Chapter 18
SUMMER
Ifed Quinn some Annie’s macaroni and cheese before we turned on Wish. It felt very reminiscent of the evening I was planning to have: dinner at an Italian restaurant followed by a movie at The Flicks theatre. Except my intended company was much older.
Joe took it decently well when I called and canceled.
Not so well when he asked to reschedule and I turned him down.
I don’t know what happened to Everett today.
I don’t know what happened between us the other night.
But I do know my priorities lie with him and Quinn.
I’ve never been more sure of anything. Which is strange because three weeks ago I would have jumped at the chance for a free meal and a fun night out with a new guy who had everything going for him.
But beyond this being my job, I care about Everett and Quinn’s well-being more. If he needs me, whether or not in the way I was hoping for, I’ll be here. Nothing is going to stand in the way of that.
“Okay, Quinn. It’s time for bed,” I tell her as the credits roll.
She yawns, tucking her small fists beneath her cheek and snuggling into my side.
“I know. I could fall asleep here too. But I’ve also sat on your bed, and I promise it’s cozier.”
“Otay,” she says.
I pick her up and carry her with her arms draped around my neck. She nods off against my chest, but jostles awake as I swim through a mountain of stuffed animals to get her tucked beneath the covers.
“Bunny?”
I sift through fur and stuffing, hands coming up empty for a bunny. “I don’t see it. Where’d you leave it?”
“Da-eee woom.” She points across the hall. His door’s shut. I’ve been in there before, but that was when he invited me in. This time it feels like an invasion of privacy.
“Do you think we can get Bunny tomorrow? Look at all of these other cute friends you have… Mr. Chicken, bok, bok.” I swing his bird legs so they brush the covers. She giggles. “Or Mrs. Piggy, oink, oink.” She scrunches her nose, creating tiny creases on the sides that I lean forward and kiss.
She shakes her head.
“No? It has to be Bunny?”
She nods.
If I wait long enough, she’ll probably fall asleep. But I don’t want to risk making her cry before that. Grabbing a bunny isn’t the end of the world.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
I pad across the hall, which is ridiculous because Everett’s out in his soundproof studio. The glass handle turns with the twist of my wrist, and I flick on the light to his room.
It looks the same as the last time I saw it. Smells the same too.
I spot the bunny right away, an ear flopped over the edge of the nightstand. When I pull it from the surface, it exposes a notebook, cursive handwriting scrawled in blue ink across the page. At a quick glance, the only specifics I catch are numbers… eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine.
I peek at it again. They continue on, nearly reaching the bottom of the page.
I should walk away. I got what I came in here for. But Everett’s so closed off sometimes. So withdrawn. It would be nice to have some idea of what he’s thinking.
One line, I convince myself. That’s all I’ll read, and then I’ll leave.
87. Don’t use the pull tabs when putting on her favorite pink boots.
I read another.
88. Throw out the pancake batter. Stick to cereal.
What is this? My eyes fuse to the page.
89. Use detangler on her hair when she gets out of the bath.
90. Don’t bathe her before school.
Suddenly I’m picking up the notebook. My fingers are glued to the pages. It’s a list.
I’m flipping back to the beginning. Searching for number one. When I find it, I choke back emotion at what I read next.
Mistakes I Won’t Make Twice
1. Hold her when she cries.
2. Read her a bedtime story.
3. Kiss her ouchie when she gets hurt.
4. Tell her mommy’s coming home soon, even if she isn’t.
5. Sing if she needs you to.
I’m drinking in this list like it’s water in the desert sun. Afraid if I don’t finish it, the world as I know it will cease to exist.
“Summa,” Quinn whines from across the hall, and I snap the journal shut. Fling it on the nightstand and flee the room. I stall in the hall, swiping at my eyes and hiding the evidence that I’ve been crying. Then I pop the bunny’s head from beyond the doorframe and hear her giggle.
“Bunny!” she squeals.
Bunny gets tucked under the covers just like Quinn. She snuggles her cheek against its soft fur.
“Da-eee home soon?” she asks.
I have to swallow to keep myself from crying. “Yep. Your daddy is going to finish writing a song for you, and then he’s going to come in and give you a kiss, okay?”
