eggs, biscuits, gravy, and onions. I grab a little of everything and turn around to the dining table to find my normal seat next to Mack free. I sit as Mack is finishing his meal and wiping his face with a paper towel. He gives me a blinding smile and bends to kiss the side of my neck. Everyone and all the sounds around me ceases to exist as I indulge in his attention.
So much can change in such a short time. Two months ago we wouldn’t have wanted to sit at the same table, let alone been able to spend more than a minute in the same room together. I still remember the pain in my chest when Mack was near. Now it’s a different kind of pain, or maybe that isn’t the right word. I ache for Mack. I love him so deeply that I fear losing him on a level I never knew existed before. When I was younger, I thought losing him was inevitable. Every day Mack and I saw each other, slept together, I prepared myself a little more each time.
After all, I thought I was my mother. Self-centered and fated to hurt any man who dared to love me. Except, I’m not. I’m a good person. I’m strong, honest and I care about those I love. I’ve more than earned the love Mack and I have re-captured. And I’m not afraid Mack will walk away from me. He’s more than made me feel secure in our relationship.
No, I have this ache deep inside of me that comes with an everyday love. One where fears fester, and that I’ll wake up one unsuspecting day and all of sudden he’s gone. Taken from me by disease, car accident, shooting or simply falling down the stairs in his own home.
Two months may only be sixty days, however, the time between then and now, the moments Mack and I have spent together may as well have been forever. Because I’ve never felt more content, more loved, or more at home than I have in the past eight weeks. And I’m guessing like most people in love or those who have wonderful families, these fears will always be there, festering away just below the surface, underneath the heavy heart beats and bright smiles.
Sound begins to filter back into my world and slowly my focus becomes clear again. I’m looking at Mack and he’s grinning back at me as if he knows I just got lost, but he’s patiently waiting for me to come back to him. I give him a full smile.
Mack stands and takes his dishes to the sink. Staring at his back, my recent thoughts remind me of something. Mack has a whole other family out there. A blood family. People who probably think their little boy died a long time ago.
I’ve asked Mack if he’ll seek them out. If he thinks about them often. His response was; “I’m twenty-eight. I’ve no need for parents and I have enough brothers and sisters to look after as it is.” His demeanor is always calm and his response seems thought-out. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I’d want to see them, even if only from afar.
I look to my left. Della is sitting next to me staring at her breakfast, looking lost. She came home six weeks ago. On bed rest for four weeks and she’s been up and about for the last two weeks. Her bullet wounds have completely healed, except the scarring.
Four days after Della came home she almost pulled some stitches arguing with Slater.
Mack and I were walking up the front porch steps when we heard Della’s angry voice loud and clear.
“Where is he Slater?”
Mack opened the front door quickly. Most likely wanting to know why his brother and sister seemed to be in such a heated argument.
I’d been living with the Kings for just over two weeks and I’d never heard them fight like that before, not even little disagreements. Della had been home for four days, and each day I’d heard her ask all her brothers where Brett was. Their answers were all the same. “No idea.” But each day her tone had gotten angrier as if she knew they were hiding something.
“Della, quit yelling,” Slater growled. “You’re going to pull a damn stitch.”
“Then tell me where Brett is. He left my hospital room saying he’d be right back and then he never returned. He won’t call me back. He won’t text