Mom stiffened next to me, obviously realizing my same concern when she asked, “May, honey, were you up all night and all day?”
Maybelle retreated a bit, folding her hands on her lap. “I’m not tired.”
But she was. I could see it in the dark smudges under her eyes and her drooping lids.
“You’re definitely tired,” I volleyed, finding myself trying to poke the bear.
She shot me a glare, placing a hand on the table. “I am not.”
Her nose scrunched, and her eyes turned to slits with defiance. It was really—really hot. I couldn’t hold back the taunting smile that now gripped my own features.
Mom leaned over the table, intervening by placing a hand over Maybelle’s now balled fist. “It’s okay to be tired, May. It’s normal. We all need rest.”
Maybelle’s face softened when she faced my mom. “I lost an entire year of my life to sleeping—I need to stay awake. I can’t sleep for one more second. At least, until I can walk better. I need to—live—but I can’t do that if I’m constantly sleeping and filled with the anxiety that I’ll stop waking up.”
She stared at her lap, refusing to meet our eyes. Iunderstood. She was just as scared to sleep as I was watching her sleep. Maybelle slowly stood from the table holding her dinner plate. “Thank you for dinner. If you don’t mind, I’m going to eat in my room. Have a good night.”
Standing tall on trembling legs, Maybelle successfully staggered to the wall and slid down the hall to her bedroom.
My attention wandered back to my mom, who studied me like a hard equation.
“What?”
Her face turned up as she put a hand to my forearm. “My sweet, overprotective son.” She shook her head. “I know it’s scary because you care about her, but she isn’t made of glass. She isn’t fragile, but her heart is right now. She needs you to believe in her more than you fear for her.”
I slumped because she was right, but she wasn’t done.
Mom squeezed my arm once more. “It’s no longer your job to fix and bandage up all the problems. I know you were put in that position growing up, but Maybelle Mason is leaps and bounds more independent than I ever was. She is not going to shatter, but she might burn out if you smother her.”
She said this so simply. Like the topic of my roles in being her protector and fixer at a young age after dad bailed was a common topic of discussion.
It wasn’t.
But again, my mom had a point. She and Maybelle were very different, but that didn’t mean Maybelle didn’t need someone looking out for her too. It just meant I needed to adjust my approach.
20 Stay
Maybelle
That cold pizza my first night might’ve been delicious, but this lasagna was a whole other level of exquisite goodness.
I sat on my bed, devouring my dinner, wishing I could go outside my room to thank Chelsea for the best meal I could remember having. Except my pride would not allow it, which was childish, but I didn’t care.
I was just so angry… But more than anything, I was frustrated at myself for looking forward to seeing Trey. I was excited to show him how well I was walking, to talking with him, to hearing how his week had been.
And, ugh, I hated to admit it, but I was exhausted.
I rose off my bed and placed my finished plate on the desk against the other wall. My legs still shook under my weight, but I didn’t need to hold on to anything to cover the short length of my room now, which was progress.
At this rate, I bet I could walk the length of the house with no help by next week. My pride at the thought dwindled as I scrutinized the fallen bookcase, felt the soreness in my bruised hip and remembered Trey’s concern, his fear—his lack of faith in me.
Forget him, I thought.
I was doing great, and that’s all that mattered. Therewere bound to be a few bumps and scrapes here and there along the way. But what I couldn’t get out of my head was the feel of his hand caressing my hip and him pressing me into the wall.
Trying to distract myself from the thought, I knelt before the case and scattered books. I lifted the empty shelving and began filling it with the novels. A few of the books were beautiful, decorated with sparkling details and leather-bound.
One book was open on the floor. Plucking it up, I skimmed the first pages.
