Chapter 11: Marco Hill
965 Words
It’s impressive how a man can be surrounded by people and still want to be alone. Especially when that man is me. The barn was full that night—music playing, laughter everywhere, the smell of homemade food floating in the air—and even so, all I wanted was to finish my plate in peace.
But of course not. Because my grandmother—and half the elderly ladies who spend Christmas here—seem to live for dragging me into social situations. I was sitting at the staff table, listening to Luis tell a story about a stubborn cow that refused to enter the corral yesterday, when something caught my attention.
Rosa. Walking with an empty tray in her hand and an expression of… was that worry? Or urgency? Probably both.
Instinctively, I looked toward the table where Alice should’ve been. The old ladies’ table. The chaos table. The guaranteed-headache table.
Empty. Her chair was empty.
— Rosa — I called, getting up without even apologizing to anyone. — Where are you going with that tray?
She turned to me, surprised.
— Marco, dear, I thought you were having dinner…
— I am. I was. — I stepped closer, crossing my arms. — Where’s the girl? Alice.
Rosa let out one of those dramatic sighs that say she knows I won’t leave until she answers.
— She’s not feeling well, my son. Pregnancy nausea. I went to her cabin to check on her.
Nausea? Pregnancy? And she’s alone in that cabin?
Something sharp twists in my chest before I can stop it.
— And where are you going now? — I ask.
— To prepare a plate to take her.
Before she could take another step, I pulled the tray right out of her hands.
— I’ll take it.
Rosa’s eyes went wide.
— You? Marco, why?
Because I don’t know why the hell I’m suddenly furious about the father of this baby.
— Because… — I clear my throat, pretending logic is involved. — …because you’ve done enough today. Go rest. I’ll handle it.
She gave me that knowing little smile, the kind that made me regret ever learning to walk.
— All right then. But be careful with what you say. The girl is sensitive, Marco.
— I’m not going to say anything — I grumbled.
Lie. I always say something. Usually the worst possible choice.
On my way to the buffet, my head was a mess. I piled food onto the tray like I was assembling a military operation. Soup, bread, roasted chicken, a piece of fruit… and the tea Rosa told me to brew. Tea for nausea. Tea. I, Marco Bennett, making tea.
The end of the world is definitely near.
Walking out of the barn with the tray, I caught myself doing something even dumber: rehearsing.
“Are you okay?”
“Rosa asked me to bring this.”
“I’m not staying, just dropping this off.”
All sounded stupid.
I even adjusted my hat. Adjusted. My hat. What is happening to me?
I stopped in front of her cabin door. Knocked twice.
And heard her voice from inside:
— Come in! It’s open!
I stepped inside.
And instantly regretted it.
Alice was sitting on the bed, hair loose, blanket over her legs, and that tired look that… damn. It did something to me. She looked up expecting someone—obviously Rosa—and her eyes went wide when she realized it was me.
— Marco? — She even tried standing, but nausea hit her and she sank back down. — What are you doing here?
— Rosa was busy — I lied without blinking. — I brought your dinner.
— Oh. — She blinked at the tray. — Thank you. You didn’t have to come… personally.
The word personally scratched something inside me. More than I wanted.
— I’m not staying — I said quickly. Staying felt dangerous. For reasons I’d rather not explore. — I just wanted to know if you were okay.
She stared at me. Cautious. Ready to snap back if needed.
— I’m… sort of okay. Nausea is awful — she admitted, breathing deep. — But it’ll pass.
I took a step closer without meaning to. She started to get up again, but nausea hit harder and she closed her eyes, grimacing.
Great. Now my body was acting on its own.
— Don’t move — I murmured, taking the tray and setting it on the dresser beside her bed. — I’ll bring it to you.
She let out a small laugh.
— Are you sure it’s not poisoned?
For the first time that night, I couldn’t stop the smile.
— No. — Then added softly: — I think.
She laughed. That sound. Light, a little raspy, tired… but way too beautiful.
And just like that, I was disarmed.
— Thank you — she said honestly. — For bringing this. And… for coming.
I felt something warm crawl up my chest, and I hated how good it felt.
I turned toward the door. Opened it. Took a step out.
And then—of course—I did something stupid.
I stopped.
I looked back.
And said:
— The i***t who left you… — my voice came out sharper than I expected — …never deserved you. Or that child.
The silence that followed was heavy. But not bad. Filled with something neither of us was ready to name.
Alice looked at me like I had just cracked open a window in a room that had been shut for years.
— Marco… — she whispered.
But I didn’t let her finish. Couldn’t.
— Good night, Alice.
And I walked away. Before I did something even worse.
Because, for some ridiculous reason…
I actually wanted to stay.
- Writer
