Somebody's Daughter by Rochelle B Weinstein

Author:Rochelle B Weinstein [Weinstein, Rochelle B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503949256
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2018-04-17T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Zoe slumps at the breakfast table, Googling herself. She doesn’t touch her bagel, preferring to check the Internet every thirty seconds to see if the video is down. She bangs the keys each time she sees herself on the screen.

“Mom said it could take up to a day, Zoe.” Lily’s fingers tug Zoe’s hand away from the monitor. “Stop torturing yourself.” Zoe stares longingly at the balcony and the faraway sky, and I do my best to hush the noise buzzing in my head. Is my daughter okay? Her face bears the signs of a restless sleep.

Bobby slips into the room, and I can tell by his edginess he’s not going to join us. I’ll never hurt you. He does a good job at isolating himself, and Lily asks him what’s wrong.

“Tired. Long travel day.” He kisses the top of her head and walks over to Zoe’s side of the table. She turns away from him; he doesn’t even try to fix it.

To me he says, “I’ll meet you in the lobby. Call me when you’re close.” I don’t get up to straighten his tie or make him coffee, and he seems not to care.

“Everyone in this house is acting crazy.” Lily sighs.

“Are you sure you want to go?” I ask Zoe. “It’s okay if you stay home.”

I can hardly make out her answer. Instead she grabs her backpack and stuffs it with her computer and the Tylenols I’d given her for a headache.

When we arrive at Thatcher after a drive that consists of me giving a pep talk to Zoe’s one-word replies, I instruct Lily, “Please look out for your sister.”

She pops a breath mint in her mouth. “I always do.”

I watch them enter the building, joined by Shelby and Grace, who turn around to wave as I ride off.

I’m lost in thought and forget to call Bobby. As I near the corner of 26th and Collins, he calls. “I’m waiting in the lobby.”

I turn into the circular drive; I see him before he sees me.

With the spate of cooler temperatures, he’s dressed in a camel cashmere sweater with a gray collared shirt poking out. His black slacks frame his lean legs. He’s chatting with the valet and bellman. They adore him; it shows on their faces. When he notices me waiting, he shakes their hands, gives them his warmest smile, and takes my place behind the wheel.

On the way to downtown, we touch on everything but Zoe. It’s the kind of fall day that makes up for the fiery hot of summer. Bicyclists crowd the streets; dogs are out walking their caregivers. The air is clean and fresh. Inside the car we are suffocating.

“Have you met with the team about the wedding?” Bobby asks.

Shit. I forgot. “I’ll talk to them this afternoon.”

“We need a walkway for the wheelchair. And I want Mirielle to make those turkey sandwiches in the hot, buttery ciabatta rolls. Nothing fancy. But festive.”

I yes him, because I’m kind of shocked that he can think about buttery sandwiches as we’re heading to meet with lawyers about our daughter’s video.

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