The Mother: A Novel

By Farin Powell

After her father’s death, 25-year old Helen Miller needs a fresh start. She finds a job that takes her to Paris. But when her charming new boss, the rich 45-year old Jake Klein, begins dating her, Helen can’t resist falling for him despite the age difference.

Shortly after a fairytale wedding, Helen discovers disturbing news about her husband’s past. Feeling homesick, dealing with a difficult pregnancy and her troubled marriage lead Helen to return to DC. She tries to start a new life with Jake and their daughter Daisy, but finds it impossible to ignore Jake’s infidelity. She divorces him not knowing she cannot escape Jake’s manipulative actions.

Daisy’s illness and an inexplicable turn of events force Helen to ignore Jake and concentrate only on her daughter’s happiness, not knowing that a new love is waiting for her in an unexpected place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781532085789

Farin Powell

Farin Powell practices law in Washington, D.C. In addition to many legal publications, she has published short stories and poems in various literary magazines and poetry anthologies. She is the author of two books of poetry; A Piece of Heaven, and Life Is Good. The Mother is Powell’s fourth novel. Previous novels are Two Weddings, Roxana’s Revolution, and The Judge. For full bio, see inside. www.farinpowellbooks.com www.farinpowell.com Amazon.com, Farin Powell page

Book preview

Prologue

When Helen arrived at the chapel, the wedding ceremony had already started. Jake, her ex-husband, was exchanging vows with his bride. Helen found an isolated chair near the door far away from the pew and sat there quietly. Stretching her neck, she tried to locate her daughter, Daisy. She found her among the bridesmaids. No one knew that the nineteen-year-old blonde in pink taffeta had only six months to live.

Since Daisy’s surgery, Helen had pleaded with the oncologist not to share the survival rate of glioblastoma patients with Daisy or anyone else. Glioblastoma—what an ugly name for a vicious brain tumor! It took Helen two attempts before she could pronounce the type of cancer that was killing her daughter.

She hated to be in that church attending a wedding, her daughter’s fate the only thing on her mind. Since the day she received the scary news, Helen had experienced a series of panic attacks. At least a few times a week, she had imagined Daisy in a casket, in a grave, or life without her only child. She had hoped to see Daisy graduating from college and getting married. Instead, she was witnessing her ex-husband’s wedding. She had promised Daisy she’d be there—to show Jake she was happy for him. A loud applause and the playing of the traditional wedding march interrupted Helen’s train of thought. She ran out of the chapel, hid behind a huge indoor plant nearby, and waited for Daisy to emerge. The bride and the groom were the first two individuals out of the chapel, followed by the photographer, the bridesmaids and the guests.

As they were heading out to the garden behind the church, Helen caught sight of the bride. Daisy had already told her that Irene—her dad’s new wife—was a forty-five-year-old real estate agent who lived in San Francisco. Irene was a fair-skinned, tall woman who looked younger than her age. Why does he keep marrying someone twenty years his junior? Helen had been twenty years younger than Jake when they were married.

Helen was desperate to leave the church, but she needed to see Daisy first to show her that she had kept her promise. When she saw dozens of guests lined up to take pictures with the newlyweds, she realized she’d be waiting more than an hour. She approached one of the church’s ushers and asked him to deliver a message to Daisy. She is the blonde bridesmaid with a ponytail. She turned around and walked toward the church’s exit door. She peered outside as she pushed out the memories of her own wedding to Jake.

Mom.

Helen turned around and gasped when she saw Daisy, accompanied by her dad and his bride, heading her way. Oh my God!

