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I’m drying my hands when I hear a door open, followed by excited voices. Footsteps rattle the aluminum tube called a house. I’m not used to that.
Would it be too much to ask to be allowed to sleep through dinner? Social-me is off my game. Here’s to hoping fake smiles and polite nods will suffice.
As I gaze into the mirror, I begin to understand why Marco is at the ready every time I take my feet. I look like death. I try to straighten my sloppy shirt, but the wrinkles pop stubbornly back into place.
There’s more shaking and more commotion beyond the walls of the tiny-for-a-master bedroom. Pretty please, can I stay in here all night?
I tip open the bedroom door. An entire freakin’ herd of people has entered the trailer in my absence and every single one of them has poured themselves into the shoebox kitchen on the far side of the living room. Marina is stirring the giant pot on the stove, beaming. Rachel is easy to pick out of the group. She’s young, gorgeous, and bobbing around Marco with effervescent glee. Aw. She loves her big brother.
Her boyfriend, a lanky blond kid with curly hair on top, stands awkwardly behind her, shifting his feet and clinging to one of her hands like a lifeline. He should be nervous.
There’s a tall Hispanic man in a tan uniform, with a gun and other law enforcement paraphernalia about his waist. He’s so tall that he could flatten his palm against the low popcorn ceiling if he wanted to, but his arm is around the waist of a woman I can’t entirely see. A trio of kids—a teen, a tween, and a toddler—are straining to be part of the gaggle. Marco is quite the rock star in this household.
And I am quite the interloper. What was I thinking?
The throng splits suddenly, and when it does, Marco glances up and our eyes meet. His smile widens. Atme. He motions me forward, and in that instant I feel like I belong, with him, if no one else. Still, I don’t move fast, especially when the babble quiets and a dozen pairs of eyes land on me. Circling the heavy oak coffee table, I stop at the edge of the brown carpet, where Marco meets me and introduces me to his family, his people—of which I am not one, by the way. Except, his hand on the small of my back makes me feel like I am. The faces smile, even as I feel the curiosity, the speculation, and I want to hide when I see Marco’s giant of a brother-in-law flash him a thumbs-up I think was supposed to be surreptitious.
The focus shifts, and mostly, the family stays too wrapped up in Marco to bother with me.Whew.
I’ve about decided the evening won’t be the worst thing in the world when the big guy—Adolfo is his name—shifts away from the woman at his side and I get a full look at her. No, not her—at the pink-cheeked, dark-haired infant in her arms.
CHAPTER 23
Annalise
This evening, this dinner cannot end fast enough. The food is divine, but my appetite is nonexistent. Thankfully, my presence is not the story here, but rather, Marco is the star of this show. He’s not been home in almost a year, and his family has made it clear that is unacceptable. This is a crew that likes to joke around, and Marco is their leader. He can dish it out and he can take it. I’m intrigued as I follow along—the English parts—but mostly, as the meal wears on, I notice the strain I catch from time to time around Marco’s eyes, his mother’s occasional pursed mouth, and similar expressions from his older sister, Maria. Once, I catch a look from Marina silencing her youngest daughter as words form on her lips. Interesting.
I’m as nosy as the next person, but I’m also utterly fatigued and every time the infant—Lulu they call her—so much as whimpers, a shard of pain slashes through me. I was not prepared for the presence of a baby, and even if I had known, I would not have predicted this agony her presence stirs.
I shove my thoughts toward other things, things like sixteen-year-old Rachel, who is every bit as beautiful as her brother is handsome. Anyone could match them as siblings, although her eyes are a gorgeous chocolatey brown. Maria, the oldest of the family has eyes like Marco but otherwise didn’t draw the winning number in the gene lottery, not like her younger siblings. I wonder about the middle sister, the one who isn’t here. I’ve learned she is a nurse several hours away in Albuquerque.
I’m a bad person, aren’t I? Superficial and shallow, always focusing on the outside when the inside is what matters. Honestly, the most genuinely warm and welcoming of the women is the plain, older sister. The brother-in-law thankfully pays me very little mind, thankfully because although he cracks brilliant one-liners and laughs with the rest of them, he has sharp eyes and is huge and intimidating in his deputy’s uniform.
Tanner, the boyfriend, wearing his after-practice athletic garb and cutting-edge hairdo, has beads of sweat on his forehead that are totally warranted. He had my sympathy from the wordgo, but now that I’ve met Deputy Adolfo, who has been eyeing the teen like a wayward perp since dinner began, I have this impulse to tell him to run. Marco is not the only one with a strong protective instinct.
I make a last attempt at my dinner, but my stomach recoils, so I lay down my fork and rest my weight against the chair. We’re packed in like sardines, seven adult-sized bodies around a table built for four. The children are the lucky ones, lined up on the sofa watching some kid channel as they eat.
Little Lulu squeals, then tunes up in earnest. Maria pushes from the table, mumbling about a bottle, hands the little one off to Marco’s waiting and surprisingly eager arms, and disappears down the hall. Breath stalls in my airways. The two are the least likely pairing I could imagine, but Lulu quiets and returns a happy coo the moment Uncle Marco coos at her, setting her to rocking in his arms. Maria returns, bottle in hand, shaking her head. “Are you sure you can’t stick around for a while, Marco? Say, until Lulu is about two?”
She looks over at me. “We call him the baby whisperer around here—though none of us gets what they see in him.” But the way she squeezes his shoulder as she hands him the formula takes any sting from her words.
Marco’s jaw tightens almost microscopically. “Wouldn’t that be nice, sis.”
My gaze sweeps the gathering and I swear a somberness has blanketed the table, yet it vanishes so fast, I doubt myself.
Little Lulu is practically lost in the cradle of Marco’s musclebound arm. She sips and slurps, the liquid level in the bottle slowly receding. The picture the pair makes is unexpected and painfully sweet. I feel my impression, my opinion of him, jumbling, morphing. He’ll make a fantastic daddy to his own baby one day. The man is…well, let’s just say I could have done a whole lot worse picking up a stranger at a bar and leave it at that.
But one thing is sure: It’s none of my business what kind of daddy he may or may not make someday.
My heart doubles over in pain. The thing is, I may or may not be a mommy someday. The thought that one summer of poor choices may have taken motherhood off the table is crippling. I’ve wanted a career—but I’ve longed for a family.
My feet itch to jump up. Run. Curl under the covers and cry, but I paint on a pleasant look, ball my hands in my lap, and will my body to not make a scene. He’s been a real sport about things, but I owe Marco the decency of keeping the crazy in check. We’re with his family now.
The conversation drifts onto other things, none of which means anything to me, but when Marco oh-so innocently pipes up and directs a question to Tanner, the other interloper, my ears perk.
“So, Tanner.”
The teen’s head pops up. “Yes, sir?”
