When we get outside, both Megan and George run over to Stella. I take Fletcher’s hand and pull him closer.
“Hey, you okay?” I whisper in his ear.
“I’m not sure. Why is all this happening, Harrison? What did I do wrong in a previous life to make this one so fucked up? First Fran, and now the fire. It’s like I can’t catch a break.”
I hold him against me and kiss his temple.
“It’ll all be okay. I have to get back to the office, but I can come over later.”
His smile isn’t the one I want to see, but I think it’s the only one he can give me right now. I hate to see the sadness and worry, but maybe he’ll let me make him feel better later.
Whatever this is between us now, I can give him that.
29
FLETCHER
“George,hurry up. We’re gonna be late for school.”
I rush around the kitchen, preparing George’s snacks for school. I can’t believe I overslept. Well, I can because I couldn’t sleep until the early hours of the morning, worrying about the investigation into the video.
There hasn’t been any news for days, and the wait is killing me. The more I think about it, the guiltier I become in my head, even though I didn’t do it. Unfortunately, the facts speak for themselves.
I left the cabin at the same time as Harrison, but we didn’t see each other again until he came over to my place that evening. When we came home, I helped George with his bath, but he was so tired he went to sleep while I went to the studio to work for a while. I did wear my paint-stained jeans and had just had a shower when Harrison turned up.
Technically, I could have left George sleeping, gone to the school to set the building on fire, come home, and had a shower. No one would have noticed. And if I can’t sell my innocence to myself, knowing Iaminnocent, how can I sell it to anyone else?
“George!” I call again.
There’s no answer, so I climb up the stairs and knock on his bedroom door before opening it. I groan when I see my son still in bed, in his PJs, reading a book like it’s the weekend.
“George, what on earth? Why are you still in bed?”
“I’m not going to school today.”
The hell you’re not, I think to myself.
“Why aren’t you going to school today?” I ask, managing to keep most of my frustration out of my voice. Parenting win.
“Because I don’t want to,” he says.
“That’s not a good enough reason. Get dressed and come downstairs before you miss your breakfast. Unless you want to be hungry at school, you’ll hurry up.”
He shrugs. “I don’t care.”
I walk over to the bed and throw the covers off him. “Come on. Enough of this, George.”
“No!” he screams, throwing his book away and trying to grab the covers.
I pick him up and take him to the bathroom, screaming and kicking. He hasn’t had a tantrum like this in years.
“Put me down. I hate you! I hate you!”
His face is red and tear-stained. I turn on the faucet and let the water warm before running my hand under it to wash his face.
He’s still crying when the time I finish washing his face and brushing his hair.
I sit on the floor against the bathtub and pull him to sit with me.