PART I

Chapter 1

That Wednesday in March of 1992 had been the most important day for Helen since her graduation from college. She had prepared for this interview for days. The job, which required living in Paris, was her ticket to freedom and the end of the sadness that had engulfed her life. For the past five years, she had cared for her sick father while attending college and working part time. After college, she got a permanent job with Child and Family Services Agency of D.C. As a social worker, she was responsible for the welfare of a dozen neglected children, ages three months to seventeen. She loved her job, except when she had to enforce the court’s orders, removing children from their families and placing them with foster parents. She went out of her way to find the most suitable homes for them. But the kids, even the older ones, never understood why they had to leave their homes, their parents, or the relatives they had known all their lives. After her father’s death, Helen could no longer bear the sad days at work; she quit her job.

*     *     *

She arrived at her destination on time. From the outside, the building resembled many typical commercial buildings in downtown D.C., but once the elevator door opened on the seventh floor, Helen found herself in the entrance hall of a mansion. She thought she had perhaps stepped off on the wrong floor, but the name of the law firm—Klein, Connelly, & Goldberg—engraved on a fancy golden wall opposite the elevator caught her eyes and confirmed that it was, indeed, the correct location.

She approached the receptionist and introduced herself. Please have a seat, said the receptionist. Mr. Klein’s secretary will be with you shortly.

While the receptionist was on the phone, Helen’s brain acted like a camera taking snapshots of everything in the entrance hall. There were six velvety blue Louis XVI chairs. She sat in the one closest to the reception desk while admiring the floating double staircase located on the opposite side of the elevator. The two staircases landed on a grand foyer with a piano in one corner and an unusual sculpture in another corner. A huge sparkling chandelier on each level and modern paintings on the walls of the second level provided ambience to the elegant décor.

Ms. Miller, my name is Teresa Wagner, said a tall, slim woman. I’ll take you to Mr. Klein’s office.

Helen extended her hand and shook Ms. Wagner’s hand. Nice to meet you. Ms. Wagner seemed to be in a hurry; she didn’t reciprocate the greetings. Helen detected a British accent and realized the lady in a black suit was probably not the right person to ask why the law firm looked like a corner of the Versailles Palace.

Jacob Klein, a senior partner of the firm, was waiting for her. Ms. Wagner announced Helen’s arrival, and then she left.

Welcome, Ms. Miller, Mr. Klein said as he shook Helen’s hand. He led her to a comfortable couch opposite his desk and sat in an empire leather chair behind the desk. Are you familiar with our firm? he asked.

Yes, I am, Helen said, smiling. You founded the firm twenty years ago when you were only twenty-five. Then your two law school friends joined you.

So I can’t hide my age. Klein chuckled.

I know you’re the third largest law firm in D.C. with offices in New York, San Francisco, London, and Paris.

Wonderful. Since you know everything about us, let me ask you some questions about you.

Please go ahead.

You seem to have taken several pre-law courses, but chose a different profession …

Your ad didn’t say I needed a law degree.

You don’t. If we hire a law graduate, then we’d have to pay them an associate salary. I was just curious.

I wanted to go to law school but was the sole caregiver to my sick father for five years. I also had a part-time job, so three years of law school seemed like an eternity. I decided to become a social worker.

Before I forget, I had another question—your resume indicates that you are fluent in French, but you never took any French courses in college.

My mother is a French Canadian. She spoke with me in French since I was a toddler and bombarded me with books teaching me French literature.

Wow that explains it… . So you said you loved your last position, and you have a master’s degree. Why are you applying for a legal assistant job?

My father died last year, and my boyfriend left me. I have to be honest with you—I need to get out of this town. I can’t bear the sadness I’ve experienced over the past few years.

You said you were the sole caregiver. Where was your mother, may I ask?

My mom divorced my dad when he got sick. She lives in San Francisco with my younger sister and her husband.

Well, you meet all the requirements of the position.

Helen held a happy scream inside and listened to Mr. Klein’s explanation about the job. He was planning to expand the European branches of the firm by working at the Paris office. He was looking for a full-time assistant for at least two years. I will have meetings and work-related dinners after the usual nine-to-five routine. So I’ll need my assistant with me at odd hours.

I have no problem with that.

Congratulations—you got the job.

