Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

to call me.’
    ‘I’ll return the favor and nag him for you.’
    ‘Nah, you don’t have to do that. He’s a pretty good kid.’ Even though he got all absent-minded-professorish when he got involved in a project. ‘He’s probably gotten sucked into one of his experiments in the lab and lost track of time.’ She dialed Ford’s number, got his voicemail, and left him a message to call her when he got the chance.
    Grayson pushed the button for the elevator. ‘It better be one hell of an experiment not to call you after something like this hits the news.’
    ‘He’ll call. He always does. Eventually,’ she added with a wistful smile.
    ‘My mother wouldn’t be so magnanimous,’ Grayson said.
    Actually, Daphne was thrilled that Ford got so preoccupied with his studies and experiments these days because there had been a lot of years when he hadn’t allowed himself to. Days when she’d needed him to run errands, or make dinner, or pay the bills when she’d been too sick to write a check.
    He’d had to grow up far too quickly, which was exactly what she hadn’t wanted for him. She’d wanted him to be a child, to be secure and to feel safe. She’d wanted him to have a mother and a father. She vaguely remembered what that was like. Her father had left them when she was eight, but the years before that had been happy ones.
    After she was eight . . . not so happy. Her father had left them without saying goodbye. Not that she could blame him. He’d been ruined . Maligned . I’m sorry, Daddy . I’m so sorry . Wherever you are . She lifted her chin, rewinding her story to the part she could stand to remember. But before she’d been eight . . .  We were happy .
    Daphne wanted that remembered stability for her son, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Her ex-husband had wealth and privilege, breeding and education. But Travis Elkhart was a selfish, cold man who’d given nothing of himself to his only son.
    Or to me . Pregnant at fifteen after a bewildering one night stand, Daphne had found herself in possession of something very valuable – the next Elkhart heir.
    And then she’d found herself the possession of the Elkharts. From the moment Travis’s mother had learned of her pregnancy, Daphne had been absorbed into their world, whether she’d wanted to be or not.
    From that day forward, Daphne had been keenly aware that she had very little control over her own life. Travis’s mother called the shots, forcing her son to marry a ‘provincial’ he didn’t love, then molding that provincial into someone who would bring no shame to the Elkhart name.
    Daphne had also been keenly aware that she wasn’t part of their world. She was an outsider looking in, merely tethered to the Elkhart family through Ford. She had not complained. How could she? She got an education, had her own room. Food, clothes.
    She had everything, but no one to call her own, except her son. She’d made a few friends on the estate and she still had her mama and Maggie, but they’d been back in West Virginia. They might as well have been on the moon.
    Daphne hadn’t been a prisoner, per se. She had been free to leave the Elkhart estate – with her mother-in-law’s permission and if accompanied by a bodyguard. Which was Elkhart-ese for a chaperone. She could leave on her own terms anytime she chose – but only if she left Ford behind. That was something she would not do.
    So she’d stuck it out for twelve years. Flanked by a cheating husband and a despotic mother-in-law, Daphne had been lonely every day of her marriage. If it hadn’t been for Ford, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done. Taking care of him, watching him grow, had made each day worth waking up to.
    Now he was a man nearly grown. He doesn’t need his mama anymore . And as thrilled as I am that he’s becoming independent, I’m as alone as I’ve ever been, with no prospects in sight .
    Prospects . Her mind seemed to go there often these days and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. Her nest was empty and the years ahead were looming even emptier. The nights were starkly silent, the murmur of the television and the bark of her dog the only things separating her home from a tomb.
    But days were worse. Working with Grayson meant overhearing the phone calls with the woman he loved, the I-love-you s and the Bring-home-a-carton-of-milk s. The phrases that, quilted together, made a life.
    A beautiful life. The kind of life she’d always