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Athanasios

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Brooklyn?"

"Yes, it’s me. Is this a bad time?"

"No, I just got to the hospital."

I hear the sound of her laughter, and it’s only now that I realize how much I missed hearing her. I forced myself to keep my word and give her space, even though waiting isn’t something I’m used to.

"Would you really tell me if it wasn’t a good time or if I were being inconvenient?"

"Yes. Why would I lie?"

"I like that about you, Dr. Athanasios."

"Like what?"

"Your honesty. Can you promise me that whatever happens, you’ll always be honest?"

"I never lie."

"I don’t like omissions either."

"You have my word. Now tell me, what’s going on? Are you feeling unwell?"

"No. I just wanted to be the one to call first."

I close the door to my office and lock it to avoid interruptions. Then I sit on the edge of my desk. I’m not a fan of phone conversations, but hearing her voice first thing in the morning is a delight.

"Are we competing?" I ask, amused by her reasoning.

"You tell me. Are we?"

"No. Because if it were a competition, I’d win. I was going to call you today anyway."

"I thought you said a week. That means you should only call me tomorrow."

"Maybe I like surprising you, too."

"I thought you liked planning, actually."

"I think it was clear that day in the car that my plans don’t work very well when it comes to you, Brooklyn."

"Why don’t you ever lose control?"

I feel a surge of excitement through my body. "You want to play? Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?"

"No, but I can’t stop." Another soft laugh. "You said you’d call me. Why?"

"To invite you and the kids to spend tomorrow with me in the Hamptons. We could even stay the whole weekend."

"You’re inviting Silas and Soraya too?"

"I am. Don’t they like boats?"

"I . . . uh . . . I’m not sure."

"That’s fine. Ask Eleanor. But even if they don’t, we can just stay by the pool. I’ll pick you up at nine."

"I didn’t say I’d go."

"You’re the one who made the first move by calling me, Brooklyn."

"You said you’d come after me anyway."

"Yes. Don’t be stubborn. You know you want to go."

"I do."

"So why are we arguing about it? A day at the beach. We can sleep there and return Sunday morning."

"I still can’t handle the two of them on my own."

"Bring Eleanor."

"You want me to bring my mom?"

"What did you think, Brooklyn? That the first time I invited you out, it would be just to take you to bed?"

"Yes."

"Is that what you want?"

"I’m not answering that."

"I’ll pick you up at nine. Be ready."

"Brooklyn told me you were worried the kids might get seasick, Athanasios, but they’ve been on Zeus’s yacht and loved it. Our babies have strong stomachs," Eleanor says from the back seat, sitting between the two car seats. "If you don’t mind, I’ll take advantage of the fact that they’re asleep and have a nap myself."

"Feel free," I reply.

I glance at the woman beside me and am slightly shocked by how much she’s changed in this past week since we last saw each other. Her skin has a soft golden tan that contrasts beautifully with her blonde hair. Brooklyn exudes life and health now, a stark contrast to the fragile girl who came under my care months ago.

"You’re very quiet," I tell her.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Life. You. Tell me something so I can get to know you better. I’m not good at asking questions because I’m afraid of intruding on your privacy."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything."

"Well, I already told you I’m adopted."

"Yes. Do your parents have other children?"

"I’m an only child. There’s not much to say about my family." That’s a half-truth, but in this case, it’s to protect my biological mother. No one can know about her until I uncover the whole truth.

"Will you tell me more one day?" she asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You don’t want to talk about your childhood," she says, surprising me with her sensitivity. Brooklyn sees right through me. "That’s okay. We all have secrets."

"You too?"

"Yes. Also about my childhood. They’re not secrets, really, just sad memories."

"Like what, for example?"

"I don’t want to fill our silence with depressing stories."

"I don’t get depressed easily. Try me."

"Until Eleanor came to live with us, Madison and I never had an adult around for Christmases or birthdays. I mean, maybe when my mom was with us, but I don’t remember because I was too young."

"Where was your father?"

She shrugs. "Here and there. He didn’t care about significant dates. He made promises and didn’t keep them. In the end, it didn’t matter to us when he was home. Madison and I had each other. We threw our own little parties with whatever ingredients we could find, whether it was Christmas or a birthday."

Damn.

"Were you hungry, Brooklyn?"

"No. He had an account at a small grocery store near our apartment. Deliveries came every Friday. We were fine."

I doubt it. "From what age?"

Another shrug. "I think from when I was four or five. Madison was two or three. Then one day, he came home with Eleanor, and everything changed. Their relationship didn’t last long—how could it, with my father being a compulsive liar—but she never left us. Everything we know about a mother’s love we learned from her."

"You and Madison are very close, aren’t you?"

"Very. I’d do anything for her, and I know she’d do the same for me."

"When you found out you were pregnant, why didn’t you turn to your sister instead of moving in with a guy who was practically a stranger?"

"I wanted to do things differently. Be the best mother in the world. Instead, I gave my babies a liar for a father. Isn’t it ironic that, in the end, I ended up with someone just like the man I despised? A man as dishonest as the one who raised me."

"You didn’t know." I think carefully before speaking further because tact isn’t my strong suit and I don’t want to upset her more than she already seems to be after her confession. "There’s something I need to tell you."

"I’m listening. What is it?"

"I had a private investigator look into Enya. He found twelve women by that name in New York, and he’s checking each one to see if any of them match the woman you knew. I should get a file with their photos later today. At least then we can start narrowing down the possibilities. But there’s something you need to know."

"What?"

"The private investigator working for me has a theory: he doesn’t believe your babies’ father and this woman are related."

"I’d already suspected that."

"There’s more. He thinks this Enya was your ex-partner’s lover."