A Mother Would Know (73)

It’s probably what I should’ve done. But I couldn’t leave like that. I had to talk to him, force him to see reason. “Please. I just need a few minutes.”

When minutes passed in silence, I let out a frustrated groan and took a step back. Maybe he wasn’t home, after all. Maybe he went somewhere in someone else’s car. One of the guys? Or...a girl?

My stomach soured at the idea, even though I knew I had no right to feel this way. I paced the length of the porch trying to shake off the thought, and that’s when I noticed the slit in the curtain at the far right of the big window, the one overlooking his family room. I cupped my hand and peeked in.

It was a mess inside. Not that I was surprised. Mac’s ability to focus singularly on the things he was passionate about left no room for things like tidying his house, and I’d watched him go through enough breakups before our own to know he tended to let things go when he was upset. There were beer cans and an open pizza box on the coffee table. On one of the end tables was an empty plate, smears over the white ceramic that resembled ketchup.

But glancing below the table, I saw it. The edge of Mac’s bare foot. The rest of him was obscured by the table, but a funny feeling settled in my gut. Something wasn’t right.

I knew the slider in the back didn’t lock. I’d let myself in that way once when we were together—so he came home to find me naked in his shower, steam swirling. Dropping the notebook, I sprinted around the back of the house. Once inside, I hurried to the family room. If Mac was fine, passed out drunk or something, he’d be pissed that I had barged in. But it was a chance I was willing to take. Honestly, I was hoping for it.

“Mac,” I breathed out, falling to my knees.

He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, eyes open wide. Too wide. Unblinking. I couldn’t look at them. His right elbow was bent in an unnatural way. Near his hand was a pill container, an empty bottle of vodka. Blood pooled near his temple. It was smeared on the corner of the coffee table above him too as if he’d hit it on the way down.

With shaky fingers I felt his wrist for a pulse but found none. His skin was cold to the touch.

I couldn’t bring myself to call the police at first. He was gone. There was no bringing him back. And these would be the last moments I had with him. Even though he couldn’t hear me, I said all the things I wished I’d said during our last conversation. I told him he was the love of my life. I cried. I held his hand. I said I was sorry.

And then I called 911.





25





Darren hollered my name from downstairs, his booming voice echoing across the vaulted ceilings. Irritation rose inside of me. I was exhausted, having spent all day out with Mac trying to book gigs around town. We’d gotten more noes than yeses, and I was feeling slightly defeated. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I rubbed my tired feet. The stilettos I’d been wearing were discarded on the floor right below my toes. I made a mental note to wear flats next time, even though deep down I knew I wouldn’t.

“Those heels make your legs look even sexier than usual,” Mac said to me this afternoon while he trailed behind me into a club.

I smiled briefly at the memory and then shouted to Darren. “What?”

“Come down here.”

I groaned. God, couldn’t he read my mood? What I wanted was a bath and some peace and quiet, not to be summoned downstairs for reasons unknown.

“In a minute,” I hollered back. Rolling my neck, I blew out a breath. Then I reluctantly stood and shuffled out of my room on my sore, aching feet. I was desperate to change out of my skirt, but it looked like that would have to wait.

As I headed down the stairs I faintly heard soft jazz music playing. Rounding the corner, I found my family in the dining room. Candles glowed in the center of the table, four plates were set and in the middle were cartons from my favorite Thai restaurant. The scent of curry and coconut wafted under my nose.

Darren smiled. “We knew you’d had a long day, so...” He swept his arms out toward the table.

The kids stood on either side, grinning.

I instantly felt bad for my irritation upstairs. Stepping forward, I walked into Darren’s waiting arms. “Thanks,” I murmured into his shoulder.

“It was actually Hudson’s idea,” he said.

Of course. My sweet boy.

I turned to my son. Bending down, I wrapped Hudson in my arms. He melted into me, his sticky fingers on my neck.

When I stood, I glanced around. “This was so nice, you guys.”

“I helped, too,” Kendra interjected.

No doubt she did it reluctantly. Cresting on her preteen years, she’d been pretty moody and distant as of late.

“Thanks, honey.” I touched her shoulder gently, unsure of what kind of affection she wanted. She’d never been an affectionate girl, even less so the last few months.

As Darren pulled out my chair and helped me into it, my smile deepened. But I felt a fresh wave of shame—over my affair with Mac, which meant not just infidelity, but also time stolen from my family. Dishing up my food, I glanced around the table and made a vow to myself that I’d break things off with Mac. That I’d be a better wife and mom.



* * *



“What is going on?” The desperate, hushed words coming from outside my bedroom door pull me from sleep. I’d been dreaming of when the kids were younger, and when Darren was still here.