He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.He has to be okay.
Jake’s voiceis the first to filter through my fuzzy head. Not so much the words, just the sound of him chatting—but to whom? I don’t recognize the deep rumble asking Jake questions, but instead of pumping up my anxiety, the deep timbre soothes me.
Awareness slowly comes back to me in drips and pieces, and I take stock of myself. My head is killing me, and the tiles of the floor pressed to my back are cold.
The buzz and chattering of conversation between Jake and the stranger take form.
“Her name is Chloe Triplett. I’m Jake. We just moved here, so we don’t really know anybody yet,” Jake says.
A loud slurp through the straw tells me I’ve been out long enough for him to finish most of his drink.
Three warm fingers wrap around my arm and press into my wrist below the meat of my thumb. I don’t know if it’s actually possible, but I feel each heartbeat thrum against that pressure. And each thump seems to be stronger, more electrified than the last. Pushing harder, beating sturdier. Like my heart is grasping at something just out of reach. Something exciting but safe. Something new yet soothingly familiar at the same time.
My eyes flutter open, and I immediately seek out my son. When I find him safe, totally okay, breath whooshes from my lungs.
“Hey, buddy,” I croak, my voice raspy and quiet.
What I get in return is a dramatic eye roll and a look of absolute disgust from my almost teenager.
“Why do you do that? Can we just go now?”
My thoughts jump from concern for my precious boy—the last link I have to his father—to the obnoxious reminder of why tigers have been known to eat their young. I push myself up to sitting and try to shake off the big hand still firmly wrapped around my arm.
“Slow down, ma’am.” The deep voice only registers in my brain in that it’s connected to the man holding me in place. Or maybe he’s holding me up.
“Jake.” The warning in my voice is clear to everyone standing, gawking, except my kid, if facial expressions are any indication.
I shove my feet underneath me and push myself up with my free hand, barely acknowledging that the stranger next to me is in fact helping me to stand. Panic bleeds through when I call to Jake again, and he turns and bolts out the door. I scoop my wristlet from the floor near my feet and search for my keys, but they’re nowhere to be seen, and I can’t let Jake be out there alone. I can’t trust him to make good choices, even for an eleven-year-old. His shitty judgment, which gets him into trouble, is half the reason we’re here in Virginia. The other half… I just can’t go there right now.
With as much dignity as I can muster, I mumble, “Thank you,” to the kind stranger next to me and hurry out of the convenience store.
I close my eyes and blow out a sigh of relief at the sight of my kid, pouty and sulking, standing with his back against the side of my car.
“Hey, you’ve got to stick with me, Jake. I know you were embarrassed, but you can’t just take off like that. Especially now, in a new place, right?” I keep my voice low and calm because fear is a close friend of embarrassment, and neither party is particularly welcome at the moment.
My friend, Kate, refers to it as the teacher voice. As a kindergarten teacher, hers is way different from mine, though there are times that I think her students are more mature than the ones I deal with in high school.
“This is stupid,” Jake mumbles. “What if somebody saw you? What if they recognize me in school on Monday? I’ll literally die of… of…” He screws up his face as he searches for the right word.
“Mortification,” I offer, leaning against the side of the car next to him, reveling in the bright winter sun. January inVirginia is a stark contrast from what New York would feel like now.
“Yeah, that,” he says, focusing on the scuffed, frayed toes of his sneakers.
I reach over and take a quick sip from the last of his soda, handing it back before the scowl fully settles on his face.
“The good news is, anyone your age is in school right now, so they missed the entire thing. You’re safe from humiliation for at least another couple of days.” I manage to let only a half-smile find its way to my face.
“And the bad news?” he asks, pushing his hair out of his face.
I nod toward the store. “We have to go back in there together and find my keys. I dropped them when I went down.”
His face scrunches up, and for a brief moment, I have a glimpse of sweet Jake. My little boy shows his face at the strangest times—when I least expect it and, if I’m lucky, when I need it the most.
TWO
Miles
I step up to the register and push a burrito and a liter bottle of water toward the center of the counter.
