One of her brows arches at the question, as if it’s a ridiculous thought. “Why would he?”
“You were spending time together,” I shrug. “A gentleman would at least offer.”
“Well, you already know I’m sober, and my car is in the parking lot,” she tells me, “so I won’t have any issues getting home.”
“Don’t move. Give me thirty minutes,” I blurt out, a little more commanding than I really intend to, “and I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Like a gentleman,” she teases.
I smile at her, finish off my brownie, and quickly make the final rounds for the evening. I tell everyone thank you for coming, for donating, and I tell Davis and his little group of cohorts to make sure that they get any of their messes cleaned up before they leave the venue.
As promised, nearly thirty minutes later on the dot, I walk with Rowan to her car: a very old, very beat up sedan that probably has ten years or more on her. It’s dented and rusted over at the fenders. I don’t think the thing even has air bags. She really shouldn’t be driving it, especially in weather like this. One wrong move and those tires are done for. Probably her, too.
I hold the door open while she climbs in and lets out a breath as she drops her purse on the seat next to her. She fixes a smile onto her face and buckles her seatbelt.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” I ask, trying and most likely failing to hide my concern over the state of her vehicle.
“I will,” she promises as she pulls the door closed and rolls down the window with some effort, using a crank built into the door. “Thank you, Mr. Fowler. That was very gentlemanly.”
I pat the roof of the car as she winks at me, and I watch as she drives off, making sure that at least as long as she’s in my eye line, she’s safe.
TWO
Rowan
I quietly step out of my shoes, trying to be as silent as possible, and I carry them as I walk into the house. It’s past eleven thirty, which means it’s way past my sister’s bedtime, and I don’t want to wake her up with the clacking of my heels on the linoleum of the kitchen floor.
After grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge, I slowly make my way up the stairs. When one of the steps creaks beneath my feet, I hear a grumble from down the hall followed by thethudof my dad’s bedroom door slamming shut. I flinch at the sound and heave a sigh, knowing I’ll be hearing about this tomorrow.
•
“If you finish your pancakes,” I say, trying to bargain with my sister, “when I get home from work tonight, we can watch any movie you pick.”
She considers for a second, deciding which animated movie she’ll subject me to, before grabbing her fork in her fist and shoving it into one of the already-sliced hunks of gooey, syrup-covered pancake on her plate and popping it into her mouth.
“Pick us a good one,” I tell her as I take the last bite of my scrambled egg.
She responds by bursting into song, belting out part of the soundtrack to her choice of movie, and I can’t help but smile as I look at her. Macie is only five years old, but she’s my favorite person in the world. She’s so smart and so kind, and I think she got that from our mom.
Sometimes, I wonder if she remembers that day; especially when I focus on that little scar over her cheek. It’s not obvious if you don’t know to look for it, unless she’s smiling, then it crinkles just enough to draw attention to it.
I wonder if she remembers anything about our mom. Three years without her has been hell on me and Dad, but Macie seems to be doing really well. She’s making friends at school, she sings and dances and puts on performances any time I give her half a second to, and she’s always smiling. She’s my only truly bright light left in this house.
Once Macie has finished eating, I pick up both her plate and mine, taking them to the sink to rinse them off before setting them into the lower rack of the dishwasher.
I hear Dad’s lumbering footsteps before he comes into the kitchen, and I can tell by the sound of his footsteps that he’s already irritated. Most likely with me, because since Mom died, everything that I do seems to be wrong.
“Hey, kiddo, go upstairs and brush those teeth so we can leave, okay?” I tell her, inclining my head toward the stairs.
Dad stomps into the kitchen not even a minute later, surrounded by a cloud of cheap scotch, and he walks over to the coffee pot to pour himself a mug.
“You know, if you’re gonna be out partying all night, you could at least be fucking quiet when you come home. It wakes people up.”
“I wasn’t partying,” I correct him, “I was at a work event. And I was home before midnight.”
“Ooooh, Rowan gets invited to special parties,” he jeers. “She’ssoimportant, no one else matters.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you. I tried to be quiet, and didn’t expect the step to make noise.”
