Page 32 of This Life and All the Rest
He nods slowly, watching me as if he’s debating saying something more. I wait him out, but he must decide against whatever it was he was considering, because he turns and walks into the kitchen.
I hold my breath and stare at his retreating back.
So many emotions surge through me that my head swims and I feel dizzy. I want to go after him and make him say what he was going to say. I want to rage at him and demand answers.
Where did you go? Why wasn’t I enough? How could you give up on us?
But I’m afraid of what he’ll say.
I gave him everything once, offered my heart up on a silver platter, and what did that get me?
A fast-track ticket to rock bottom.
An emptiness I can’t seem to fill.
A blackout date on the calendar, and a broken heart.
After Andrea leavesfor the hospital, and Macon takes over Evelyn duties, I drive my rental to the art supply store in Norfolk.
I’ve missed driving. In Paris, I ride my bicycle or take the metro. Nothing quite compares to driving your own car on open American roads.
I’m typing up a list on my notes app in the parking lot when a video call rings through. It’s late in France, so I’m surprised Franco is calling, let alone coherent enough for conversation. I answer with a smile, half expecting to find him very drunk on the other end.
“Hey,” I say brightly, and he scoffs.
“Hey? Who are you answering the phone withhey? You’ve been in the States for less than a week, and already you’re talking like an American.”
Franco is lying in his bed, his dirty blond hair seeming darker against the stark white of his pillowcase. He’s got that sexy bedroom look going for him, sultry eyes and plump lips, and he holds the phone just far enough away from his body, so I get a decent view of his naked chest.
I laugh and shake my head.
“Iaman American,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“Please, do not remind me.” I swear he’s making his French accent even thicker on purpose.
“This is prime socializing time for you,” I say, changing the subject. “Shouldn’t you be out drinking or dancing?”
Franco usually sleeps late because he likes to go out late. I’m the opposite. I love to wake up early. Even on sleepless nights, I’m up with the dawn. I work better when the day feels new and fresh. My creativity flourishes because the sunrise keeps my nightmares at bay.
“Ah, but I miss you. I wanted to hear your voice. The bed is cold without you.”
I click my tongue and shake my head, amused. I don’t even grace the comment with a response. He’s so full of shit. There’s no way that bed has been empty since I’ve left. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was someone in it right now, angled away from the phone camera, just out of sight.
“How is your father?” he asks, and my smile falls a bit.
“As good as can be expected,” I tell him. “They’re bringing him out of his medical coma tomorrow, but it could be a few days before he wakes up.”
“That is good news, yes?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I purse my lips and cock my head to the side. “Actually, I think I might be here a little while longer than I planned. A week or two more.”
“No, baby,” he whines dramatically, making me laugh. He makes a pouty face, poking out his plump bottom lip and giving me puppy dog eyes. “Do not stay away from me anymore.”
“Just until my dad is awake, and I know he’s going to be alright. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”
“Anything,chérie.”
“Would you mind going to my apartment—”
