The Way Back

Silver Chain

"I'd appreciate your help, Lindsey," she murmured and looked down at the floor.

He sighed heavily and felt like kicking himself when he heard her sniffle. "Angel," he murmured. "Hey, c'mon," he said softly, placing his hands on her sides and heaving a sigh when she avoided his gaze. Lindsey bent slightly, crouching and dipping his head to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, but they all look the same to me."

Stevie swiped at her damp eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't like you right now."

An emphatic snigger escaped from his throat. Lindsey stroked his thumbs against the material of her top and pressed his lips against her forehead. "I know you don't," he whispered.

She sighed and let her head rest against his arm. "I want everything done, Lindsey."

"I know," he said. "It'll get done soon. These guys," he paused and placed his hand atop the swell, "won't come before it's all done. Once a color is chosen and the room is painted, it's done, Steph."

She shook her head. "I won't change my mind."

He snickered, having heard that line before. "I'm going to make a sandwich. You want anything?"

Stevie nodded. "Water," she answered. She'd started drinking extra early in the day and tapering off the intake closer to bedtime, so she wouldn't have to go to the bathroom eighty-seven times a night. "And a V8," she added.

"Water and V8 coming up," Lindsey announced with a smile. "I'll be a bit. Want a sandwich too?"

She shook her head and watched him stroll to the door. He ran a hand through his curls. "Maybe she'll have the color chosen by the time I come back," he wished aloud, not realizing the statement had been loud enough for her to hear. He flinched when he heard her small foot stomp against the floor. Lindsey gulped, turning to see her eyes dangerously darken and her fists angrily tighten. "Love you!" he called out and ran down the stairs.

Stevie resisted the urge to chase after him and beat him senseless with the paint tray. "I want you to help choose a fucking color," she ground out. "But no, you're too good to be helpful. You have to be a fucking asshole about it. Just like every fucking thing else," she ranted. "I couldn't make up my mind twenty years ago. He remembers that but can't remember to put the toilet seat down. That's fine. I'll choose the color. I'll do everything myself." She tapped her nails against the spot where her son had kicked, and a self-satisfied smiled graced her lips. In several years, Stevie was certain that if the boy wanted to be a swimmer that Lindsey would think a speedo choice would be significant, and she would be entirely unconcerned like he had been about the paint. She would get her payback.

The blonde bit down on her thumbnail and studied the colors. She was unable to make the decision by herself. She marched out of the room and into the master bedroom, climbing into bed and pushing a sleeping Yorkie out of her spot. Stevie lifted the phone and placed it on top of her belly, dialing a number. She laughed as the telephone moved slightly from the movements in her womb. "Hey baby," she spoke into the receiver after her daughter answered. "Your father is being a jackass. What color do you like for the nursery?"

Elisabeth snickered and turned on the stool she was perched on in her little studio. She chewed on the wooden handle of the pointed round brush, gazing at the six colors she'd put on a wall over a month ago. "Honestly," Libba murmured and bit down on the brush. She cradled the cordless phone between her neck and shoulder. "Silver Chain," she indicated, tapping the paintbrush against the dried smattering of gray. "It's gorgeous, and it'll contrast beautifully with light and dark colors. It's perfect, mama," she declared and dropped the brush into a water filled mason jar.