Page 68 of The Make-Up Test
Ellipses.
Ellipses.
Ellipses.
Allison braced for the novel-sized rant Sophie was drafting, but when her message came through, it was only a few words.
Sophie Andrade: Why didn’t you tell me?
Because I didn’t think you’d care.Allison’s heart hammered against her ribs. It was a simple answer, and yet so complicated at the same time.
She was still staring blankly at Sophie’s last text when the phone rang in her hand. The screen read “The Cross-stitch Queen.”
Mandy.
She thought about Colin again. Her heart sped up, and a flush stole into her cheeks as a few images from the night before popped into her head. How could she explain him—or what had happened between them—in a few texts to someone who only knew Colin 1.0?
But with Mandy, there was nothing to hide. Nothing that needed explanation. There was no Colin except 2.0 with her.
Clearing her message app, Allison hit the green button and said hello.
“Your dad. Allison. I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
As she busied herself making some English muffins, Allison explained what had happened. She even filled Mandy in on a little of their history.
“So, wait. How did you get home? You were pretty smashed when I last saw you.”
Allison took a deep breath. And a giant leap. She didn’t know yet what she and Colin were, but she didn’t want to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“Colin drove me,” she admitted.
“Oh, did he now?” Allison could practically see her friend’s knowing grin, even through the phone.
Chapter 24
Jed’s new hospital room was larger than the one in the ICU, yet with him alert and staring at her, it felt as if there was barely enough space for Allison to breathe.
Gripping the strap of her purse as an anchor, she did her best to mask the deep, calming breath she pressed from her chest.
“Where’s your mother?” Jed asked gruffly.
“Working a half shift.” The verbal feats Allison had had to perform to get her mother to agree to go to the diner for the afternoon were virtually Olympian. She’d pleaded and reasoned and finally, when all that had failed, had admitted to finding the late bills and paying them. Allison didn’t care about the money; when her mother inevitably tried to pay her back, she’d refuse it. But her mom needed to detach herself from the bedside of a man who would never have shown this much care for her.
“So, I’m going to be alone all day?” Jed scratched at his salt-and-pepper beard.
Anger boiled Allison’s blood. How was it that yesterday she was ready to cry over this man? “Are you alone right now?” She watched the heart rate monitor, letting its spiky rhythm ease her own pulse:120, 117, 119.
Her father’s eyes found the ceiling. “No.” He spat out the word like a petulant child who refused to admit he was wrong.
Allison moved deeper into the room. Draping her coat over one of the guest chairs, she sat gingerly at its edge, still gripping her purse as if she might flee at any minute. “You know you’re not her responsibility, right? You left her.”
As much as Allison had welcomed her parents’ much-needed divorce, she hated that, in the end, it had been Jed, not her mother, who had left. And, in what would be a surprise to no one, he’d done it for another woman. A thin one, whose wiry adult son worked at his electrical company. From what Allison could piece together, that’s how her father had met Paula. She’d brought cookies to the office or some other equally antiquated domestic gesture, and Jed had slept with her for months before he bothered to end things with his wife.
The monitor beside his bed beeped, its numbers rising:135, 131, 132.
“Where is Paula anyway?”
“Home.” Groaning, her father dug his head deeper into the flat hospital pillow. If Allison were her mother, she would already be searching for a new one. Instead, she was wondering how to come by a flatter and less comfortable replacement. Maybe some sheets made out of the hair shirts medieval monks used for penance, to boot. Good bedding should be a luxury available only to the pure of heart.
