Page 31 of This Life and All the Rest
The way Andrea’s brow furrows as she turns to glance outside worries me, but when I follow her gaze, I find Macon smiling and chatting like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Hmm.
Macon spots his mom through the window and ends the call seconds later, before coming back into the house.
“Morning,” he says to her with a grin. “I’ve got her the rest of the day, if you want to head to the hospital.”
“Well,” Andrea says slowly, “I have some news.”
Her hands are clasped together in front of her, and I focus my attention on that instead of her face.
“The doctor called. They want to wake Trent up. It could be hours or days before he actually comes out of the coma, but they want to start the process tomorrow.”
I’m speechless. I’m excited, yes, but I’m scared. What if he wakes up and he’s not the same? What if there’s brain damage that they didn’t expect? I can feel eyes on me, but I don’t look up to meet them. I drop my attention to the floor and stare at the area rug, while rubbing my fingers gently over the sleeping baby on my chest, attempting to ground myself.
“That’s great,” Macon says. “Does this mean the tests are looking better?”
“That’s what they told me,” Andrea says, and I release the breath I was holding.
Okay. That’s good. Scans and tests and whatever else are looking good. It could be hours or a week before he wakes up. I might be here for longer than I expected...
“...and then there will be rehab,” Andrea says.
I finally look at her. She looks hopeful.
“Rehab?” I ask, and she nods.
“Physical therapy. His body will need to build back strength and coordination. Just for a few months, probably.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. This is good.”
“Yes. It’s very good.” Andrea is grinning as she looks between Macon and me, her smile faltering just the tiniest bit when she says, “I’m going to call Claire and let her know.”
She turns to leave the room, but I call out and stop her when a thought pops into my foggy brain.
“Andrea, would it be alright if I use Dad’s office while I’m here? I have a few smaller pieces I need to work on, and if I’m going to be here a little while longer...”
“Yes,” she says, her head nodding excitedly. “You can use whatever you need. You can stay as long as you like.” Her eyes mist, and her kindness makes my chest ache. “Is there anything you need me to get you? Supplies or anything?”
I shake my head slowly and force a smile.
“No. Thank you, but I can get it myself.”
“Okay,” she breathes out, head still nodding, smile growing bigger. “Okay, wonderful.” She blinks a few times, then gestures to the hall. “I’ll be back.”
“You can use the center,” Macon says once his mom is out of the room. “To paint, I mean.”
“Thanks, but I prefer to paint alone.”
I glance away from him when I say that. The words are true. Idoprefer to paint alone. Even Franco knows not to disturb me when I work, and he’s one of my closest friends. But a few years ago, with Macon, I felt the opposite.
A lifetime ago.
Now the idea of having him near me when I paint fills me with anxiety. It’s an intimacy I haven’t shared with anyone since him. It’s one I now prefer to keep to myself.
Being around him right now is hard enough.
“And I’d rather keep my work somewhere less public,” I continue. “You know, since they’re commissions.”
