Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(16)

In three seconds she’s past me, past the curtain, and heading down the hall. I feel sick watching her go.

“Everything’s going to be OK, Aubs.” My dad’s tone is soothing, but it doesn’t actually soothe.

“Aubrey, she’s going to be OK. This surgery is a piece of cake. Honestly.” Isaac still has that air about him, the one of total competence. It’s a good thing for a doctor to have.

I swallow the lump in my throat, trusting him even though I hardly know him. Our eyes lock.

“I trust you.” My voice is low. I don’t know what it is about Isaac that made me trust him that night five years ago, and I don’t know what it is that makes me trust him implicitly now. All I know is that I do.

Isaac and Dr. Main leave the bay. I hurry to the curtained exit and watch their backs, my hands steepled against my lips.

My dad steps in front of me. I didn’t hear him walk up, but he’s here now, his cheekbones pulled taut from his glare.

“You said his name was Mike.”

“I just don’t understand why you lied.” My dad rearranges himself in the hard-back chair for the tenth time in as many minutes.

We were ushered to the waiting room mere seconds after my dad confronted me, and now we’re trying to have a seriously private conversation in a very public setting. A very quiet public setting.

I rub my eyes and repeat the answer I gave him two minutes ago. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. I’m scared and I’m freaking out and I don’t know what to say.”

Dad sighs and runs his hands through his hair.

I close my eyes, silently praying.

“What are you going to do now that he’s back in the picture?”

My eyes fly open, and I turned to him. “Dad! Stop. Please.” My whispered hisses don’t go unnoticed, but the woman across from us looks away when our eyes meet. I can’t blame her for being interested. It’s not like there’s much else to do right now.

Beside me, my dad’s shaking his head. “I don’t think I can, Aubs. It took everything in me not to blurt it out back there.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t. It’s not your place.”

He blows noisily through his nose and looks up at the ceiling.

My dad’s a good ol’ boy, the kind of man who does what’s right. He’ll do what he thinks is best or kill himself trying. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s going to insist I tell Isaac about Claire. And if I wait too long, he’ll tell Isaac himself.

“I’ll tell him, Dad. Don’t worry.”

“A child deserves two parents, Aubrey. Two.” He holds up two fingers for emphasis.

“I’m painfully aware of that,” I mutter.

“Then you should know more than anybody the right thing to do here.” He’s giving me his pointed look, the one he uses when he wants to convince me his way is the only way.

“I hear you.” I hold up my hand to let him know to stop. “And I’ve already said I’ll tell him. Let me just get my baby home and settled and take some time to understand what telling Isaac will mean for everybody.”

“Don’t wait too long. You’re holding two lives in your hands.”

“That’s a little melodramatic.”

He raises one eyebrow but keeps quiet. I look away and focus on the long hallway that runs parallel to where I’m sitting. I stay that way until Isaac appears at the wide entrance to the waiting room, a surgical cap on his head.

I jump out of my chair and rush to him.

“How is she?” The words fly from my mouth.

He grins his big Isaac smile. “She’s perfect. Like I said, piece of cake. Someone will come get you and take you to her in recovery.”

My dad’s hand slides past me, palm out. “Thank you, Dr. Cordova.”

“Just doing my job.” He shakes hands with my dad.

“Aubrey.” Isaac turns his attention to me. “As long as Claire comes out of anesthesia OK, she can go home today. They’ll watch her for a while and make sure she doesn’t fever, and then she’ll be discharged. I want to see Claire in my office in ten days. We’ll do x-rays and get her fitted for her next cast. My office information will be on her discharge papers.”

“OK.” I bite my lower lip, knowing there’s no way my dad will let me go ten days before telling Isaac. Even right now I can feel him beside me, silently urging me to tell him this second.

I focus on those warm brown eyes I’ve seen in my dreams, and in my daughter’s face, for five years. “See you soon, Isaac.” I know I’ll tell him. And I know I’ll tell him soon. I just don’t know what will happen after that.



I barely got a few bites of food into Claire after we got home. The discharge nurse warned me this would happen, but it still worries me. Usually Claire’s appetite is voracious, the source of so many jokes about her being a teenage boy in a little girl’s body. Begging her to take a third bite of applesauce took my already frazzled nerves and lit them on fire. She passed out as soon as I gave her pain medicine. Which was also something I was told to expect, but it was hard to watch.

I miss my little girl. Even though I’ve been with her all day, my little Claire has been absent. The wise nurse, who had clearly seen this plenty of times, also told me Claire would start acting like herself in a day or two. Her body has been through a lot. And she probably doesn’t understand most of it.