33. Fallon

Fallon

"Fallon? Fallon ?"

I look up at Chloe, heart racing, mouth tasting like acid. With a quick glance, I can see that we're in the waiting room at the PT clinic, and it's completely empty.

"Hey," she says, when I meet her eyes. "It's time to go home, babes."

Nodding, I numbly grab my bag and follow her to the car. I can't get the thought of Brett standing in that parking lot out of my mind.

I know I have a tendency to cut people off, but it's the only thing that ever worked in keeping my mother out of my life. Now, it's impossible for me to know if I'm pushing Brett away because it's the best thing for me, or if I'm doing it on instinct. Reverting to the one thing that has protected me from pain in the past.

As I climb into the car with Chloe, I feel a rising bubble of nausea worming its way up my throat. Everything stacks, mounting the pressure in my chest.

Brett's defeated expression in the parking lot. The way my chest had physically hurt while looking at him, the pain reverberating through my body, down to my fingertips. Like losing him was losing a piece of myself.

How could that be? How could someone come barreling into your life and shift everything, rearranging the pieces so they were suddenly essential?

"Fal," Chloe says, voice soft. "Are you…?"

She trails off, flexing her fingers on the steering wheel and looking out into the road. The question hangs in the air, unfinished and unanswered. Obviously, I'm not okay. I'm not sure I'll ever be okay again, actually.

When we get home, I head inside and take June from Randall, who looks more than happy to hand her over. Cradling her in my arms, I get her bottle ready, then take her upstairs, setting back on my bed with her tucked into me. She coos and stares up, her eyes fluttering shut when I get the bottle in her mouth.

The second my mind is occupied, everything comes rushing back to me.

After we got everything back here, I collapsed, exhausted, in my room. Of course, June woke me up two hours later, and two hours after that. Bright and early at eight in the morning, I was just about to fall asleep from the last time she tore me from sleep, when my phone started ringing.

Blackstone, Solomon.

A&P Law.

My throat went dry, and I just stared at it as it rang out, the sound waking June up again and making her cry. It wasn't until after I'd rocked her back to sleep that, with shaking fingers, I clicked into the voice mail, scrolling through the transcript version of it, too sick to listen to Mr. Blackstone's voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Ratcliffe. This is Solomon Blackstone from A&P Law calling regarding your grandfather's estate and trust. I must say I'm deeply disappointed to be making this call. When we last spoke, I emphasized the gravity of adhering to the trust's stipulations and the severe consequences of any attempts to defraud the estate.

Given the recent public revelations about the nature of your marriage to Mr. Ratcliffe, I regret to inform you that our firm will be taking immediate legal action. We will be filing a lawsuit to reclaim all funds released to you from the trust, as well as seeking damages for breach of fiduciary duty and fraud.

I want to impress upon you the seriousness of this situation, Mrs. Ratcliffe. The penalties for such actions can be quite severe, including potential criminal charges. It pains me to see a member of your grandfather's family in this position. He had such high hopes when he established this trust.

Our complaint will allege that you entered into a fraudulent marriage for the sole purpose of accessing these funds, in direct violation of the trust's terms and your grandfather's wishes. We have substantial evidence to support these claims.

I strongly advise you to retain legal counsel immediately. This matter will likely have significant long-term repercussions for your financial and legal standing. Please have your attorney contact our office as soon as possible to discuss how we might proceed.

You can reach me directly at 555-0157. I sincerely hope we can resolve this matter swiftly and avoid further damage to your grandfather's legacy and your own reputation. Thank you for your prompt attention to this urgent matter."

I'd barely made it halfway through the message before bile rose in my throat, and I'd burst from my room, sprinting to the bathroom and barely making it in time to get sick into the toilet. When I lifted my head up, Chloe was standing there, shirt over her nose.

"Fal," she'd soothed, voice muffled. "Everything is going to be okay, honey."

