“Just picking up your laundry.” She rose, exhibiting the lone sock from the floor while nudging the journal into place. “Did you brush your teeth?”
He nodded. If he suspected anything, he didn’t let it show.
“Hop into bed, then. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
For the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, his grandparents would take him on their annual excursion. At Willamette National Cemetery they would plant mini-flags at the gravesites of veterans, a Boy Scout tradition passed down from Devon.
It would be the first time Audra would see Meredith since their run-in on Monday. To Audra’s surprise, their brief phone calls to coordinate schedules had indicated all was forgiven.
Then again, that’s how families were supposed to work. Not that Audra would know from her parents, whose forms of contact were limited to postcard updates and two annual calls: Christmas morning and her birthday. They were nice enough people, just not the parental type. Nurturing their latest causes always took priority. They’d started with local issues, trendy ones like clear-cutting and spotted owls—the puppy-mill protest, come to think of it, had inspired Audra’s career choice. But then an episode of Oprah broadened their scope. Two days after Audra’s high-school graduation, the couple flew to Africa to aid villages in need. It was no wonder Audra had debated ever having children. She’d agreed only when Devon promised to helm the family ship, a role he fulfilled with gusto. He was the soccer dad in the minivan, the guy who cooked dinners that didn’t come from a box. He was the husband who kept all afloat—but whose absence could leave you drowning.
Jack crawled under the covers. As he flipped his pillow, Audra recalled the pressing topic. She sat on the side of his bed and took the captain’s seat in her mind.
“Hey, buddy, I need to ask you something,” she said. “I had a visit today with Miss Lewis.”
“It was just an accident,” he said before Audra could finish.
The classmate. He was referring to the one he had fended off to stay under the desk.
“Oh, I know it was. And Miss Lewis does too.” Audra tried to reassure him with a smile. “But she’s still a little concerned about some drawings you did.”
He lowered his eyes to his hands, fidgeting with the covers. “She already told me. I’m not supposed to do those anymore.”
“That’s probably a good idea for now.” Audra kept her voice light. She wanted him to chat freely, the way he used to rattle on with his ghost stories. “Could you tell me, though, about the man in the chair? I’d love to know more about it.”
He gave a small shrug. No elaboration.
“Did another kid show you something like that? An older boy at recess? Maybe at after-school care?”
He shook his head.
“How about a TV show?”
He paused for a moment, and shook his head again.
The source of the drawings wasn’t necessarily important. It was the message behind them.
“If there’s ever anything you want to talk about, if you’re sad or angry or scared, you know you can tell me. Right?”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little groggy. A discussion after his warm bath might not have been ideal.
Enough for tonight.
She smoothed the spikes of his hair and kissed him on the forehead. “Don’t forget, you still need to tell me what you want for your birthday. It’s almost here, you know.” Standing, she bent over to grab the laundry.
“Mom?”
She smiled, expecting the name of a toy she’d never heard of. Instead, he gave her a look that deflated any levity. The sadness in his eyes matched the tone of his murmur. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the new job.”
Her heart turned to gelatin left in the desert. “Oh, baby, it’s not your fault.” She gingerly squeezed his chin. “Like I said, there might be an opportunity in Boston. That’s a much better place. Lots of great things there. They’ve got some of the best clam chowder ... and baked beans. And the Red Sox and Celtics play there.”
When his expression didn’t lighten, it dawned on Audra what might be his greatest concern. “And,” she said, “wherever we end up, we can definitely drive to get there.”
His mouth lifted at the corners and his covered body visibly relaxed.
On the motherhood chart, Audra felt a small but distinct plus mark added to her score. Who knew? Maybe that’s all the information he needed to change his art—and dreams—for the better.
“Close your eyes now,” she said, and kissed him once more.
Then came the scream.
It sliced through the fog of Audra’s mind. She was on a couch. The gray couch she’d bought to fit their apartment. How long had she been asleep?