligently washed my hands and began chopping vegetables for the meal.
“David mentioned the challenges at work,” Monica remarked, her tone tinged with concern.
I paused, the knife hovering close to the vegetables, a subtle frown creasing my forehead as I contemplated the weight of my workplace woes. “I really don’t want to talk about work,” I admitted with a sigh, the weariness in my voice echoing the fatigue that had led me to seek solace away from the city in the first place.
Chapter 88
Monica offered a sincere apology, her voice filled with understanding as she tried to provide a comforting perspective. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her words carrying a touch of empathy, “but I want you to know that challenges are an inevitable part of life, and they come and go.”
The irony of the situation gnawed at my soul; this particular challenge was being inflicted by someone close to me, leaving me feeling as if I’d been wounded twice. Biting my lip in an attempt to quell the rising emotions, I picked up a watermelon to wash. As I turned on the tap, an unexpected surge of water cascaded out with surprising force, drenching my hair, face, and shirt. Yelping in surprise, I instinctively leaped back, my inadvertent mishap adding a touch of unintentional humor to the moment.
Monica abandoned her kitchen duties and hurried over to inspect the misbehaving tap. “David will fix it when he gets back,” she reassured me. “Why don’t you go change into dry clothes while I handle things here?”
I nodded gratefully and made my way to the door. “Do you happen to have a hairdryer? I didn’t bring mine,” I inquired.
“Yeah, check the last cabinet in the dresser,” she replied, already reaching for her phone, likely to call David to return promptly. I left the kitchen, returning to my room first to change into a dry shirt before making my way to Monica’s room.
Upon entering her room, I headed straight for the closet and bent down to open the last drawer. To my frustration, it refused to budge despite my persistent tugging. As I exerted one final, forceful pull, a box resting atop the drawer tumbled to the floor. Its lid sprang open, and the contents spilled out.
Setting aside the stubborn drawer, I hastily began collecting the sca ttered contents of the spilled box, my curiosity piqued by a particular photograph. In it, a younger Monica was cradling a little girl in her arms. This image led me to inspect the other photos within the box, revealing a series of snapshots chronicling the girl’s growth, from infancy to adulthood, always alongside Monica.
A perplexed furrow creased my brow. David had explicitly stated that he was an only child, so the presence of these images raised questions. Had Monica experienced the heart-wrenching loss of a child? My mind raced with unspoken queries as I carefully returned the photograph to its place within the box.
Resolving to address my curiosity later, I pulled over a nearby vanity chair, climbed onto it, and positioned the box back on top of the dresser. Ignoring the uncooperative drawer, I made my way back to the kitchen to inform Monica of my struggle with it. She gave it a try herself and eventually managed to open it, then handed me the hairdryer.
After swiftly drying my hair, I rejoined Monica in the kitchen. This time, she had completed dinner preparations, so I assisted by setting the table. Then, out of the blue, a question I had been pondering compelled me to ask, “Do you have any other children besides David?*
She paused, her expression shifting subtly as she arched a brow at me. “No, I don’t, she replied, her response laced with a hint of caution. “Why do you ask?”
I could sense that she was withholding something from me, a secret lurking behind her gaze. Revealing that I had stumbled upon the photographs didn’t seem like the best course of action. Instead, I chose to share a different piece of information. “At the hospital last time, you mentioned wanting to see your child, and you made it clear that David isn’t your child.”
David, who had entered the room unnoticed, interjected from the doorway, his voice casual. “Anesthesia,” he explained, “when under its influence, people often say things that don’t make sense. You shouldn’t take them seriously. I’m quite certain that I don’t have any other relatives, at least not to my knowledge. As he spoke, he casually helped himself to an apple from the fruit basket, his demeanor nonchalant.
David’s phone interrupted our conversation with an unexpected call, and he retrieved it from his pocket with a puzzled frown, noticing the caller ID. “Agatha? Is everything okay?” he inquired, briefly glancing in my direction. “Yes, she’s here with me, but I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”
My curiosity piqued, I extended my hand and took the phone. “What is it, Agatha?” I greeted her, but the urgency in her voice caused my eyes to widen. “Slow down, Agatha! What happened to Elenor?”
Her words hit me like a tidal wave. “She was in an accident, and it’s all over the news!” she exclaimed.
The shock and concern washed over me as I realized the gravity of the situation. “Sh it,” I muttered under my breath. “I need to be in New York as soon as possible.”