Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I’m equal parts impressed and appalled by Todd’s words because they are designed to scare her. They clearly have an impact because Sylvie’s expression reveals she is mulling over his words.
Todd takes her hand and pats it. “Remember… the judge said he would reevaluate things in two months. He said he would take your wishes into consideration and if you want this judge to take you seriously, you have got to give this a shot. You have got to show him you tried. You have to give your father a chance.”
“He’s not my father.”
It shouldn’t hurt me to hear her say that, but it twinges. Yet I understand her for some weird reason and I hold no animosity for her denial.
“He is your father by law.” And then Todd says no more. He leaves that hanging there along with all his other advice he’d just imparted to this little girl and leaves it up to her to make her choice.
Sylvie withdraws her hand from the attorney’s grasp and to my shock, moves to me. Right past me without a glance and never looking backward to say goodbye to her grandparents, although she does call out, “Don’t do anything to my room. I’ll be back in a few months.”
And with that, Sylvie marches up the steps and through the open door into the house.
My head swivels back to where Sylvie just disappeared to Todd and back to the house again. Todd stands, garnering my attention again, and we both watch as, without a word, Lionel and Rosemund get back in their vehicle and pull away.
Todd turns to me. “Would you like me to talk to her some more?”
I rub a hand over my stubbled jaw in consternation. I hadn’t bothered to shave this morning because I didn’t have a judge to impress, but I’m wondering if I should’ve made more of an effort where my daughter is concerned. As of now, she doesn’t think much of me at all.
“No. I think I need to handle this on my own.”
We shake hands and after Todd leaves, I bend down to pick up Sylvie’s suitcase. I turn toward my house with a sigh.
As the eldest Blackburn child, I’ve faced many adversities over my lifetime. For years, I’ve been working upward of eighty hours a week. I brush off stress and pressure like it’s annoying lint on my shoulder. And at this moment, I’m not sure I’ve faced anything more daunting.
But I’m a Blackburn, so I draw my shoulders back and march up the porch steps into the house and to my daughter.
I find Sylvie standing in the foyer, her head tilted and looking up the staircase. She doesn’t move or flinch when I shut the door. Setting the suitcase down, I move around her so I’m in her line of vision. She refuses to return my gaze, instead turning toward the formal sitting room, looking through the open pocket doors. “Why is everything so old?”
While I’ll always think her French accent is beautiful, I also recognize the fight within her tone. The need for her to denigrate because she doesn’t want to accept any of this.
I brush past her and into the sitting room, assuming she will follow. I’m not going to command her the way Lionel did because I want her to have some control. She comes in behind me and I’m pleased, sweeping my arm out to indicate the plethora of antique furnishings and artwork. “I’m surprised to hear you belittle history. You lived in a very old country, far older than the United States. I assume you were surrounded by many things that were old and had historical significance. Surely, you’ve seen many buildings that were built hundreds and hundreds of years ago. By those standards, my home is quite new.”
“Lionel and Rosemund’s house is very contemporary and modern. I prefer it.”
Touché, little girl.
I move to the mantel and point to the oil portrait above it. “This is your great-great-great-great-grandfather, Robert Blackburn. He built this house.”
“He looks mean,” Sylvie says as she studies the painting.
I smile. “If only half the stories I’ve heard about him are true, he was not the warmest of men. Very dour in nature. Took his job seriously. But he loved his family.”
Sylvie doesn’t reply, but instead starts to pace around the room, looking anywhere but at me.
“Would you like to see your bedroom? We didn’t have a lot of time to get it ready, but my mother—your grandmother—bought new bedding and curtains. Of course, if you don’t like them, we can get you something else.”
“It won’t make a difference. I won’t be here long.”
“Well, I hope to change your mind. Hope you’ll at least give me a chance.”
Sylvie wheels around. “I’ll give you nothing. The Blackburns deserve nothing.”
I shoot up a prayer for patience. My tone is soft but chastising. “I see someone has been filling your head with lies.”