Victoria looked away, shaking her head. “You make it sound so simple.” After a long moment, she continued. “You do realize this is all a moot point, right? Even if I was willing to take a chance—and I’m not saying I am—none of this changes the fact that Ford has his own issues with commitment.”
“It’s true that telling Ford how you feel means taking a risk.” Dr. Metzel smiled. “But believe it or not, Victoria, you’re not the first person to be afraid to put yourself out there when it comes to relationships.”
That got a small smile out of her. “And here I wanted to be such a trailblazer for the fear-of-intimacy-and-abandonment crowd.” She paused, feeling the need to set the record straight about one other thing. “And I don’t think you’re the enemy. Just . . . a big pain in the ass.”
Dr. Metzel laughed, giving her a nod in acknowledgment. “I’ll take it.”
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, after a morning court call, Victoria returned to the office to find that Peter Sutter had left a message for her.
“He wanted to know when the results of the paternity test would be in,” Will said. “He sounded really anxious.”
She rolled her eyes. Oh, sure, now Sutter was eager to get answers, after keeping them all on pins and needles last week. Fortunately, to keep the ball rolling, she’d called the lab after Sutter’s visit last Friday and had asked if there was any way they could expedite the results.
“Sure, we can fax them over in one business day for an additional fee,” the case manager at the lab had informed her.
Figuring the money came out of her own pocket anyway, she’d given them the go-ahead.
“I have to jump on another call,” Victoria told Will. “Can you call Sutter back and let him know that the lab said they’d get me the results by noon?”
Will nodded. “Will do.”
An hour later, he walked into her office while she was on yet another call, and put a note on her desk.
Peter Sutter is here.
Surprised, she mouthed, Here? as her opposing counsel continued talking on the other end of the line. When Will nodded, she wrapped up her call as fast as possible and then headed out to his desk.
“He’s in the waiting area,” Will said. “And apparently, he’s not alone.”
Victoria cocked her head. “He brought a lawyer?” Perhaps Sutter was preparing for a fight, after all.
Bring it on.
“The receptionist only said that he was with a guest,” Will said. “Do you want me to check it out?”
“No, I’ll go out there myself.” She headed down the hallway to the waiting area, wondering if she was going to find one of the usual suspects in the Chicago family law scene sitting next to Sutter. And when she rounded the corner, she did, indeed, see a familiar face.
Just not the familiar face she’d expected.
Victoria blinked at the sight of Peter and his wife, Melanie, sitting side by side in two of the waiting area’s leather chairs. She walked over and extended her hand as they stood up. “Mr. Sutter, Ms. Ames . . . this is a surprise.”
Peter looked incredibly nervous. “I, um, told Melanie everything over the weekend. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.”
Melanie smiled tentatively at Victoria. “Sorry to drop in unexpectedly like this. I’m sure you’re very busy.”
“We’re anxious to hear the test results, so when your assistant said you’d have them by noon, we thought we’d come down and get them in person,” Peter explained.
Admittedly, Victoria was surprised by this turn of events—the cynical part of her having assumed that Sutter would hold out as long as possible before telling his wife about Nicole and Zoe. She checked her watch. “Actually, it’s almost noon now, so we should have the results any moment. Why don’t we head to my office and wait there?” She led them through the hallway, catching Will’s eye as they passed by his desk.
She raised an eyebrow at him. Anything from the lab yet?
He shook his head.
Inside her office, she gestured to the chairs in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat.” She sat down across from Peter and Melanie. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?”
Both of them asked for a glass of water. After gulping down half the glass, Peter looked at his wife, then at Victoria.
“I guess we’d forgotten about the awkwardness factor when we decided to storm down here and wait,” he joked, shifting anxiously in his chair.
“How’s the sale of your condo going?” Victoria asked, going for a neutral topic.
“We just had a couple come back and take a second look this weekend. I think they’re very interested.” Melanie smiled at Victoria. “Then again, I thought you and your boyfriend were interested in the place, too, so maybe I’m losing my touch.”
“Oh, the guy with me at the open house wasn’t my boyfriend,” Victoria was quick to clarify. “Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, he’s Nicole’s brother.”
“Nicole’s brother?” Peter ran a hand over his mouth. “Great. He must think I’m a jerk.”
“Really? You two aren’t dating?” Melanie asked Victoria. “Huh. I could’ve sworn I got a vibe.”
Thankfully, they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
All three of them looked over as Will walked into Victoria’s office, carrying what appeared to be a fax printout.
“This just arrived from the lab.” He handed it to Victoria and left.
She glanced at Peter, who bounced his knee nervously, and at Melanie, who gripped the arms of her chair.
Without looking at it, she slid the fax across the desk to them.
Peter peered down at the document and took a deep breath. Melanie reached over and took his hand. “It’s okay, Peter,” she said softly. “No matter what it says, you and I will be fine. We’ll figure this out. Together.”
Peter stared right into her eyes. “You know how much I love you, right?”
