Page 81 of The Me I Left Behind

Tell the sonofabitch to go fuck himself!

You’re smarter than this, Carol. Don’t let him suck you in.

Oh, God. He’s just like your asshole father.

And you’re acting just like me.

She’d be the first to admit that she had previously ignored niggling things about this Logan situation—things that had made her uneasy—but had yet to bring up with Carol.

Maybe it was time?

She peered deeper into Carol’s questioning eyes. Was she reaching out for help? The last thing she wanted to say was the wrong thing. No way in hell would she say the kinds of things her mother would have said. She wanted no reason for Carol to turn away from her—and run smack into Logan’s arms.

They’d come so far in their relationship—she couldn’t screw it up now.

“I see,” she said. Maggie leaned in for another hug, then whispered, “Let’s talk more later, honey, okay?”

Pulling back slightly, she searched her eyes.

Carol gave her a quick nod. “Sure.”

“Mommy! Let’s paint!”

Her hand idly traveled from Carol’s shoulder to her hand. Maggie squeezed it once, then swiveled toward Chloe with a smile. “Yes, of course. Let’s get you started. We need the canvas and a pencil first, so you can draw your selfie. Can you find the pencils in the box?”

“Yep.” Chloe happily busied herself with the items, taking out one at a time.

Maggie glanced back at Carol, who had turned away now, and was slowly stacking books.

Jason came in from the garage carrying empty boxes.

Chloe was downfor the count after a couple of hours of drawing and erasing and re-drawing and erasing some more, followed by painting and glittering. After which, she claimed she would finish another day…and could she please have some more tuna casserole before her bath?

Maggie supposed it was better than ice cream. Maybe.

She’d be damned if she’d let her girl go to bed hungry. She’d done that enough herself, as a child and as an adult. Besides, Chloe’s weight was just fine. She was a growing child, after all.

Both Jason and Carol had gone to their rooms early, too, but Maggie suspected Carol was still up. She’d heard her showering in the bathroom she shared with Chloe earlier. Softly rapping on her door, she cracked it open slightly and saw the glow of her bedside lamp.

“Still up, honey?”

“Yeah.”

Maggie moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. Carol sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a shoe box in her lap and a couple dozen photographs scattered about on thebed in front of her. When Carol lifted her gaze, Maggie saw her tears.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispered, sitting beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“This.” She shoved several photographs towards her, sending them flying. “What’s wrong with my asshole father?”

Maggie sifted through the pictures. All of them were photos of Max and Carol. Many she’d never seen before and wondered who had taken them. At least she didn’t remember doing it. Carol was very young in most of them, under the age of five or six, Maggie guessed. There were a few when Carol was older, too—at soccer practice, her piano recital when she was twelve, pictures of her and Max fishing in the mountains.

She studied Carol. “Were these in his office?”

Carol wiped her eyes with the corner of her bedsheet. “In the cabinet below the shelves. There’s one for Jason too. But not Chloe.”

That didn’t surprise her. Max hadn’t doted on Chloe like he did Carol—and even Jason when he was younger. He’d always resented Maggie getting pregnant the last time. He’d insisted she get an abortion, but Maggie had refused.

That wasn’t a pleasant time in their marriage.

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