Page 42 of After Paris

Chapter Forty-Two

Jeff

Alexandria, Virginia

Monday, June 6, 2033

I had become adept at braiding hair. My daughter Sylvia was now five, and her long, thick blond hair needed to be tackled daily, or it would become a tangled mess. She had Ruby’s brown eyes and sense of style. But she wasn’t petite like her mother. She was already in the ninety-ninth percentile for her age group and was projected to be five foot eleven inches, maybe even six feet.

Ruby and I had been married a year when we decided to hire a surrogate. Scott sued Ruby, but my attorneys then tied him up in numerous legal and very expensive knots. I was told his new wife refused to finance the suit any longer, and he was forced to drop it. My team threatened to sue him for my legal expenses unless he signed a document declaring he would never sue again. He’d signed.

The doctors had implanted several embryos. They’d fertilized all her eggs with my sperm, and for added insurance the medical team had also used one of the embryos she’d made with Scott. It didn’t take a geneticist to see who had the winning ticket. But Sylvia had been my child from the moment she’d come squealing into the world. Genetics would never change that. And whenever I looked at my daughter, I only saw traces of Ruby.

Two months after Sylvia was born, Ruby’s cancer returned. She’d fought hard to beat the disease the first time, and they were hopeful she’d win it again. But the journey back to health was rocky and rugged. It was a grueling five months as I watched my wife grow weak and sick from the chemo.

“Daddy, there’s a bump in my braid.”

I looked in the mirror and searched for the ridge. My daughter liked her hair perfect, just like Ruby.

I unknotted the braid and brushed out the locks until they were as smooth as corn silk. I pressed my hand on her crown, concentrating on lining up the tresses in a soft, even sheet. I glanced in the mirror. “Okay?”

“Braid carefully, Daddy.”

“Roger that.” I divided the mane into three neat rows and wound them together. In my mind, the braid was perfect. I fastened the ends with a twist. “I should work in a hair salon.”

Sylvia giggled. “No, Daddy.”

I admired the blended hair. “It’s a perfect braid.”

She inspected the wrapped band at the bottom. “It’s okay.”

“Okay” meant “perfect” in my world, and I’d won. “Ready to go to the park?”

She glanced in the mirror and studied her blue dress, trimmed with small yellow flowers at the waist. “Should I change?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re your mother’s child, Sylvia.”

When the hotel room door opened, I glanced over my shoulder to see my wife. She wore a sleek black pencil skirt, gray silk blouse, and tall chunky heels. Diamond stud earrings winked. Thick black hair skimmed her shoulders.

“Mommy!” Sylvia ran toward her mother.

Ruby knelt and hugged her daughter close. “I’ve missed you.”

I didn’t point out that it had been less than an hour since they’d been together. “Daddy tried to do my braids, but he didn’t get it right.”

She skimmed her fingers over her daughter’s hair. “They look pretty perfect to me.”

“Maybe,” Sylvia conceded.

I crossed to Ruby, and as she rose, I kissed her on the lips. “How was the funeral reception?”

“Very elegant. Very French. Friends packed the church’s reception hall. Madame Bernard was buried next to her husband, daughter, and mother.”

Ruby had stayed in contact with Madame Bernard over the years, and as my business expanded, we bought a condo in Old Town Alexandria. Whenever we were in Alexandria, Ruby and Madame Bernard had coffee at least three times a week. They’d collaborated on a book about Sylvia and Cécile, but madame had died before they’d completed it.

Ruby had been cancer-free for four years, and we never talked about illness again. We’d agreed to focus on our daughter, and now.

“We’re going to the park,” Sylvia said.

“Let me change, and I’ll join you,” Ruby said.

Sylvia arched a brow. “Don’t take forever. You always take forever when you’re picking out clothes.”

Ruby chuckled and gently pinched her daughter’s cheek. “Look who’s talking.”

From the moment I’d met Ruby, I’d known she was the one. And, as I often told my business partners, my first impression was always accurate.

“I’ll be quick,” Ruby said. “I don’t want to miss a moment of this beautiful day.”