Page 65 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“Let’s talk later when my head is clear.”

“Sure,” she says as she walks out of my room.

Chapter 27

Lark

“It’s official. County General has the worst coffee in the world.” I plop back on the waiting room seat and hand my tasteless cup of coffee to Lincoln.

“Wow, thanks,” he says sarcastically as he takes a sip before promptly depositing it in the trash can next to us. We’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for Eric’s test results. Fine, it’s been two hours since we came back here, but it feels like much longer.

“I can go get us real coffee, if you want,” I offer. His phone buzzes, and he peers down at it. His phone has been blowing up for the past hour, ever since Gwen confiscated his social media account and posted about his dad being in the hospital. Lincoln was beyond pissed and spent twenty minutes in the hallway yelling at Gwen. Now every ladder climber in the greater LA area is sending him messages expressing their worries over his father.

“Don’t answer it.” I take the phone out of his hand and stick it in my pocket.

“Lark.”

“Lincoln, I don’t know how you deal with all these social climbers and piranhas. But you do not need to be dealing with them today, OK? I’m your PA. Let me handle it,” I urge.

“Fine,” he mumbles as he slides back into the uncomfortable seat. I cross my legs and uncross my legs several times. I seem to have hoards of nervous energy.

“I’m going to see if your mom wants anything,” I say standing up as I lose the battle to sit still.

“Lark, just sit down. She’s probably fine.”

“Lincoln, I…I just need to check, OK?” I can’t explain myself. I can’t explain all the times Margie has made me a cup of coffee or vice versa when she’s stopped by the house unexpectedly when Lincoln isn’t home. This family is still in pain, and they need to get it sorted out, but I’ve never felt it was my problem until right now.

I walk toward Eric’s room. He’s sleeping and Margie is sitting in the same chair we left her in, reading a magazine.

“Hey,” I say quietly, trying not to wake Eric.

“Hi, Lark,” she says. “Don’t worry, he sleeps like the…” She trails off before she can say the word “dead.”

“Margie?” I ask, breaking her train of thought.

“Uh, yes, dear?”

“Is there anything I can get you, coffee, tea?”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m fine. That’s sweet of you to ask though.”

I sit down on the chair next to hers.

“I didn’t realize Carrie’s buried across from your house,” I say.

Margie’s eyes widen. “He went to visit her then. That’s good,” she says. “It’s good he hasn’t forgotten her.”

“W-why would he forget her? He loved her,” I say in shock.

“Oh, you know Lincoln, he’s busy with his music. And his busy life.”

“You don’t know, do you?” I ask in shock.

“Know what?”

I take her hand in mine. “Margie, Lincoln misses her every day. He has pictures of her. He even wrote a song about her. He does charity work because of her at a local hospital and at an animal shelter because she loved animals,” I say, and then wonder if I should drop the bomb about Asher, but decide this conversation is enough for now.

“B-but he never wants to talk about her,” she says, mystified by my words.

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