“Yes.” Melanie smiled tenderly. “I knew it the thirteenth night you sat on my doorstep.”
“I sat on your doorstep for fourteen nights.”
“I know. I kept you out there one more for good measure.”
Peter laughed, then brought his wife’s hand to his mouth and kissed it.
Watching this scene from behind her desk, Victoria couldn’t help but feel as though she were intruding on a private moment.
But she also felt surprisingly touched.
For eight years, she’d watched and listened as couples argued and fought. She’d seen the demise of so many relationships, she couldn’t possibly count them all. Her office, Victoria Slade & Associates, was the place where marriages died and happily-ever-after came to its bitter, ugly end.
But not today.
Peter and Melanie looked at her and blushed, as if they’d just remembered she was in the room.
“Sorry. This week has been an emotional roller coaster. All right. Here goes.” Peter picked up the fax, skimmed the top cover sheet, and then flipped to the next page and read the results.
“She’s mine,” he said to his wife. “I have a daughter.”
Melanie’s eyes filled with tears. She squeezed his hand. “Okay.”
Peter turned to Victoria, his voice thick with emotion. “What’s her name?”
“Zoe.”
“Zoe,” he repeated. “That’s pretty.” He went quiet, as if unsure what to say next.
“I’d asked Nicole to e-mail me a photo of her. Would you like to see it?” Victoria offered.
“Yes. Please.”
Victoria pulled up the picture of Zoe on her iPad, and then handed it over to Peter.
Melanie covered her mouth. “Oh my gosh, she looks just like you.”
Peter wiped his eyes. “She really does.” He took a moment to compose himself, and then he looked at Victoria. “When can we meet her?”
They spent the next few minutes discussing schedules, and Victoria promised to get back to them with some poss
ible dates and times as soon as she’d spoken to Nicole. Obviously, conversations about child support and custody arrangements were on the imminent horizon, but for now, she was content to simply let Peter and Melanie process everything.
As she walked them out to the waiting room, Peter turned to her. “Thank you for tracking me down. This is a lot to take in, but nevertheless, I can’t imagine having a daughter out there and not being a part of her life.”
Victoria smiled, even though the comment hit a little close to home. “You’re welcome. But honestly, most of the credit for finding you goes to Nicole’s brother.”
Melanie shook her hand next. “We’ll wait for your call.” She paused on the way out the door, then gestured between her and Peter. “Oh, and for the record . . . we were on a break.”
We were on a break!
Victoria smiled and gave Melanie a nod.
“So you were.”
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON, FORD met with his editor to discuss the possibility of bringing on another reporter to work with him on both the Department of Children and Family Services and probation department investigations.
“You wouldn’t believe how many examples there are of convicts slipping through the cracks. And worse, in the case of DCFS—kids slipping through the cracks. There are a lot of stories to tell here—I just can’t keep up with all of them.”
“What about Castellon? You’ve worked with him before,” Marty suggested.
“He’s swamped with the pension-fund crisis series. How about Pearson?” Ford suggested.
Marty considered that. “She’d be a good fit for this. I’ll talk to her today.”
When Ford got back to his desk, he saw that he’d just missed a call from Nicole on his cell phone.
“Did you hear?” his sister answered, when he called her back.
No clue. “Hear what?”
“Victoria met with Peter Sutter and his wife today. She gave them the results of the paternity test and apparently everything went well. Like, really well. They want to meet Zoe. This is actually happening, Ford—she’s going to have a dad.”
Hearing the excitement in his sister’s voice, Ford smiled. So Victoria Slade had gotten her man, after all.
Good for her.
“That’s great, Nicole.” They talked for a while about the logistics—apparently, Victoria had suggested that Nicole and Peter get together to “catch up” before he met Zoe.
“Can you imagine how awkward that conversation will be?” Nicole asked. “‘Hey, Pete, good to see you again. Funny thing, huh, you and me having a baby?’”
As least there was going to be a conversation. Ford was still reserving judgment on Sutter, but so far, the guy seemed to have his heart in the right place.
Shortly after he hung up with his sister, Samantha Pearson stopped by his desk. Even though she’d only joined the Watchdog Team last year, she already had a reputation at the Trib of being tenacious and extremely thorough when it came to investigating a story.
“I just talked to Marty about the DCFS and probation department series,” she said. “He says that if I help you, I’ll probably piss off a lot of government bureaucrats.”
“That’s true,” Ford said.
Samantha smiled. “Then I’m in.”
Ford wrapped up for the day at five thirty and took the Blue Line home. The train was crowded, typical for rush hour, and as he stood in the middle of the packed car while holding on to the railing above him, he realized that it had been exactly one week since Victoria had her panic attack.
He’d been doing some research into panic disorder—not that he was sitting around ruminating over her or anything. The investigative journalist in him was just . . . curious. And his research had helped him understand that it was the panic attack itself that the person feared—not necessarily the environment, like a train car—and that while the attacks were not dangerous, they could be terrifying to the sufferer because he or she felt so out of control.
