Page 47 of Don't Leave Me
“We’re not mommy and daddy to him. We’re mommy and this man from her past who keeps trying to butt into her life with sexting and cheesy broccoli tater tots.”
Marc got up in my space until I was forced to look up at him.
“And you like it,” he said softly. “You like that I’m forcing my way back in and there’s nothing you can do about it. You forget how well I know you. You forget what we learned the first time we were together in Florida. That you need me on top of you, pushing into you, fucking you instead of you fucking me. You need me to do all the work, and, right now, you’re waiting for when I’m going to take my kiss. Because you know it will be on my terms, not yours.”
I knew my face was red. I could feel my heart beating against my chest. I hated that he was absolutely right, and, that, when it came to him, I was so damn weak.
I’d been betting on motherhood, my bakery, that I’d made it out of a truly scary, life-threatening situation all on my own, to act as a defense against my weakness when it came to Marc.
Now, I feared it wasn’t going to be enough.
Danny shouted, which got both of our attentions. Apparently, he’d finished his tater tots and wanted more. I plucked a few more from the baking sheet and dropped them on his tray.
“You betrayed me for tater tots,” I whispered to him. He just smiled at me and continued to stuff his mouth.
* * *
A few days later
Marc
“There’re a few things we need to talk about,” I called out to her. I’d finished replacing the battery in her car, and, for that, she’d offered me a beer.
Sitting on her porch, waiting for her while she shuffled around inside to get herself a glass of wine, along with my beer, I rocked in the chair knowing I was wearing a shit-eating grin.
Tonight, I’d read my son a story after dinner. It was a book about trains, on which he made me point to every train on every page, and only when he was ready, did he decide to turn the page. My son was a stubborn and insistent individual. He’d sat on my lap; I’d sniffed his soft baby hair and worried anew if I was worthy of him.
After he fell asleep, I did the very manly duty of helping Ash with her car. That bought me more time to just chill together with her. It felt very normal, and, after the past few years, I fucking loved that.
Ash came out the front door and handed me the beer, then took the rocking chair next to me and sipped her wine.
“Like what?” she asked, having heard me from inside the house.
“Like practical things. Like money.”
“Do you need money? Now that I think about it, I haven’t even asked how you’re affording rent on your house. This neighborhood isn’t super fancy, but it’s a nice community.”
“No. After I got out of…after, I took a job working construction that paid well. I was living with George, so I was able to bank most of it. Then, I started working with a private investigator. First in North Carolina and now here. I’ve been doing odd jobs for him.”
“Private investigation? Really?”
I shrugged. “I had one mission. To take down Sanderson for your murder. I needed to learn the skills to do that.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. It’s the thing that always drove you. You equated money with power, and you wanted power, so you learned how to be an investor. You decided in prison you were going to need a trade, so you learned carpentry. You wanted to catch a bad guy, so you learned how to investigate people. One wonders what you might do if you decided you wanted to go to outer space.”
“I don’t have any desire to do that,” I told her. But the praise felt good. It always had, coming from her.
“So, what do you want to do?”
Easy answer. I looked over at her. “You.”
She rolled her eyes. “Real answer please.”
“That is a good question. Dean Benfield offered me a job. He’s willing to overlook my conviction.”
“Of course he is, because he knows you didn’t do anything wrong!”
Praise first, now defending me. Almost like it was before. Except not like it was before, because before, I took it for granted. So much for granted, I didn’t even realize it until she was gone.
