He is, I think.
“I’m happy for you two.”
“Thanks.”
He glances at his watch. “All right, Miss America. I have to get going, but we should find you a cab.” We walk back to the street, where he hails a taxi. The driver flashes his lights and drives to us.
I slip off his jacket and hand it to him. “It was good running into you tonight,” I say, climbing into the cab and rolling down the window.
“To think, of all the people in London, our paths happened to cross. Now if you don’t call that a bit of stardust luck, I don’t know what is.”
I grin. “Stardust luck. I like that. Maybe fodder for your next column?”
“Definitely a contender,” he says, grinning back as the car starts down the street.
When I feel my phone buzz, I find a text from Daniel. “Hi from Scotland. Missing you.”
I turn to look out the back window to wave at Eric once more, but he’s already disappeared into the starlit night.
Two Months Later
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” Charles Dickens wrote in the famous opening of A Tale of Two Cities.
He was referring to Paris and London, of course. But in my life, Los Angeles stood in for Paris, and London? Well, that would be Frank’s petition for divorce.
It came quickly—far faster than I could have imagined. The vile papers were delivered by a courier to Millie’s flat, on an otherwise lovely Tuesday afternoon.
“Eloise Baker?” asked the man standing in the doorway.
“Yes,” I said, confused as he handed me a thick envelope.
I was served, Millie explained—and, oh, was I served. Frank seemed to regard me like one of the failing businesses he so expertly targeted then eliminated. But this was a new kind of warpath, and it cut deep. Never mind the fact that he’d petitioned the judge to cut me out of any spousal support or alimony, citing my non-citizen status, it was the pages about Valentina that broke my heart. He’d referenced my “abandonment” as justification for full custody, with no visitation rights, in addition to requesting the court restrict Val’s travel out of the United States. Frank’s legal petition was the ultimate blow, and if he prevailed, I might never see my daughter again.
“Millie!” I screamed, my hands trembling.
She came quickly, taking the bundle from me, then confirming what I already knew. “He’s gone nuclear.”
The attorney in Mayfair I’d been talking to, a friend of Millie’s from law school, had feared this very thing, though I refused to believe Frank could stoop to such levels. But he did, and every weapon in his arsenal, it seemed, was deployed and laser-focused on me.
“What am I going to do?” I cried, slumping over on the couch.
She sat beside me, calmly setting the papers on the table. “You’re going to fight this, of course. He’s out of his mind.”
I nodded.
“But, first, you’re going to get on a plane and go back. I’ll find you an attorney in California.” She looked deep into my eyes. “You’re not leaving without Valentina.”
* * *
—
The plane’s landing at LAX was so smooth, the wheels nearly kissed the runway—a sharp contrast to the turbulence that lay ahead. I raced to retrieve my bag and catch a taxi to Santa Monica. In the car, I rehearsed the plan in my mind, which Millie and her colleague had helped me with. As hard as it sounded, I’d have to go home as if nothing at all had changed. I’d merely taken a vacation to London, as Frank had suggested. I would return to a home and a daughter who were rightfully mine. If he balked—or worse—I’d call the police.
If Frank could fight, I could, too. And I was ready. He’d obviously instructed Bonnie that Val was forbidden from speaking to me—I could hear the regret in her voice each time I called. Eventually, my daily calls went unanswered. The phone just rang and rang and rang, becoming the soundtrack to my sorrow.
But I’d see my daughter soon. I’d run to her and take her into my arms, kissing her tears away. Mummy’s almost home, I whispered as the taxi turned onto our street. I could see the house ahead, the twin palm trees, the manicured lawn. Val was probably in the pool, or maybe reading in her room. I wondered if she’d finished the last book of the series she loved so much. We were both eager to know how it ended, in victory or tragedy—just as I wondered about my own life circumstances.
“Thanks,” I said, paying the driver. He handed me my bag from the trunk and motored off, leaving me standing in the empty driveway. But something was wrong. Something was off. The house looked different. There were new flowers beside the walkway that I hadn’t planted; a strange welcome mat lay on the porch. I reached for the doorknob, but it refused to budge, so I fumbled to find my key, inserting it into the lock only to discover that it didn’t work. Frank must have changed the locks. Of course he did.
“Valentina!” I cried, peering into the living room window. What happened to the painting on the wall above the fireplace? The sectional in the living room was gone, too, replaced with a blue sofa that I didn’t care for.
“Excuse me, ma’am? Can I help you?”
When I turned around, a young couple and their toddler daughter stood in the driveway looking at me curiously. The little girl’s blond hair was in two pigtails.
“No, no,” I said quickly. “I’m fine. I’m just…having some trouble with my key.”
They walked closer. “Ma’am,” the man said, shaking his head, “are you all right? Do you need help?”
And then it hit me. I hadn’t noticed the FOR SALE sign on the corner, but there it was, with a SOLD placard tacked to its edge. The blue sofa, the flowers, the welcome mat—it began to make sense. My God, Frank sold the house.
“Ma’am,” the man said again, cautiously approaching.
“I…I…” I muttered. “I know this might sound crazy, but I used to live here…a long time ago. Do you know anything about the family who sold to you?”
This time, the woman spoke. “Yeah, it was a single dad and his daughter. She was so sweet. I think her name was…”
“Valentina,” I said. “Her name is Valentina.”
“Yes, that’s it. She was so good with Abigail.” She looked down at her own daughter. “It’s a shame they moved to Seattle. I would have loved to hire her to babysit. It’s so hard to find a good one these days.”
Seattle? My heart pounded so loudly, I could barely hear anything else. Their mouths opened and closed, but the only thing audible was the erratic thumping in my chest.
I ran to the street, clutching my bag, looking this way and that. What would I do? Where would I go? The nearest pay phone was in town, so I set out for Main Street, alternately running and walking—out of breath. Using a calling card, I dialed Millie, waking her up in the middle of the night, to bring her up to speed.
She was as shocked as I was and very sympathetic. But her words were sobering. “I’m afraid he’s four steps ahead of you, El.”
“Millie, but this isn’t a game of chess—it’s my daughter!”
“I know, honey,” she said. “But he has the upper hand. Even if you did go to Seattle, even if you did find them, then what?”