As the afternoon wore on, she could see how tired he was getting, and she didn’t want to wear him out. He started coughing a lot, and she told him she should go. He looked sad when she said it, but he didn’t ask her to stay longer.
“Will you come to see me again?” he asked her, holding both her hands and looking into her eyes, which were identical to his own.
“I will,” she said softly. “Thank you for seeing me today.” She didn’t know what to call him, “Senator” seemed silly, and “Dad” presumptuous, and foreign to her. He seemed to read her mind.
“You can call me Papa, if you like. That’s how your mother referred to me when I played with you when you were a baby.” She smiled and nodded, it sounded just right to her. It was what her friends had always called their fathers. It occurred to her then that now she knew what she had missed. It was bittersweet, as she helped him stand up, and get back in his wheelchair. “You’re a wonderful girl, Véronique. I owe a great debt to your mother. It’s a gift just seeing you today. And you know, those scars don’t make any difference. You’re still a stunningly beautiful girl, and they will probably fade some in time.”
“That’s what the doctors say, but they’re pretty awful.”
“You don’t need to wear that mask, or be ashamed,” he said, as she got ready to put it back on. “I think you’re brave enough to face the world without it. You’re a great deal like your mother. She was the bravest woman I ever knew.” He kissed Véronique’s hand then, and she bent down to kiss his cheek where he sat in the wheelchair. “When are you going back to Paris?”
“Tomorrow night.” The visit had been perfect. Better than she had hoped it would be.
“Come and see me again when you’re back in New York.” He smiled at her, and pressed a bell, and the nurse reappeared. He was beaming when Véronique left him. She walked into the hall, as the nurse wheeled him away. She had a lot to think about, as she got in the elevator and left the building a few minutes later. She had been with him for almost three hours. She walked down Fifth Avenue for a while, thinking about her father. She had no question in her mind now about why her mother had loved him. She was only sorry that they hadn’t made a life together, and he hadn’t been courageous enough to give up his dreams and his wife. But her mother was a wise woman, and he might have resented her if he had. She had set him free, and kept his heart. Theirs had obviously been a great love story, and Véronique was profoundly happy to have met him. She hoped she would see him again, and wished they lived in the same city. His health seemed so precarious that she wasn’t sure they would meet again, but she had taken enough from their visit, that she knew it would keep her warm for a long time. She guessed that her mother had felt that way too, and she’d had Véronique as part of him. That must have helped. She understood their relationship better now. Even at his age, he had immense charm.
* * *
—
She walked for a long time, and then took a cab the rest of the way downtown to her hotel. She hadn’t bothered to put the mask on, and she saw the driver glance at her in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t comment. When she got back to her hotel, and searched for her room key in her bag, she found the paper where Doug had written the name of the plastic surgeon in New York. She looked at it for a minute when she was back in her room, and hesitated. She didn’t know if she wanted to call him or not. The Belgian surgeons had been so definite that little improvement was possible, if any, that it seemed pointless. And then, in an optimistic mood after seeing her father, she decided to put it in the hands of fate. She called, and told herself that if there was an appointment the next day, before her flight, she would take it, and if not, she’d forget about getting another opinion. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life, or even the next few years, chasing doctors with empty promises, who offered her results they couldn’t deliver. It would be a life of constant disappointment. She was trying to accept the hand she’d been dealt and make the best of it. That seemed more sensible.
The phone rang and a receptionist answered. “Doctors Talbot and Dennis,” she said, and Véronique said that she was hoping for an appointment for a consultation with Dr. Talbot, who had done the work on Doug’s model friend who’d been mugged. She was sure they wouldn’t have room for her on a day’s notice, and was prepared for a rejection.