“The butterflies in my stomach haven’t stopped since Margaret gave me the card from Thomas.”
Thomas Bradley was the man looking for my mother. Sin and I have been researching him online. We found a massive amount of information about him, which leads me to one conclusion: Thomas wasn’t your average Joe. He wasn’t even above average. He was money-falling-out-of-his-pockets loaded, since his family owned a large financial firm in Chicago.
Thomas was ten years older than my mother and graduated from the Chicago University School of Business at the top of his class. Everything I read about him would make any mother proud. Not to mention the photos of him that popped up.
He had the looks of a movie star—tall and handsome, with blue eyes as crisp and bright as a cloudless sky. It’s the one trait of his I share, but his complexion was dark for someone with such light eyes.
After graduation, he joined his father’s company and became a partner. But his life took a sad turn. Like my mother, I can only speak about him in the past tense because he left this earth not long after he spoke with Margaret.
All I can uncover about his death is a lengthy obituary and complimentary article in the business section of the Chicago Times. The article says he fought a long battle with cancer, but I have no idea what kind. When people say wealth can’t buy health or happiness, it is true.
At this point, I have no idea if he was my father. Nothing links him directly to my mother. I can only speculate. Margaret asked if I wish I could have met him before he died, but I don’t know the answer.
If he was my father, part of me is curious to know what he was like, but he rejected my mother and me before I was born. It’s a harsh fact I can’t easily overlook, especially on my mother’s behalf. She struggled to keep me clothed and fed while he lived a life of luxury.
I will not hold a grudge of bitterness and anger, though. Feeding those emotions will rot away the good ones my mother filled me with—happiness, contentedness, no matter how little one has. Those are her legacy to me.
I’ve had only one nightmare about the night she died since I left Rochester. Perhaps the first step in putting the past behind me was leaving there, and I have no plans to return.
Margaret has opened her arms and home, already preparing the guest room for me. I plan on moving in with her after Sin goes back to New York City. It’s the only thing keeping me from freaking out about him leaving.
We leave the hotel and swing by Margaret’s house to pick her up. Sin is driving us to Thomas’ private attorney for a meeting. He contacted the number on the business card Thomas left and connected to the attorney’s office. We weren’t given any details about the meeting aside from discussing Thomas’ will and my mother.
The skyline of Chicago comes into view as we travel down the highway. I shift in my seat for the millionth time since we left Park Ridge. I think it’s nerves. Sin glances over at me, smirking.
“Take my hand,” he offers, and who am I to refuse? I reach across the center console and place my hand in his. It’s warm and strong. The kind of strength that protects those he loves or stops those who harm them. He gives me a one thousand watt smile and my jaw drops in awe.
Until I met Sin, I never believed someone could leave a person breathless. I thought it was just a crazy made up term used in poems and songs. But as I stare at his handsome, smiling face, my breathing stops for a couple seconds. It’s more than just me holding my breath; it’s me being unable to catch the very air around me and pull it into my lungs.
“Are you doing okay, dear?” Margaret asks from the backseat.
“My mother didn’t have a will when she died, so I am a little nervous. Visiting an attorney usually means someone is in trouble.” At least, in my world it does.
“A probate attorney doesn’t deal with criminals. Worst thing he deals with is pissed off family members who aren’t happy with someone’s will. There’ll be no cross-examinations or gavels. It’s all good, babe.” His smiling face reassures me and draws the worry from my mind.
“Okay, oh wise one,” I kid. He grins back at me and we laugh.
Sin exits the highway and weaves through Chicago’s downtown streets. We’ve been exploring them together in the beautiful early summer weather since he had never been to Chicago before either.
He believes Chicago is a smaller, cleaner version of gritty New York City. He promised to show me the difference soon, but I have to be realistic. Long distance relationships rarely work, especially ones built on a rocky foundation, like ours. If we stay together—God, I hope we do—people are going to ask how we met, and where will we even begin?
We arrive at the downtown offices of Thomas’ attorney. Sin parks the SUV and we all walk toward the building.
“You ready?” Sin asks, while giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I am.” I think. “I just wish I knew what to expect.”