Secondhand Sinners

by Genevieve Lynne

  “I did,” Jack said after taking a gulp of milk.

  “You can’t go to school like that,” she said, reaching down to unbutton Jack’s top button. “Don’t you realize you commit social suicide every day you go to school with your shirt like that?”

  “What’s suicide?”

  “Abby,” Miller warned.

  “It’s nothing,” she said.

  “Miller said I’m handsome.”

  “Yeah, well, my dad also thinks t-shirts and jeans are a good choices for important days like today.”

  “I’m going to change.” Miller pointed the spatula at her. “And don’t jinx it.”

  “I still think you should let us come with you.”

  “You’ve already been more than helpful. You can’t miss any more school. Jack really needs to stay in his routine. Right, Jack?”

  “I’ll be in good hands with Allstate.”

  Abby leaned in. “Have you heard from that lawyer?”

  Miller flipped a pancake. “Any day now. You don’t have to whisper. Jack knows about the adoption.”

  Jack stuffed three bites of pancake into his mouth, chewed a few times and said, “I’m going to be an Anderson.”

  “Ew. Tell me you don’t eat like that at school.”

  Miller set a plate in front of Abby and kissed the top of her head. “Less talking. More eating. And don’t forget your medicine.”

  Miller packed Jack’s lunch and was getting everything loaded into his backpack when Levi pulled up in his X-Terra.

  “Hey, Levi,” he said, opening the passenger door for the kids. “I appreciate this.”

  “You can stop thanking me.”

  “Not likely.” He hoisted Jack up into the seat. “I know there are a million other places you’d rather be than here in this town.”

  Levi shrugged. “I guess this place is growing on me.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here, you know?”

  “Won’t that be a little cramped? I mean…if today does go well.”

  “Not for long. The new place will be finished in a week or two.”

  Thank God. Abby slept on the couch now because she couldn’t stand to be in her own room anymore. Every time she tried she had nightmares of Gail or Emily. Jack slept wherever he fit, usually starting off on Abby’s bed and ending up on top of Miller. “You should go by and see it. Might inspire you to build your own.”

  “I don’t know. I still kinda like it out there by that old barn.” Levi shifted gears and put his truck in reverse. “Gotta go. Let me know, okay?”

  He nodded and waved. “Bye, kids!”

  Abby rolled down her window. “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Jack wanted to make sure you got his drawing.”

  “Got it.”

  “Okay.” She smiled at him sympathetically. “I’m sure she’s going to get to come home today.”

  “Me too.” He nodded and then backed away so she wouldn’t see any wetness in his eyes. The only thing he hated worse than seeing his daughter cry was letting her see him cry. She had definitely seen enough of that over the last several months.

  After the kids left for school, he took a shower, shaved and even put on some of that cologne. He put on a clean pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt and rushed down the stairs. He reached for the doorknob then remembered the picture Jack drew, along with his own. He definitely needed to take those.

  ***

  When Miller walked into the hospital, he stopped at the gift shop to pick up some flowers.

  “Pink carnations again, eh?” the old, male volunteer asked as he picked all the pink ones out of the bucket of water.

  “Yep. All of ‘em this time.”

  “You should get some blue or red ones. Change your luck.”

  “Nope,” he said, dropping a ten on the counter. “My girl likes pink.”

  The old man shook his head. “You know she can’t see them, right?”

  “She likes pink,” Miller said. He walked out the door, hoping today was going to be the day so he wouldn’t have to buy flowers with people telling him shit like that. He’d gotten so tired of people telling him what wasn’t possible, what she couldn’t see, what she couldn’t hear, what she couldn’t feel. When this whole thing was over, he was going to plant her a whole garden full of pink roses because he knew she liked pink.

  The closer he got to her room, the harder his heart started to pound. This was it. Hopefully. However, the closer he got, the louder all the ifs and maybes started to sound in his ear.

  If she can breathe on her own, then maybe. Maybe, if she can get over this infection. If we could get her to stay awake.

  He got to her room and stood outside the door. This had to be the day. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand it. Her nurse walked out of the room and greeted him.

  “How’s my girl doing today?” he asked.

  She patted him on the shoulder. “You should go see for yourself.”

  Miller went into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. The dark room was lit by the lamp in the corner, as usual. He smiled when he saw Emily sitting in the rocking chair, smiling back at him.

  “Well?” he asked, putting the flowers on the table.

  “She gained a few more ounces and nursed really well already this morning. We get to take our little girl home.”

  It took everything Miller had in him not to drop to his knees and cry like a baby. This was the third time in his life he was so happy he could cry. The first time was when the doctor showed him the baby’s heart rate on the monitor. The second time was a week and a half later when Emily woke up from her coma. He wiped the tears out of his eyes and walked over to Emily and their tiny baby girl.

  “Well our little Danielle is a fighter.”

  “Why don’t you come hold your daughter so I can get her stuff together?”

  He took the little bundle in his arms; she sucked on her bottom lip. “Abby used to do that when she slept too.”

  “How were the kids this morning?” Emily asked.

