She pulls her hand back to fumble with the edge of the paper coffee cup. "I know it was Maisy that I met here in the cafeteria that day. Dane's mom introduced us."
I'm tempted to ask how exactly Dane's mom, Anja, framed that introduction. Dane hasn't spoken that openly about his relationship with his mom other than to say that she's important to him. Judging by the fact that she was in the hospital with his ex-girlfriend for an appointment, I'd wager a bet that Maisy is still important to her.
"I guess that was Cleo I saw in the corridor with Anja the other day?" She furrows her brow.
I half-shrug my shoulder. "You're sure you saw them together? You said Dane was there too, right?"
I want to sound as nonchalant as I can about this. I had wanted to ask Dane about why his mother would be hanging out with his ex-girlfriend or her sister, but I don't have enough insight into his family dynamics to throw the question at him. I also didn't want to delve into the topic of Vanessa seeing Anja and Cleo with Dane until I could get confirmation from Vanessa. After I took Vanessa at her word about the portrait being Maisy, I realized that her perception may be skewed by the fact that she barely knows any of these people.
"Dane wasn't with them," she clarifies. "I saw him about an hour after I saw them. Actually, it could have been around the same time you have your appointment with Ben."
I feel relief wash over me. I remember that day vividly. Dane had kissed me in the bustling lobby of the hospital before I'd rushed to my appointment. It was only a few days ago in literal time but because of everything that's happened, it feels like it was years ago now.
"Did you know that Cleo was pregnant?" I stop to consider what I need to say next. "I was just wondering why you didn't mention that to me if you thought she was Maisy."
She leans back in the plastic chair pulling a faint cracking sound from it. "Cleo wasn't pregnant when I saw her the other day."
"You're sure?" I ask because I'm not a medical expert. I can't tell if a woman is six or eight months pregnant. I know that Cleo's belly was round enough to be visible once the blanket was pulled down but when I'd first started to draw her, I hadn't noticed it because of the oversize purse on her lap so it wasn't part of the finished portrait. The purse, she had been clutching in her hands, was there in the portrait.
"I'm absolutely sure," she chuckles softly. "We get a lot of pregnant women coming into the ER, Bridge. I know one when I see one."
***
"I'm looking for someone."
The woman sitting behind the reception desk pops her head up until her gaze meets mine. "What can I help you with?"
"Can you tell me if there's been a patient named Cleo Trimble admitted to the hospital?" I rub my hand over my eyes. I could have asked Vanessa to check for me but that would have only complicated things more. I didn't want to drag out our conversation about Maisy or her sister. I want Vanessa's focus to drift back to her upcoming wedding, not the complicated dynamics of Dane's ex-girlfriend's family.
"There's no one by that name registered." She doesn't look up from the computer screen in front of her. "Do you want me to try a different surname? Sometimes patients are admitted under the name that their insurance has listed."
I wouldn't know where to begin with that. When I saw Cleo at the museum her hand was void of an engagement ring and she spoke about marriage as if it would be part of her future. If she's not here under her maiden name, I doubt she's here at all.
"No, but thank you for checking." I scoop my smartphone into my palm from where I'd rested it on the counter before I turn to walk away.
"Wait." The woman behind the desk taps her fingers over her keyboard. "There's a Cleo Durand. Did your friend just have a baby?"
I should confess that she's not my friend. I should tell her that I'm on a fact finding mission that is only meant to quell my own desperate need to know more about the man I'm falling in love with but I don't do that. Instead I turn back towards the desk with a bright smile on my face. "That's her. She had a little boy."
Chapter 9
I stare down at the white, rectangular card in my hand. The woman at the reception desk had jotted Cleo's room number down for me. I'd walked away after thanking her in the direction of the elevators but before the lift raced back down to the lobby to pick me up, I'd darted out the hospital's main entrance doors.
I'd hailed a taxi then and during the entire ride back to my apartment, I'd contemplated whether I had any right to go see her. The woman doesn't know my name. It's highly likely that she won't remember my face either. Vanessa saw her without a swollen stomach which means that she's now a mom. A random woman who drew her portrait in a museum months ago is not someone she's going to remember.
If I'm being completely honest with myself, the only drive behind my desire to see her today was curiosity. She's Maisy's sister. She's also someone who is fundamentally important to Dane. She's not part of the fabric of my own life though and waltzing into her room, when she's just given birth to her first child, is not only selfish, it's also intrusive.
I turn just as I hear the faint knock on the door. I know it's him. He'd sent me a text hours ago asking if he could come over. I hadn't replied. It wasn't because I didn't want to see him. I longed to feel his arms around me and to hear his deep voice telling me again that he loved me.
My deliberate avoidance of him was wrapped up in that small card with the number 2049 written on it. He's been looking for her. I inadvertently found her and as much as my heart knows that I should hand him the card, my mind is causing me to pause.
Cleo is part of Maisy's life and even though Dane has been struggling with Maisy's refusal to leave his house since we met, I sense that there's a light of promise at the end of that tunnel. Guiding him back into the vicinity of Maisy's grasp isn't something I want to do.
I tuck the card into the front pocket of my jeans before I swing the door open.
"Bridget," he whispers my name as his arms circle my waist. "I was worried. You didn't answer my call or the messages I sent."
I fumble to find the right words. I pull back from his embrace to look up into his face. "You're wearing a ball cap. You look so young when you wear one."
"Young?" His brows shoot up. "How young are we talking?"
I push on his shoulder playfully. "You're one of the happiest people I've ever known."
He tugs the cap off his head before he rakes his hand through his messy hair. "I wasn't until I met you."
The concept of a man's words causing a woman's knees to go weak is real. I'm proof of that. I cling to the front of the dark sweater he's wearing. "You say exactly the right thing."
"I say the honest thing." He brushes his lips against my forehead. "You make me happy, Bridget. I live to make you smile."
I tuck my hand into the pocket of my jeans. My fingers fan over the edge of the card. "No one has ever made me smile the way you do."
"If I can put a smile on that beautiful face every day for the rest of my life, I'll die a happy man."