Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
“He told you to buy food!” Aracely scolds the woman.
A thud and a muffled cry carry from somewhere in the back of the house, and the woman looks terrified. What is Macon doing?
I reach into the apron at my waist, taking out the baggie of cut-up grapes I prepared for Paisleigh for after school. I don’t want Aracely to think I’m inserting myself, so I just set it on the counter in case she wants it.
“Please,” the woman whimpers.
Someone chokes out a cough over and over again in one of the back rooms.
“You know him!” she yells. “He just needs help.”
I glance at Aracely, concern etching her brow, but something else, too.
Worry.
I flex my jaw, she shakes her head at me, and I shoot off, rushing down the hallway. They’re afraid to stand up to him. I don’t live here.
I glance in bedrooms as I pass, finally finding Macon in the bathroom. I stop, watching as he holds a man under the shower, and I can feel the ice-cold spray that’s filling the small space.
The man sputters and coughs as the water covers his face, letting in little air.
I pause, recognizing him. It’s the same guy Macon had locked in the container in the woods behind the house. A bottle of Wild Turkey lies in the sink, only a couple of swallows left.
He’s drinking again. Instead of using his money to take care of his family. I understood that much from what they said in the living room.
The guy coughs and vomits, spilling all over himself. Macon’s knuckles are white as he holds him under the water.
I murmur, “Macon …”
He’s not helping him. He’s punishing him.
But Macon just bellows, “Aracely! Get the kids out of here!”
“Please, man,” the guy spits out.
“Macon, he’s hurting!” I hear his wife cry.
But Macon doesn’t stop. I don’t even think he knows I’m here.
Ripping the man from the shower, he drags him out of the bathroom, and I jump out of the way just in time as he shoves him down the hallway, back to the living room. The man lands on the floor, his wife falling to his side and trying to hold him.
Aracely stuffs diapers into a bag, getting ready to remove the kids from the house.
I grab Macon’s arm. “Stop!” I whisper to him.
He turns his head, looking right at me, but his eyes are bright with anger.
“You can’t just tell addicts to quit,” I tell him quietly. “He could be a danger to himself and his kids just as much if he’s not using. That shit is a symptom.”
“It’s the disease,” he bites out, hauling the man back up off the floor.
His wife’s guttural sob makes me wince.
“Not always!” I bark, my voice louder now. “It’s how people cope with real fucking problems that aren’t just going to go away with tough love! You can’t do it like this!”
“So what do you think he needs?” he fires back. “Medicine? Therapy? Rehab?”
I don’t even have to think about it to know that none of those are options for people in the Bay. These men don’t talk about their problems, and rehab takes people away from their jobs when they can’t afford to miss a paycheck.
My eyes flit over to Aracely, catching her shaking her head at me.
“Don’t,” she mouths.
“I want to die,” the man says, shaking.
“Do you?” Macon replies, but it sounds more like a challenge. His eyes gleam, and I stop breathing for a second.
In one fell swoop, he throws the man over his shoulder and takes him out the front door, the wife screaming behind him.
“Goddammit, Krisjen!” Aracely growls. “Stop him!”
My mouth drops open, and I stand there, paralyzed as Macon descends the steps and keeps walking. Why? What is he going to do?
The woman runs after Macon and her husband, and Summer grabs the baby, Aracely taking the toddler.
I shoot off, running after Macon.
He crosses the bridge pathway, and I run alongside, my shoes soaked in mud and water. “What are you doing?” I yell as he hauls the man back to the center of the Bay. “Where are you going?”
“He said he wanted to die,” Macon says all too calmly. “His family is better off.”
“No!” his wife begs. “You care about him. I know you do. He needs you. Please. You’ve always been there for him. Don’t do this.”
I follow in horror as Macon walks onto the main road. The Jaeger house stands tall across the street, and I spot Paisleigh still doing her homework in the garage. She doesn’t seem to see us.
Macon takes the man into the small junkyard behind Mariette’s, and a lump lodges in my throat as I watch him throw the guy into a car, lock the door, and grab the control from Santos standing nearby.
I shake my head, my heart racing a mile a minute. Screams fill the air as Macon presses the button and the compressor starts up, coming down on top of the car, slowly flattening it.