Helen got up and shook Mr. Klein’s hand. When do I start? she asked.

In two weeks, but first you have to see Ms. Wagner. You need to fill out some forms and go through orientation with her.

Chapter 2

Helen buckled her seat belt and looked outside from the plane’s window once more, as if she were saying goodbye not only to the city, but also to the misery she had endured for the past five years. She was waiting for the flight attendant to finish her instruction so that she could start working on her job assignment. Mr. Klein had given her several contracts to review and a research assignment. He had sat next to another attorney on the opposite side of the plane discussing legal matters. Helen had never traveled first class, so she was a bit annoyed when the flight attendant asked her several times whether she needed anything. But she felt very happy, not only for the new job, but also for seeing Paris again. Her mother had taken her to Paris once when she was fifteen.

Despite her excitement, something was nagging at her. Although she tried to figure out why she was worried, she couldn’t. She had sublet her apartment and had said her goodbyes to her mom, her sister, and her friends, enjoying her mother’s initial shock that she had landed a job in Paris. She didn’t miss her family or anything she had left behind. Suddenly, it dawned on her: the nagging voice in her head was related to some of the things she had heard from Ms. Wagner during the orientation session. She had been surprised that she hadn’t seen any family pictures in Mr. Klein’s office, yet Ms. Wagner had a framed photo of Mr. Klein, his wife, and a young boy.

Mr. Klein is a devout family man, Wagner had said. He loves his family, and despite his many overseas trips, he spends a lot of time with his wife and his son. Helen also learned that part of her job was to make sure nothing inappropriate would happen around Mr. Klein. When she asked Ms. Wagner to explain the word inappropriate, she was told: Mr. Klein is a handsome, wealthy man, so many girls are dying to get near him. It’s your job to keep them away when he attends parties.

Helen was angry with Ms. Wagner. She felt that Mr. Klein’s secretary was indirectly telling her hands off. How dare she, the man is only a few years younger than my father! Helen had never dated anyone over thirty. But she kept quiet. After two orientation sessions with Ms. Wagner, she had realized that the woman was more than a secretary. She was managing the law firm.

She agreed to every duty imposed on her, yet she wondered what she was supposed to do if Mr. Klein himself encouraged or welcomed those inappropriate behaviors at parties.

*     *     *

The plane took off from Dulles Airport at midnight. It was supposed to land in Paris the next day at 2 p.m. Central European Standard Time. Helen needed a few hours of sleep. She adjusted her seat and took advantage of the empty seat next to her by laying two cushions on top of the seat as pillows. Then she laid her head on them and closed her eyes.

When she woke, she found her head on the shoulder of Mr. Klein and her body covered with a soft blanket.

Good morning, said Mr. Klein. You’re awake.

I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would sleep that long.

Your head was in a bad position, so I came over to lend you my shoulder for support and asked the flight attendant for a blanket. The air-conditioning was harsh.

Thank you so much, Helen said. I’m so embarrassed.

Don’t worry. By the way, I read a few pages of your research, I was very impressed.

Thanks. Helen liked Mr. Klein’s fatherly gesture; she only wished Ms. Wagner had been there to see it.

They had a smooth landing on time. She was excited to start a new life in Paris, yet she felt a little nervous about whether she could handle a job that didn’t have specific guidelines. The V.I.P. treatment she received during the flight continued at the airport and outside the terminal. Mr. Klein introduced her to a young man named Bob. "Bob will take care of you today. Take the day off and get settled. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow, a demain," he said as he waved goodbye and joined two men who were waiting for him. Apparently, he had to attend a meeting with an important client.

While Bob carried Helen’s two heavy suitcases, he informed her that he was going to help her as long as she needed him. After they climbed into Mr. Klein’s limo, Helen’s first question was: Do you know where my hotel is?

You’ll have a fully furnished apartment, Bob said. Mr. Klein owns several apartments in Le Marais area, and some in Quartier Latin.