  “They were fine.”

  “I know I’ll still be getting up at four every morning to nurse the baby, but I’m really looking forward to being able to stay home to feed her. I miss mornings with the kids.”

  “Oh yeah…” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the picture Jack drew. “Jack insisted I give this to you.” He handed her the folded piece of paper with Jack’s five stick figures and ‘My Family’ written across the top. “I think the boy might be an artistic genius,” Miller said as she unfolded it.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “The big one with the muscles is me. Abby’s on the end. That’s you in the middle. He’s the one holding our little girl here.”

  “With one hand? By her feet?”

  “We’re really going to have to watch him with her.”

  She smiled. “He wrote My Family at the top. I guess he can’t wait for all of us to be under one roof.”

  “He’s not the only one.” Miller adjusted Danielle in his arms, pulled out the folded piece of paper from his other pocket, and handed it to Emily.

  She studied it, turning it sideways, upside down and back to right side up. “This is filthy.”

  “It sure is,” he said slowly, unable to hide his grin.

  “How exactly are we supposed to do this with three kids in the house?”

  “Jack can watch the baby. He’ll be great at it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well. I guess we’ll have to find time in between diaper changes, homework, packing, and two A.M. feedings. Not to mention the sibling squabbles that are sure to come, and I’m sure you and I are gonna go a few rounds over Abby getting her ears pierced or when Jack gets to play baseball.”

  She stepped closer and pulled the baby’s blanket tighter. “Abby should already have her ears pierced.”

  “And Jack should already be playing baseball.”

  “Jack doesn’t really know what he wa
nts.”

  “Neither does Abby.” He sighed. “This is gonna be tough, isn’t it?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah. Think we can do this without screwing up?”

  He kissed his baby on her forehead and Emily on her lips. “Not a chance.”

  THE END

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  Acknowledgements

  First, I want to thank my husband, Scott. You know me better than anyone, but you still love me. (I mean you kinda have to though, don’t you? I have your social security number memorized.) You’ve encouraged me throughout this soul-crushing, mind-numbing, heart-hardening pursuit toward publication even though it freaks you out a little, and for that I’m grateful. Thanks for letting me spread my wings. Thanks for letting me do me. Thanks for getting me hooked on Pandemic. No, really. Thanks.

  I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my parents, Carolyn and Donny Sorensen, and my late father, Ronald Grissom, for always loving me unconditionally. Mom, if you see yourself at all in this story, I hope it’s in the strength and determination of the characters who would do anything for their children because that’s what I see in you. You gave me the best of yourself…except for that whole being an amazing cook thing. That would’ve been nice to have.

  Thanks to my sister, Annie Dragoo, and my brothers, Nathan Grissom and Austin Grissom. You’re my cornerstone! I know Dad would love Billy, Joe, and Becky and the lives and families you’re all creating. He would be so proud of each of you. He’d probably be extra proud of me right now, but he’d be okay with you guys, too.

  A huge bear hug of thanks goes to Lynn Lindquist, the greatest young adult writer in the world and my cyber sister. Remember when we were going to start a blog where we posted our emails to each other because they were so funny? Remember that time in St. Louis when the waiter totally flirted with you and wouldn’t even take my order? A lot of life has happened between then and now, and I’m so glad we’ve stumbled upon one another. Now give me back my bean spoon!

  There wouldn’t even be an acknowledgements page if it wasn’t for my agent, Brittany Booker. Thank you for your honesty, guidance, and persistence. You’re a rock star!

  Thank you to my writing buddies and conference dates, Roni Loren and Dawn Alexander. You keep me (somewhat) sane and help remind me that even though writing is a solitary experience, being a writer doesn’t have to be. Thanks for putting up with me and my questionable social skills.

  Thank you to the team at Limitless Publishing for loving my story as much as I do, to Lori Whitwam for being so accessible, and to Felicia A. Sullivan for making it the best it can be. Did you notice how dutifully I accepted the Oxford Comma?

  Thanks to my first fans, Lisa Theisen, Wendy Powell, and Heather Enright for talking me off every ledge I came upon. And thanks to Jan Vance, Libby Holden, and Ellen DiGiosia for being my constant cheerleaders. If there was a congressional medal for courage in the line of psychotic writer angst, you’d all deserve it. Seriously.

  A shout out goes to Gina, Christal, and all my friends at The Lane! You guys are the very definition of excellence, and it’s an honor to get to spend every day doing the impossible with you. It helps that you’re all crazy enough to make my insanity look almost normal. Dayla, thanks for keeping me laughing! Jeans passes for everyone!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Genevieve Lynne grew up in a small Texas town where everyone knew each other and gossip was considered a legitimate news source. She was raised on heaping helpings of southern cooking, sweet tea, hot summer nights at the lake and maternal guilt. Even after moving to Austin to pursue her bachelor’s degree in English at The University of Texas, she never could shake the small town out of her. She’s still working on the guilt thing.

  Genevieve loves to incorporate the charm of close, crazy families and small-town life into her stories. She now lives in Fort Worth with her husband and three sons.

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