Chapter 3 – Vivian

Being told to wait patiently, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a bleak hall was not something Vivian had wanted to be doing that morning, and yet here she sat.

Leg shaking without a care to the earthquake it was probably making, she stared absently at the wall opposite her seat. Colourful posters with smiling faces and uplifting quotes done in artsy fonts covered what would have otherwise been a bleak wall, but Vivian thought they were taking the positivity a little too far.

Averting her gaze from those toothy smiles, Vivian looked up and down the hall before letting out an impatient sigh. Shoulders slouching, she allowed herself to slide further into her seat, uncaring that her tailbone was already complaining.

She hadn’t had a choice on when they arrived here, which was all well and good, but it felt like she’d been waiting for hours already, and arriving that early to anything was just a waste of her time.

What was taking so long?

If she were being honest with herself, which she wasn’t, Vivian dreaded this meeting more than anything — she was about to meet her biological father today, something she’d never thought would happen. When her mother had been killed she’d figured that was the end of everything she’d ever dared to want in life.

And now here she sat, on the cusp of realizing something she hadn’t let herself dream of for nearly eight long years.

There was some excitement brimming inside her, but the anxiety was stronger.

Would they like her? Would they want to take her in? What were they like? Would they blame her for what happened? Were they decent people…?

So many questions without answers ricocheted in her mind as Vivian’s leg jiggled uncontrollably the longer she was forced to wait.

Life had been chaotic for Vivian, and she longed for something better, but worry gnawed at her very soul. Doubt in herself, as a person worth another’s love, had been long ingrained into the fabric of her life and it wasn’t about to go away. It was possible talking about it with a therapist would, eventually, untangle the knots that held onto such feelings, but she adamantly refused to talk about any of it. Whether it was a therapist, the police… it didn’t matter who asked, the answer would always be the same: silence.

A door just down the hall opened, startling Vivian from her thoughts as she sat up straight and looked at the man who stepped into view.

She’d met Charles Montague once before, two days ago now, and liked the him well enough; he had a certain charm to him Vivian couldn’t quite put into words. Still, he was a lawyer, and they were notorious for being sharks — if you weren’t their client they wouldn’t hesitate to stab you in the back.

“Vivian, we’re ready for you,” he informed the girl in his rough voice.

“Mm’kay,” she mumbled, pushing herself onto her feet and wincing. Her right foot, the one that hadn’t been bouncing around, had fallen asleep and the feeling of pins and needles became intense when she put her weight on it.

Seeing the look on her face, the lawyer took a couple steps in her direction but she waved him to stop. “Just letting my foot wake up.”

This brought a smile to the man’s face. “Understood.”

It took a minute before the torture to her foot had settled down and Vivian could walk without limping. Charles motioned for her to enter the room, holding out an arm to guide her through the opening.

The room was relatively large; there was an oval table in the very middle of it, surrounded by countless chairs. A quick estimate had Vivian deciding it could comfortably seat fifteen people.

The far wall was made of windows, letting the late morning sun illuminate the room without needing to use the overhead lights.

Three people were seated to the left of the door, two of them women Vivian recognized; the first was the social worker in charge of her, who decided on which home she was placed into or removed from; the second was a lawyer like Charles but she worked for social welfare, also known as child services. The social worker was Cassidy and was in the prime of her life, with blond hair cropped short, rectangular glasses and warm brown eyes. Vivian wasn’t overly fond of the social worker, but couldn’t deny the woman knew how to do her job.

The lawyer was Gerry and she was near retirement age, if not older. Her hair, the colour of freshly fallen snow, was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun at the back of her head. Narrow brown eyes made her blade of a nose look sharper. As serious as she looked, Gerry was relatively easy to deal with and Vivian didn’t mind her on the couple of occasions their paths had crossed.

The third person was one Vivian didn’t recognize but could guess as to his identity by process of elimination; he had to be her father, Samuel Devreaux.

He was the tallest person in the room, standing at close to or maybe just over six feet. Though his build was more on the slim side, Vivian could see that under the blue polo shirt and jeans was a body that saw the gym on a regular basis. Brown hair sprinkled with salt and pepper was kept short, matching his close cropped beard.

He was dressed casually but held himself in a way that told the room he was in charge, and this made Vivian’s heart beat uncomfortable hard. She had heard a few rumours about who he was as a person, but experience had taught her that not all rumours were true and it was best to save judgment until after you’ve met the person.

It was difficult to explain this to her pounding heart as Vivian turned to face the three adults who had gotten out of their seats to greet her as Charles turned and closed the door.