"Just get out of here," I'd said, reaching up and flushing the toilet. "The last thing we need is for you to throw up, too."

Chloe is one of those people who gets sick at the thought of someone else throwing up. Honestly, I was proud of her for standing there as long as she did.

Now, June lets out a little hiccup, and I burp her slowly, wondering if she already feels a sense of loss. If she could sense Brett near us before, and might be missing him now. If it was too late to guard her from the heartache.

Staring at the top of her head, I realize she's already started to grow even more hair. When she was first dropped off, she had the tiniest little tuft, and now it's almost enough to wrangle into a little bow, if I was the kind of person to do that.

I run the hair through my fingers. It's as fine as corn silk, and slightly lighter than my own, and I wonder if I was born with hair, or if I was a bald baby. I keep staring at her head as tears trickle down my cheeks passively.

There's only one person I could ask about what I was like as a baby—and she's off somewhere, abandoning yet another child.

When June lets out a little noise, her head resting on my chest, I tuck against her, nestling her into me. I may not have a sense of home, a person to call when I have questions about what I was like as a kid, but she will. She always will.

***

"That's…amazing," I say, watching as Mr. Alde effortlessly walks from one side of the ramp to the other, not wavering in the slightest, his hand only hovering above the railing for security.

"Well, what the hell did you think we were doing all this time?" he grumbles, stepping off the platform at the other end. "Of course I'm better."

"You really are," I murmur, noting it down in his chart. Things have been so hectic in every other part of my life that I hadn't noticed my most stubborn and grumpiest patient making great progress.

"Great news," I say, when his daughter comes in to pick him up. "Based on his recovery, I think we can drop these appointments down to once every two weeks, or even once a month, if you want."

"You know, I totally would," she says, leaning in close, giving her father a quick glance. "But he loves coming here, and I'd hate to take that from him. Are you willing to keep him at twice a week?"

"Yeah." I blink, glancing at the old man, finding it very hard to believe that he might enjoy coming to these appointments. "But insurance—"

"We won't worry about it," she says, waving her hand and slipping her Gucci sunglasses back on her face. "We can pay out of pocket if they don't approve it." When Mr. Alde and his daughter are gone, I stand completely still for a moment, frozen behind the receptionist desk.

Mr. Alde likes our appointments?

I'm still mulling it over when my phone starts to ring from my backpack, making my watch buzz on my wrist. I silence it quickly—we're really not supposed to have our phones out, and the supervisor has been cracking down on the policy lately.

With my new status as the recipient of a lawsuit, I can't really afford to risk my job, which is why I decided to come back from my leave early. At the thought of the legal action from Mr. Blackstone, my heart starts fluttering like a hummingbird in my chest, setting off a chain reaction of stress and anxiety.

I can't think about it. When I do, I just fall down a spiral of despair, questions flying at me from all sides: Will I go to jail? How will I take care of June without the money? Can I still go through the adoption process if I'm being sued?

Cassidy and I are sitting down later to run through all the details and make a legal game plan.

"You can't hire me," she'd said, clearing her throat and putting her pen behind her ear. "Since I'm not technically a lawyer just yet. But we can look at everything, and then you can hire Brandon. He's two years ahead of me, and—"

"—and so dreamy," Ainsley had quipped, walking past the breakfast nook with a glass of chocolate almond milk. "Right?"

"Ignore her," Cassidy said, when Ainsley shuffled away. "She's being, like, super grouchy with everyone leaving."

"Well," I'd said, sighing and planting my chin in my hand. "It looks like I'm here to stay, at the very least."

Now, I jump when the phone at the reception area starts to ring. The clerk must be in the bathroom, because nobody is manning the desk, so I take a deep breath and pick up the phone, holding the receiver to my ear.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Fallon, you have to come now ," Ainsley says, her voice an octave higher than normal and more frantic than I've ever heard it. Coming from her normal state of monotoned apathy, she's practically screaming. "Your mom is here."