“Of course I do. She’s my friend.”
“Right.”
I turn to find a stupid grin on his face.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the opening of that new club, tonight.”
“I was just thinking I might go for a walk on the beach instead. I need to clear my lungs.”
I huff out a laugh. This is not Max’s style. “You’re what? Since when did you miss free booze and wall-to-wall women?”
“Since now. I need time out.”
If this were any other time, I’d call bullshit, but a subtle cry from down the hallway sparks my attention. “Daddy… daddy.” I get up from my post by the window. “I’d better see what’s up with my boy.”
“Sure. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, man.” Then I stop, reminding myself that I should question Max on the conversation he had with Angie regarding my marriage. “Hey Max, while I think about it, can we talk later? I want to check something with you.”
“Sure,” Max says, with his hands in his jeans pockets and a shrug. “Maybe we can grab a beer?”
“Sounds good.” Max goes one way and I the other. It’s probably a misunderstanding anyway. My main concern tonight is Angie. I won’t sleep until I know she’s home safe and sound.
I wake with a start and pain in my back. What the hell happened to me last night? Then I remember as I face my son, who’s sitting up and giggling. I must have fallen asleep by his bed. Jesus, I feel old. What happened to the rock and roll life I had? Waking up on the floor of a house that wasn’t yours usually meant you’d had a crazy night. But when I look at my boy, I wouldn’t swap this moment for any other.
“Daddy, you’re awake.”
I shake my head until my eyes open fully. “Yes, buddy.” I glance at the clock, noting it’s just gone eight a.m. Using the side of his bed to lean on, I hoist myself up to standing, then lift my boy into my arms. “Wow, you’re getting heavy, buddy.”
“I know.” He grins. “I’m hungry, Daddy.”
“You are? Well, we’d better fill this tummy up quickly.” I squeeze him in the middle of his little body, and he squeals into a giggle.
We make our way downstairs, although my first thought isn’t for food. I’m mad at myself for falling asleep instead of keeping an eye out for Angie, and now I don’t know if she arrived home okay or if she came home at all. Would it bother me if she hadn’t made it back? I don’t want to think about it.
When we reach the kitchen, Max is sitting at the breakfast table with his head in his hands.
“What’s up with you?” I ask, slapping the side of his head as I pass. “Hey, Ozzie, don’t do that to Uncle Max. It’s not nice,” I say, blaming it on my kid. He thinks I’m funny and giggles against my shoulder.
“Even your boy isn’t that strong,” Max groans.
“Good morning, Tommy. I wondered where Oz was. I went to wake him up.” Connie’s bright and breezy energy enters the kitchen but drops when her eyes land on Max. I hope he didn’t wake her by coming in too late last night.
“Morning, Connie. Don’t worry. It’s a long story.”
I note Max staring at her like a wounded puppy. Do I have to talk to him about this again? I’ll wait until I’ve got the lowdown from Connie. I can’t concentrate on anything else until I know Angie is okay, and I’m hoping Connie might give me the answers I’m looking for.
“How was babysitting last night?” I ask her, hoping I sound laidback.
“It was fine, thanks. Josh slept all night, so I didn’t really see him,” she says over her shoulder while stirring porridge.
“Good.”
“Daddy, can I watch TV please.”
“Yeah, sure buddy. We’ll call you when your breakfast is ready,” I say absentmindedly, while I try to work out how to ask questions without being obvious. “I hope Angie didn’t keep you there all night.” I try again.
“It was okay. I was happy reading my book.”
