“Barely hurts anymore.” She raised her splinted hand and mimicked a cheesy dance move, then pointed at him. “You. Come here.”
He resumed his spot on the bed next to her. After everything he’d done for her, there was no way she’d deny him the ability to hear, and she couldn’t very well get out of bed. She was fairly certain she wasn’t wearing anything underneath his sweatshirt.
Gill walked into the room. Stopped. Took in everything. “Dr. Stone, what you doing here?”
“Mr. Montgomery called when Evanee wouldn’t wake up.”
“Looks like she’s awake now.” Muttered sarcasm made a wide trail through Gill’s words.
“Wow.” She matched Gill’s sarcasm and raised him one. “Seriously?”
Lathan threw his words at Gill. “You’re pissed at me—fine. Be pissed at me. But stop being an ass to everyone else.”
Gill faced Lathan, surprise lit his eyes. Guess he hadn’t expected Lathan to hear his mutterings.
“When she touches my cheek, I can hear.” Unrestrained excitement filled his voice. And she was happy for him. So happy to give him the gift with her touch.
Gill didn’t say anything, but disbelief narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not bullshitting. Thought you deserved fair warning. Talking behind my back won’t be tolerated.”
Gill mock-saluted him with his middle finger.
Instead of inflaming the already tense situation, the disrespectful gesture made Lathan chuckle.
Dr. Stone’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen and then answered it. “Matt?” He listened for a moment, then his gaze darted to Evanee. “I’m with her right now.” He held the phone out to her. “It’s Matt.”
Matt? Why the hell did he want to talk to her? She didn’t want to talk to him, and she didn’t want to take her hand off Lathan’s cheek to hold the phone. “Hello?” Her voice came out harsh and laced with attitude.
“Thomas called me. He doesn’t have your phone number and thought I’d know how to get hold of you.” His tone was an accusation.
“Okay.” What was she supposed to say? “I’ll call him in a few days.”
“Evanee.” Matt’s voice softened and she heard the echo of past affection, but he didn’t say anything else. The seconds ticked by.
This was ridiculous. As if she didn’t have enough shit going on in her life. She sure didn’t need to be having random phone calls with Matt. “I’m hanging up.”
“Thomas said…” The volume of Matt’s voice trailed off. “He said your mom’s dying.”
Only three words—Your mom’s dying—but they weighed more than any others ever spoken to her. They settled on her shoulders, binding her to the awful moment.
“He said your mom has only a few hours left, and she wants to see you. She’s at home.”
The line fell silent.
Evanee couldn’t think of anything to say. No words seemed to exist. She handed the phone back to the doctor.
Lathan placed her hand on his cheek. “What is it?”
She met his gaze and couldn’t look away. “I need to call Ernie. I’m not going to be at work tonight.”
“What’s going on?” All of Lathan’s attention was on her.
“I need to go to my mom’s. Right now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s. Dying.” She spoke each word separately, yet they still added up to the same meaning as when Matt had uttered them.
“I didn’t realize she was sick.”
“Neither did I.”
Chapter 12
Six hundred ninety-six Dandelion Lane.
A strangeness came over Evanee. Numb, but hypersensitive. Dizzy, but steady. Disconnected, but coherent. Anger mixed with fear, desperation, and shame. No words could adequately describe the emotions waxing and waning inside her.
Every time she visited she entered an endurance test for her masochistic side. Long ago, she had discovered her masochistic side was quite small and fragile.
The Victorian mini-mansion was painted lively yellow, trimmed in pristine white, with red, blue, and green striped awnings covering all three of its expansive porches. Its design was distinctive in a town where most of the residents cobbled together their homes room by room.
On either side of the front porch pillars, Rob’s traditional autumnal display presented a magazine-perfect picture—bundles of cornstalks, pumpkins, and mums. Behind the decor, ugly memories crouched in the shadows.
“If you don’t want to be here, we can leave.” Lathan shifted to see her face, his eyes full of understanding he couldn’t possibly possess.
“I don’t want to be here, but I can’t leave.” She wasn’t making any sense, but Lathan accepted her words.
She forced her feet to move up the sidewalk, flanked by Lathan and Gill, who insisted on coming to watch his friend’s back. Gill might be an asshole, but he was a good friend to Lathan—most of the time.
Lathan knocked on the door. Good thing, since knocking hadn’t occurred to her.
An older woman answered. Her thinning gray hair was twirled into a tiny bun and perched on the tippy top of her head like a bird’s nest. She wore autumn-themed scrubs and a heavyhearted smile of compassion. “You must be Rosemary’s daughter. You look just like her.” She motioned for them to come inside. “She has been waiting to see you. I’ve administered another dose of morphine so she’s resting quieter now.”
Evanee walked across the threshold and felt diminished—like she was three feet tall, a helpless little girl again. She hated the feeling, but it settled into her, nestling beneath her skin and burrowing into her brain. Nothing ever changed in the house. Maybe that was why she always felt like she’d never grown up whenever she entered it.
Gleaming hardwood floors. Ornate antiques—a Victorian collector’s dream. No dust. No dirt. Nothing out of place. She didn’t need to look to know the wedding photo was over the mantel. The entire home was designed to produce a picture of family happiness. All of it a lie.
Lathan tucked her tightly to his side, his arm a steel band of strength and protection across her back.