A happy little sigh leaves her lips, and a dreamy look paints her face. She’s gazing up at me; I’m gazing down at her. I swipe the hair from her eyes. Ones that tell a story of devotion. A look that says I’m beginning to mean as much to her as she is to me.
I want this moment with her to last, so I stay until she’s fallen asleep.
Maybe even a little while after that. I stare in awe at her perfectly pink cheeks and her dark dancing eyelashes as she dreams. I miss her, and I haven’t even left her room yet.
Is this how it feels to love a child so completely?
Thoughts of Everett are the only things that finally pull me from her room.
I pace the hallway for a while, but it’s not suppressing the ball of nerves wound up in my stomach.
I told him the other night that he’s doing better than he thinks.
After finding that list, I’m not sure he believes me. I need to see him.
I snag the baby monitor from the kitchen and check the screen. Quinn’s still fast asleep, but I should make this quick.
A soft melody floats down the garage steps as I ascend them. The closer I get to the door the more I recognize the song. It’s my favorite one he’s ever written—words of love and devotion painted in sounds.
The door is cracked. As if he kicked it and it rebounded off the frame. Not open enough to see more than his boot through the slit, so I press on it, and it expands. A creak follows and the music stops.
I see him now. The voice was coming from his phone. It’s clutched tightly in his hand, and he’s crying on the sofa.
“What are you doing out here?” He stuffs his phone in his pocket.
His eyes are stormy and guarded. He looks broken.
A bottle of bourbon is clutched in his hands.
Shattered fragments of records litter the ground.
At one point, he must have launched off the couch and kicked the leg of the coffee table because it’s snapped off and the whole thing is collapsed on one side.
“I came to see if you’re okay.” I step across the threshold, glass crunching beneath my shoes. He hasn’t moved from the place he’s reclining on the couch. I get close enough to sit beside him, to reach my hand out, and he jerks back like my touch stings.
“Do I look like I’m okay?” he spits. His nostrils flare and his ribs expand with every new puff of air they take in.
No. In fact, he looks terrible. The place reeks of alcohol and sweat.
I won’t touch him if he doesn’t want me to, but I’m staying.
I’ll sit across the room. That’s the most space I’m giving him.
I’m not leaving him out here alone. I can tell he needs someone right now, and he’s going to have to get used to my being around.
I flick open the kickstand on the back of the baby monitor and rest it on the cracked desk. The chair with the broken wheel beside it tips to the right when I sit down.
Everett is a good listener. I’ve seen him study my lips. Watched the corners of his eyes squint as he takes in what I’m saying. That’s the kind of person he needs right now.
“It looks like you could use someone to listen,” I offer.
“Is that what you do, Summer? Listen to the men in your life who tell you what they want from you?”
I know he’s referencing Brian without saying his name.
I can spot jealousy when I see it. I just don’t know why he’s acting that way when he’s made it clear our relationship is strictly Quinn-related.
I’m the only other person in this room. An easy target.
He’s choosing to throw a less-than-subtle jab at me instead of facing whatever it is that’s got him worked up.
Based on that video he was watching, he’s been out here thinking about Eliza. He wrote that song for her. He’s hurting, and hurt people hurt people. But I won’t let Everett hurt me.
“No,” I say back.
“That’s what I thought. So why did you let that prick drag you into the hall?
” He has this dangerous smirk on his face now, and I’m getting whiplash from the different versions of Everett that are existing in this room.
He’s using a cavalier sneer as a weapon to shock me.
I won’t let it. Another thing I choose to ignore.
“How’d Quinn’s evaluation go?”
His head twists to the side. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” I press.
“Because it doesn’t fucking matter, okay? It’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
I watch Everett’s brick wall crack right in front of me.
It starts with his head, tipping forward in his hands.
His fingertips grip his hair and pull until his shoulders are shaking.
His entire body shudders when the devastation leaves his mouth.
A wail swallows the silence in the room until his pain is all I hear.
My body is begging for me to cross the space and comfort him.
Normally I’d fill the silence, but not this time. He needs me to wait and listen. To stay put and respect his space. He confirms that was the right decision when he finally whispers, “It’s too late to save her from me. I gave her my disability. I gave her APD.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. All this time, I sensed that Everett was hiding something. I think this might be it.