Chapter 4

I must have sat in my car for close to half an hour. My stomach churned. Finally, I opened the door and forced myself to walk across the parking lot. My gait was fast and deliberate. If I slowed, I knew I was going to chicken out.

After doing a little bit of research, I tracked Travis down. Like me, he never left town. His degree was in accounting and after we stopped seeing each other, he passed the CPA exam and went to work for an auditing firm in town. I didn't know he was working there at the time, but after McKayla and I went into business together, we almost (unwittingly) hired his firm to look over our books one year.

"Good morning. Can I help you?" the receptionist asked when I went in.

"Travis Robertson, please," I said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No." My hands were shaking.

"What was your name please?"

"Amberle Per— ... er, Goin." When McKayla and I got "married", we legally had our names changed, but I figured he wouldn't recognise me that way. Of course, how many girls named "Amberle" do you know? Right off, I'm guessing zero.

She dialed her phone, mumbled a few things and then hung up. "He'll be out in just a minute. Would you like to have a seat?"

I sat down in one of the very nice chairs in the outer reception area. My heart raced. Fortunately, it wasn't very long before I heard his booming voice, "Amberle! How are you?"

A part of me wanted him to be overweight, bald, living in a trailer somewhere after being kicked in the head by a mule and having lost all his teeth to some horrible gum-eating bacteria. You know: repulsive. I could then rationalise keeping his daughter away from him because he would not have been what I considered to be a good father. But I knew that Travis would never be that. He was too vain and self-absorbed to let himself go.

So it was no surprise for me to find out that he looked very much like he did when we were in our early 20s. His hair was cut short with only a few streaks of grey. He was in fantastic shape, surely from a regular exercise regimen. His starched shirt, tie and dress pants were immaculate. I stood and seemed to naturally slip into the familiar hug he gave me.

"It's been so long," he said warmly. If there was any apprehension on his part, he was covering it well. I smiled weakly.

After our last night together, he called me a couple of times. This was back before everyone and their sister had a cell phone plan with unlimited minutes and about two lifetimes before text messaging. By that time, McKayla and I were an item, and I knew that there was no going back to being Travis's fuck-buddy. So instead of actually breaking up with him, I simply quit taking his calls. I even quit going to the places I knew he frequented. Yeah, it was a chickenshit move; so sue me. Eventually, he gave up on me, and I found out later through some mutual acquaintances that he had moved on as well.

We weren't serious, so no harm, no foul, right?

"Almost twenty years," I said softly.

"What brings you by?" he asked.

"I was wondering if I could buy you lunch."

How do you drop this on a guy? Do you lead with, "Yeah, I know we haven't talked in a while, but you have a kid who wants to meet you"?

"That would be great," he smiled, then looked past me to the receptionist. "Erin, would you please reschedule my appointment with Mrs. Landingham and tell Jimmy that I won't be on the Henderson call at noon? Come on, Amberle, let me show you around."

He led me back through the maze of his office building. He had a nice setup; after making partner, he had two associates working for him and a couple of support staff. He politely introduced me to everyone. I don't remember any of their names. I'm sure the tour was the "scenic" route through the building to show off all the expensive artwork adorning the walls and how successful he and his employer were.

When we got back to his office, he closed the glass door behind us. I looked around and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw pictures of a family. His wife was a very attractive woman, who looked to be just as high-maintenance as Travis. Their children were also cute as buttons and looked to be in middle school. I sat in the chair across from his desk, but he surprised me by taking the seat next to me.

"So what brings you to Campbell, Jenkins & Burke?" he asked conversationally. I could see the gears turning in his head.

"You," I said simply. I decided that there was truly no good way to do this, so instead of hemming and hawing, I'd just rip the bandage off in one fell swoop, so to speak. "Do you remember the last time we were together?"

He smiled at the pleasant memory. I tried not to fidget. "Yeah, it was your birthday, right?"

"That's right." I took a deep breath, and steeled myself for what I imagined to be the most negative possible reaction. I reached into my purse and pulled out one of Maureen's senior pictures. As soon as he saw it, the blood drained from his face. "We made the most beautiful little girl in the world that night."

His hands trembled as he took the picture from me. It's a good thing we were both sitting down because I think we both would have fallen over otherwise. He didn't speak for a long time. His eyes never left the photo of our daughter.

At least he didn't fly off the handle right away. There were a million things I wanted to say, but instead, I just let Travis process the bombshell I had just dropped on him in his own way.

It took him several moments to even begin stammering. "How did ... didn't we ... she's beautiful, Amberle ... why didn't..."

His voice trailed off. I reached back into my purse and pulled out a small book of photos that I had put together for Travis. He took it from me and began flipping through it. His gaze seemed to linger on each page and, for the first time, I felt a twinge of regret at having kept Maureen from him for all these years.

About half way through, he stopped and reached for the phone on his desk. "Erin, would you please clear out my schedule for the rest of the week? Tell Jaime he's going to have to cover for me."

Then he hung up and turned to me. There was sadness in his eyes. And anger, too.

"What is her name?"

"Maureen," I said softly. "Maureen Rene Goin-Perry."

"Maureen," he whispered. Gone was the overconfident bravado. The puffed-out egotistical façade. His tone was that of a man as he takes a newborn child—his newborn child—in his arms for the first time. His eyes glazed over for another long moment.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said softly, although there was an edge to his voice.

"I don't have a good answer for that," I replied evenly. That much was true. The real answer was: Because my lesbian lover didn't want you coming near her. The practical answer was: Because I didn't want to ruin both our lives by telling you that I was pregnant only to have you do the decent thing and marry me and find out years later that you were harbouring a deep-seeded resentment towards me because you think I got knocked-up just to trap you into a loveless marriage. My personal answer was: Because I didn't want to be tied to you for the next eighteen years.