Page 138 of The Last Man on Earth
“Sorry.” She looks at Bob.
He clears his throat. “On my side of things, we’re working to flood the algorithm with press about the rescue itself. Counterprogramming, we call it. When people search your names and ‘beach’ or ‘rescue’, it’ll be all about your survival story, not those pictures.”
Vincent nods. “Fuck.”
Tiana snaps her folder shut. “So, this is my weekend now. I had a date,” she says, laughing. “But he can wait. My only focus is putting out this fire.” She locks eyes with Vincent. “Stay offline and focus on your family. Let me do my job. Okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks, T.”
I peek into the living room, where JR is eating cookies in front of the tv. I feel bad for using the electronic babysitter, but we’re in no condition to entertain him at the moment.
Once Tiana and Bob leave, Vincent turns his attention to me.
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t take the pictures.”
“Yeah, but nobody would give a fuck about them pictures if I wasn’t in ‘em.”
I shrug. It’s all I can do at this point.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I swallow hard, feeling a retch coming on. Then my belly gets extremely tight, prompting me to put my hand on it. It feels hard as a rock.
“What?” Vincent looks at me in concern. “You okay?”
“I think I just had a contraction.”
“A real one, or one of them Toni Braxtons?”
I roll my eyes. “Now ain’t the time.”
“Sorry. You want me to call Dr. Ellery?”
I breathe in deep, then exhale out of my mouth. “It’s probably nothing.”
But he doesn’t look convinced, and I don’tfeelconvinced.
“Too much stress today,” he says. He kisses my forehead. “You wanna lay down?”
There it is again, but tighter this time, and with a little bit of pain.
I don’t know what I expected it to feel like, but this feels strange.
By the third one, I look at Vincent and shake my head.
“I think we should just go,” I say between breaths. “They’re getting worse.”
“Okay. I’ll call on the way.”
He grabs JR and my go bag and gets us on our way.
“Atlanta at three o’ clock,” Vincent mutters. “Hang on, baby. I’ma get us there.”
Wishful thinking, it seems. I-2o is standing still.
