He should’ve been putting her first. As he had since the moment she was born. And through a horrible sickness. He deserved to enjoy taking care of her now, not to add another burden to his plate. Another worry.
Beau, obviously and thankfully oblivious to all of the thoughts in my head, was just staring at me. Not with any of that tense, borderline aggression of the past, not with the confusing yearning or the mild amusement I’d experienced thus far. I couldn’t pinpoint his expression… searching, if I were to guess. Searching for what, I didn’t know.
“You’ve earned it, Hannah,” Beau told me in a low tone. “You’ve earned to be rid of a horrible man from your past without it tarnishing your future, without you parting with another cent.”
I pursed my lips both in frustration and against the burn in my throat that made me want to cry. From the tenderness in which Beau spoke, the shame that still coated my insides. Though I might’ve wanted to be taken care of, I also didn’t want to be a pathetic charity case.
“You most definitely shouldn’t be spending a cent,” I hissed. “Not when this has nothing to do with you. He certainly doesn’t deserve anything you’ve earned, nothing that could be going toward Clara.”
Beau clenched his jaw. Apparently, me arguing about paying for my own divorce was irritating to him.
“You’re not taking food out of Clara’s mouth, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “And for the joy you’ve brought my daughter, the sunshine you’ve brought to our life, there’s no fucking price tag on that Hannah, no way I could ever repay you. But this…” He motioned to the hallway where I could hear muted voices approaching. “This is me having some kind of way of taking the clouds from your life, knowing that I’ve contributed to it.”
My breath left me in a whoosh at his words. At the reverent, intense way he spoke about me, how I’d changed Clara’s life, their lives. I’d thought, so surely, that I’d made his life worse.
But I hadn’t.
He said I’d broughtsunshine.
And he was aware of the way he had treated me. From the sounds of it, he … regretted it too.
It was all too much to process in a well-appointed lawyer’s office, and I couldn’t think of a single word to say back. Luckily, I didn’t have to as Marty approached us.
He gave Beau the man-shake-hug hybrid, smiled, asked after Clara, then warmly introduced himself to me. He was Beau’s age though much less rugged, wearing fancier clothes, clean-shaven with creases on his forehead and at the edges of his eyes. He waswearing an expensive-looking dress shirt with the collar open, nice slacks.
He was exceptionally handsome and not totally clean cut in a way that would put me off. A glance at his hand told me he wasn’t married, which interested me from an anthropological standpoint more than anything. There was an abundance of single, attractive men in this town. I thought it was a well-kept secret, purely because of the views and Nora’s bakery, but it was a hotspot for men too.
After we exchanged pleasantries, he took me to his office. And in the same way that Finn had at the station, he stolidly, politely told Beau to wait outside.
Although I was thankful for the privacy, I suddenly felt sweaty and like the room was spinning.
The police station was bad enough. But to be here, around so much subtle wealth, with a lawyer I could never afford, I felt two feet tall.
I felt small, nervous, young. Stupid.
But Marty didn’t feed into that. If he noticed my nerves, he didn’t let on. He was warm, casual, and non-judgmental.
“Beau wants to pay for this,” I blurted in the middle of the small talk he was indulging me with.
Marty didn’t display any emotion as he looked at me for a beat before nodding knowingly. “Of course, he does.”
I didn’t want to ask him about the look, the nod, the words. I couldn’t handle any more information.
“I don’twanthim to pay for this,” I continued, shame wrapping around my ribs. “But I also doubt I can pay for your services entirely up front.” I wanted to be sick. Wanted to run from this room, for the earth to swallow me up. But there was no escape, so I had to bury my pride.
“I can pay you. I will pay you,” I declared, remembering all the past-due bills at the trailer, all the people my mother owedmoney to, the reputation she had that stuck to me like glue until I moved.
“But if you would be willing or open to some kind of repayment plan, I would be much appreciative,” I added, feeling as if my throat were closing over. “I will pay. I’m good for it.”
I hoped he’d take me at my word. If we were in the town I spent my formative years in, no one would take a Morgan at their word. My mother had burned enough bridges, racked up enough debts, and fucked over enough people to ensure that our word was worth less than the paper it was written on.
Oh, how I wanted to be in a position where I never blinked at a bill, never worried about money. Never had to demean myself in front of anyone. Never felt pitied.
I would, I promised myself. I would never worry about money, never count pennies. One day, I would be at a grocery store and buy whatever I wanted without looking at the price.
Never would I have to half beg a lawyer to offer me a payment plan. Never would I again feel this level of guilt and shame.
Marty, to his credit, did not look upon me with pity or even annoyance. He looked at me like I was a respectable person to be trusted.
