“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask.
“I don’t want to go to school.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Because I’m going to leave, so what’s the point?”
I inhale deep, smelling the shampoo we use on his hair. Even though he’s getting taller by the day, he’s still my little boy. He still smells like the three-year-old that used to run to my bedroom when he had nightmares or wear his breakfast on his face instead of eating it.
“Buddy, every day is an opportunity to learn something new and fun.”
He looks at me, his pleading eyes red-rimmed. “I just want to stay home with you, Daddy.”
I hold him tight. “But what if I’m not going to stay home today?”
“Then I’ll go wherever you go. I can help you.”
I smile. “You know that’s now how it works, buddy. Your job is to go to school.”
“And your job is to paint,” he finishes for me, the sentence we repeated so many times when he first started school and didn’t want to go because he thought his job was to stay home and play.
“Yep, you got it.”
“But what if I miss you?”
“I’ll be at the school gate to pick you up this afternoon.”
He sighs and goes to his room. When he’s out of sight, I close my eyes tightly and take a deep breath, willing myself not to break down. At least not until he’s at school.
Then I can go to the station to speak to Pete.
For all her faults, Karina seems to have at least kept quiet about it. I haven’t seen or heard anyone mention the fire or any suspects.
Ten minutes later, George attempts to eat his breakfast, but I can see he’s not feeling it. I add an extra piece of fruit to his backpack in case he’s hungry later and sit next to him.
“Daddy, Mommy said you don’t want to come to Europe with us. Don’t you want to live with me anymore?”
“Of course I want to live with you. I’ll always want to live with you, even when I’m old and wrinkly.”
“And your teeth fall out?”
I laugh. “Yeah, and even when my teeth fall out.”
“I will look after you, Daddy. Don’t worry.”
The lump in my throat tightens, but I breathe through it.
“Thank you, buddy.”
“I bet your farts will smell really bad when you’re old,” he says, eating a spoonful of cereal. “Like Megan's dad's neighbor. When I was playing with Megan, she did a big fart in her backyard, and it was so stinky.” He wrinkles his nose, and I can’t stop laughing.
I let George come up with more theories of what I’ll be like when I’m old since it seems to distract him from his earlier meltdown.
We’re late by the time we get to school, but Ellis, thankfully, doesn’t make a big deal out of it.
As soon as I’m in the car, I call Fran.
“Hey, gorgeous,” she answers in a super-sweet voice.