His fingers clenched around the steel railing when he thought about how afraid Victoria must’ve felt that day. He’d been standing right next to her, rattling on about his interview with the director of the Department of Children and Family Services, and he’d had no clue that anything was wrong until the moment right before she’d fainted. If only she’d said something, maybe he could’ve—
Well, anyway. The point was, he sure hoped this fancy, expensive therapist of hers was helping her out. Not that it was any of his business anymore.
Obviously.
Oh—and also that her therapist was familiar with the benefits of cognitive restructuring and interoceptive exposure. Because from what Ford had read, people with panic disorder were having a lot of success with those therapies.
Yep. So not his business.
He stopped at home and changed into his workout clothes, then headed to the gym a couple blocks from his place. He stayed for two hours, running and lifting weights to the point of exhaustion. After toweling off in the locker room, he walked back to his building.
He slowed down as he approached the glass door.
Victoria stood in the foyer, next to the mailboxes. Judging from her pantsuit and the briefcase slung over her shoulder, she’d just gotten off work.
He paused, watching for a moment as she flipped through her mail, and then headed inside.
“Long day?” he said.
“Oh! Hi.” She started, and then smiled hesitantly at him. “Just a typical Monday. You know me.” She bit her lip, as if regretting her choice of words.
Yes, he did know her.
He smiled to cover the awkwardness. “I heard the news—Nicole told me that things went really well with Sutter and his wife today.”
“It did. We still have a lot of details to talk about, but you know . . . I think it’s going to work out.” Her lips quirked. “Although Sutter looked a little nervous when he heard you’re Nicole’s brother.”
“Is that right?” Ford considered that. “Good.”
She smiled, and then a silence fell between them.
He pointed toward the elevator. “Are you heading up?”
“Uh, yes, actually.” She shut her mailbox and they walked together to the elevator. Ford caught her eyeing his damp T-shirt.
“Sorry. I just came from the gym,” he said as they stepped into the small elevator.
She pushed the button for their floor. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you sweaty before.”
He looked at her.
She blushed, as if just realizing what she’d said. “That was awkward. Sorry.” She shook her head self-deprecatingly.
And despite everything, they shared a smile.
The ice broken—at least, in part—she turned toward him, speaking genuinely. “I’m really sorry about Monday, Ford. The way things ended, I mean.”
She’d texted him a similar apology six days ago, and at the time he’d been kind of a dick in return. But now, standing across from her in the elevator and seeing the sincerity in her eyes, he found himself softening.
Yes, it was over between them. And that realization stung a little. Maybe more than a little, although he wouldn’t allow himself to go there. But other than the abruptness of their breakup—if one could call it that—he really had no reason to be mad at Victoria. Not once, the entire time they’d been hooking up, had she given him any reason to believe that their relationship was anything except a fun, casual fling. So if he’d been starting to think . . . Well, he didn’t know what he’d been starting to think, and it didn’t matter now. The point was, she was his next-door neighbor, at least for the rest of the summer, and it was inevitable they would run into each other. He wasn’t going to be a jerk and make the situation even more awkward.
“It’s fine. Really,” he said. The elevator stopped at their floor, and they both stepped out. “I mean, we both knew this was going to run its course eventually, right?”
There was a flicker of something in her eyes, but then she smiled. ?
??Right. Absolutely.” She gestured. “After all, you have your laundry list of thirtysomething commitment angst.”
“And you have . . . what was it again?” He rubbed his jaw, as if trying to remember. “‘Self-selected out of the happily-ever-after rat race,’ was it? No obligations, expectations, or endgame of a marriage, two-point-five kids, and a minivan in the suburbs.”
She laughed. “I really laid it on thick that night, didn’t I?”
“Oh, there was quite a speech.”
They reached her door. When she turned to face him, he took his keys out of the pocket of his workout shorts and gave her a soft smile, one that she returned. And as they stood there, looking at each other, on that doorstep where they’d first met and also had their first kiss, they both understood exactly what this moment was.
Closure.
“Good night, Victoria.”
Her voice was soft. “Good night, Ford.”
He left her standing there and turned toward his own place. When he heard her front door shut, he briefly closed his eyes.
And kept right on walking.
Thirty
THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY, one of Victoria’s associates, Nadia, rushed into Victoria’s office with an excited smile.
“Got a question for you,” she said. “I’m in the middle of the Ciotta deposition, and he just said that he recorded some phone calls between his wife and her co-worker, trying to find out if there was anything ‘flirty’ going on between them. When I asked, he admitted that neither his wife nor the co-worker knew that he was recording them.” She cocked her head. “Isn’t that wiretapping without consent? Did the guy actually just admit on the record that he committed a crime? Can we use that as leverage against him?”
Victoria considered this. “Maybe. If that does constitute an illegal wiretapping.”
“And does it?”
Victoria smiled. “No clue. But I agree it’s worth looking into. How long before you have to get back to the dep?”