Page 24 of This Life and All the Rest
When I’m finished, I quietly head toward the living room.
“Andrea?” I whisper, not wanting to wake the baby, but also not wanting to scare anyone. “Andrea, I’m back.”
I hear deep breathing, so I tiptoe around the couch, expecting to find that Andrea had fallen asleep with Evie, but instead, I find Macon, and I’m momentarily frozen in place.
He’s asleep, sprawled across the cushions with his head on the arm of the couch and one leg on the floor, and he has baby Evelyn curled up on his chest like a little kitten. One of his big hands, the left one that’s covered in tattoos, is resting protectively on her back while the other is bent up and propped beneath his head.
This scene. This sight.
It will haunt me.
Everything about it fills me with guilt and longing.
Even the rose tattoo on the back of his hand, inked with dark reds and deep greens in a fashion that almost resembles a watercolor painting, makes my eyes mist. The thorny vine that extends from the rose and wraps around his wrist is such a direct contrast to the way he’s cradling that baby. Evie sleeps so soundly, without a single care or worry. She’s safe and warm and loved.
And Macon is the one keeping her safe. Macon is the one loving her.
I bring my hand to my mouth, silencing the whimper that wants to escape, and slowly, I begin to take steps backward. His phone starts flashing on the coffee table, then, silently alerting him to a call that he will miss, and my eyes fall to the screen.
“Nicolette” is calling, and according to the contact picture on display, she’s a Barbie-esque blonde in a tank top and joggers.
I bristle with jealousy. I wouldn’t peg her as Macon’s type, but—I glance away from the phone and back at him—I guess I don’t really know him anymore.
The phone stops flashing, then starts again seconds later.
She’s persistent. I wonder if he’s blowing her off.
I roll my eyes and turn away, heading back toward the front door.
If Macon is blowing Nicolette off to snuggle with his sleepy, 10-month-old half-sister, she should consider herself lucky. He could be high and making out with someone else in the passenger seat of a sports car.
But I guess I’m the only one who got to experience that version of Macon.
And for better or worse, I can’t decide how I feel about it.
“Where’sthe Wicked Bitch of the Eastern Seaboard?” Sam asks randomly as I climb into her car.
After sneaking out of Andrea’s house, I walked to a downtown coffee shop and got an iced latte. I was hot, sweaty, and emotional. None of which makes me a very pleasant person to be around.
I let myself cool off in a corner, sipping on my caffeine, before finally texting Sam an S.O.S. I need to go get my rental car soon, anyway, and I told her that we’d grab dinner together.
I shrug as I buckle my seat belt.
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked. My guess is in Richmond on campus.”
“It’s aSunday,and it’sJune,” she says, pulling out of the parking lot. “What the fuck is more important on campus on a Sunday in June than your comatose stepfather, who paid for your tuition? Didn’t she just graduate?”
I shrug again and look out the window.
I know Claire was here the day Dad was admitted into the hospital. When she called me, I could hear Andrea crying in the background. I don’t know how long she stayed, or why she isn’t here now, but I haven’t given it much thought, and I sure as shit haven’t asked. I sigh and roll my head toward Sam.
“Honestly? I’m glad she’s not here. I need a little more time to adjust.”
“I get that. This is overwhelming enough as it is, and she’s an ominous dark cloud.”
Nailed it.
Sam and I pick up the keys to my rental car, then we drive to a nearby restaurant to grab some dinner.
