Page 65 of This Life and All the Rest
“It’s nothing,” I say. “Don’t even mention it.”
“It’s something, Macon.”
His voice cracks and his eyes fill with tears. Mine do the same.
I’ve seen Trent cry three times in all the years that I’ve known him.
Once when he married my mom, once at the hospital when Evelyn was born, and once on the day he took Lennon to the airport to send her to England.
Right now, in this hospital room, makes four.
“I can’t imagine what I would do if I couldn’t see Evie grow up,” he says. A tear trails down his cheek. “If I couldn’t hold your mom again. What you did...Thank you.”
I sniff and wipe my eyes with my palms. All I can do is nod. If I try to talk, I’ll lose it. Trent is quiet for a minute, his eyes distant as he runs something through his head.
“I didn’t know who Lennon was at first,” he says, breaking the silence. “She looks so different. I saw her and I just...nothing. I really upset her.”
His expression is one of guilt. He feels terrible. I grip his shoulder again, this time giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“She’ll be okay. She understands.”
Trent looks at me. Studies my face for a moment, searching. My defenses start to rise and my shoulders tighten. I know what’s coming.
“Have you talked to her?” he asks. I shake my head. “You should.”
“It’s not the right time,” I say quickly.
“The timing will never be perfect,” he says, “but life is too short. If your accident hasn’t taught you that, then mine should. You should be proud. You’re a good man, Macon.”
I brush off the comment and take a step back.
Sure, I’m in a better place. But good? No.
I’ll always be the addict. I’ll always be the fuck-up. It doesn’t matter how much I do; it doesn’t change who I am at my core.
I fucked up so many times with her already. She doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t believe I can ever be worthy of praise or affection. And what if she’s right? What if, even after everything I’ve accomplished, I still manage to let her down?
Last night proves that I haven’t grown as much as I thought I had. Taunting her. Provoking her.
I want to squeeze my eyes shut in disgust at the way I let myself treat her. I played into every single one of her negative opinions of me.
“I’ll think about it,” I say to Trent, but I can tell from the way his lips purse that he doesn’t believe me.
He opens his mouth to speak, but we’re cut off by another knock at the door.
“Hello, sir,” Claire calls playfully. “You an admiral yet?”
He laughs a raspy, painful laugh, and she winces at the sound.
“Not quite,” Trent says, and Claire crosses the room and gives him a hug.
I hear her start to cry on his shoulder.
“Shh, shh,” he whispers. “We’re all okay now. It’s all going to be okay.”
NINETEEN
I leavethe hospital shortly after Claire arrives.
