Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (classic fiction TXT) 📗

“All of you will live long and happy lives. It might take a while to get there, but you have to have hope. It’s all we have sometimes.” Andrew covered my hand with one of his in a gesture meant to impart comfort, but one which, because of my heightened state, did anything but comfort me.

Thankfully, we didn’t have much more time to sit and chat. The nurse entered the reception area, and my hand fell away, torn from another universe in which Andrew and I sat as a couple, not friends. The nurse called Lexie’s name, and she ran to me as I stood up and grabbed my purse and jacket. Andrew’s eyes sparkled, full of genuine concern mixed with hope for me. Saying he was a good man would be an understatement. My entire being sensed it.

A shudder passed through me, forceful enough to make me stumble against the chair, as if long arms had pushed me, over the precipice and into an abyss. The battle within me ended as I toppled into that metaphorical void, a place it would be hard to come back from. I clutched Lexie to my chest, hoping to hold onto something concrete, positive, and innocent. My gaze held steady with Andrew’s.

Chapter 16: Theo

Doc had been right: having an acquaintance was useful. I told her as much at my next therapy appointment, recounting most of the details of my dinner with Andrew. She didn’t verbally say a word, but her smug smile was all the answer I needed. Looking back on that night, I hadn’t given any details to Andrew, but I felt a bit uplifted by our camaraderie. That wasn’t a phrase from my vocabulary, but Doc seemed to use it often. And it made sense now. I’d been doing a lot of thinking about my situation, and something needed to change, but what? Some days, I still looked at Sadie and wondered what the hell had prompted me to agree to divorce. Actually, make that most days. She was and always would be the one who got away. Had I any balls, I’d have done something about it. But I didn’t. I barely took care of myself, much less anyone else.

So, how the fuck would I take on a project the size of what Andrew proposed? Though I’d turned him down, I still carried it around with me in a folder everywhere I went, maybe as a desensitization technique. That afternoon, while I was at the kitchen table perusing the details for the hundredth time, my phone rang: Sadie’s name popped up on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay, what is it?” It had to be close to time for her to be home. Why not wait until she got here?

“Can you come out here? I’m outside in the driveway. I’ll meet you on the porch.”

Inside my head, I laughed at her, but to do so outwardly might cause trouble. She wanted to chat about something and didn’t want the kids to interrupt. “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

I pushed my papers to the side, put the pen on top, and walked to the front porch. We’d put the porch on after we bought the house, a little space for Sadie to have her quiet time in the mornings. Those mornings were more important now that we were no longer together. She’d never said as much, but I sensed it. And now, she sat, staring forward at the neighbor’s house.

“What do you need, Sadie?” I reached for the wooden swing and tumbled into it. The paint on the arms of the swing curled up in spots, and beneath the seat sat the remains of Charlie’s bowl—still waiting to be fixed or repurposed. Hadn’t Sadie said she was going to do something with it? Would she ever get around to it?

“I don’t need anything, Theo. I want to talk about something.”

“Okay. This sounds serious.” What thoughts crossed through her mind? We’d already discussed divorce and were on track for that. Sort of. Was she going to pressure me to sign the papers? I needed to—

“I guess it could be Theo. I’ve been thinking about getting the kids into therapy.”

Visions of the kids lined up on a couch, their faces long, swam in my head. “Therapy? Really?”

“Well, we’re a bit stressed here these days, and I wonder if, I wonder if they’re handling everything the way they should. Like maybe this is all too much for them.”

Trying to hold back a smirk, I pursed my lips. How could she tell if they were handling things or not? She worked. A lot. Now, Brooke? Asking her if the kids were okay made sense. That malignant thought worked its way through my head, and a benign one came on its tail: she worked to keep life going the way it had in the past. But knowing it and believing it, with addled emotions, were two different things. The ups and downs of this condition continued to shock me, at least when I recognized them.

“I don’t know,” my voice sounded tired, a bit annoyed.

Delia wandered onto the porch, moving her head as if she were searching for something.

“What are you looking for, honey?” Sadie said.

“My snail. I can’t find her anywhere.” Delia sniffed.

“Did you ask your brother and sister?” My tactic always involved Charlie and Delia. Those two would find the proverbial needle in a haystack if given enough time.

“Yes. They can’t find it. Brooke can’t either.” Delia crossed her arms over her chest, and a tiny scowl marred her features.

“Listen, we’ll be right in to help you look. Give me a couple of minutes to speak with your dad, okay?” Sadie’s sweet voice cut to my gut.

Much like I would have done, Delia narrowed her eyes and cocked her head before speaking. “Okay. Just a couple minutes?”

“I promise.” Sadie patted Delia’s back.

She made her way back into the house, poking into each crevice she encountered along