Has he chosen one for me already?

No, most of them are rented. There is one vacant in Le Marais, one in Quartier Latin.

Helen visited the apartments in both areas and chose the one-bedroom apartment in Quartier Latin. She loved the sidewalk cafés outside.

You and Mr. Klein must have the same taste, Bob said smiling.

How is that?

His apartment is on the top floor in your building.

Hellen killed a sigh inside. This was additional pressure she didn’t need. She would probably end up working eighteen hours a day. But she loved that apartment.

How much is the rent?

You don’t have to pay rent as long as you work for the Paris office.

Helen felt a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. She didn’t know how many more surprises she could handle. The job was already paying her twenty thousand dollars more than her previous job and included a chauffeur and a rent-free apartment!

Chapter 3

The Paris branch of Klein, Connelly & Goldberg was located on avenue des Champs-Élysées, but Helen’s office also had a nice view of the Arc de Triomphe. She soon realized, though, that her job involved so many meetings, she didn’t have time to sit at her desk and enjoy the views of des Champs-Élysées or l’Etoile. The firm had ten American associates and five French ones, with one French partner who was traveling most of the time. Helen was surprised that everyone spoke English, and the interior décor of the firm resembled a typical American firm. One day, when Mr. Klein was not too busy, Helen got the courage to ask him about it.

Your firm in D.C. looks like a little part of Versailles, she said, but the French branch has typical American décor. Your ad emphasized fluency in French, but everyone here speaks in English!

"Voilà! Mr. Klein smiled. I wouldn’t dare have French décor in this office. At the D.C. office, I like to have a little touch of Versailles. As for the French language, I’d like you to tell me what the secretaries are saying about me behind my back when they get together. Mr. Klein smiled again. I’m joking. I need your expertise when it comes to some difficult words in our contracts. He was about to leave for a meeting, but he stopped at Helen’s desk and asked: Any other observations?"

Well, I’m trying to lose my French-Canadian accent and learn the Parisian accent. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking with a thick Southern accent in Chicago.

Despite the long hours of work, Helen enjoyed her job; everything was exciting, never a dull moment. She soon learned that other attorneys referred to Mr. Klein as a mover and shaker. He was a powerful man. He had many lunches with European ambassadors in Paris or was invited to receptions in their embassies. One day, Helen found him on the phone talking to the prime minister of Israel; two days later, he had lunch with a rich Arab sheik from one of the Persian Gulf states. She couldn’t help asking Mr. Klein whether he was concerned about the existence of potential conflicts among his clients.

The sheik is harmless, Mr. Klein smiled.

The job was going smoothly until Helen realized that the French attorneys were flirting with him on a regular basis. When she brought it to Mr. Klein’s attention, he reacted: Blame it on French women.

Why? They like it?

They consider it a natural thing. Sometimes I think if they don’t receive it, they feel insulted, like something is wrong with them.

Helen asked the chauffeur to give her rides only in the morning because, on those rare occasions that she didn’t have to accompany Mr. Klein to a meeting or a reception, she liked to walk and discover Paris on foot. During her first trip to Paris, Helen’s mother had rented a car because Kate, her younger sister, refused to walk after a few short blocks, so she was driven everywhere. This time, she wanted to have a rendezvous with Paris all by herself. Every bit of free time she got, she walked in Cartier Latin, and when she felt tired, she sat in a chair outside of a sidewalk café, drank café au lait or espresso, and watched Paris go by. One day, she climbed up all the steps to reach the Sacré-Cœur, then climbed back down and relaxed in one of the sidewalk cafés in Montmartre and let a street painter draw her portrait.

She spent another day in the Notre Dame Cathedral and visited some museums. Helen decided to save visiting the Louvre for later. She knew she needed several days to finish touring the world’s most famous museum.

One day after a long meeting at the office, Mr. Klein thanked Helen and said, "You deserve a