"Let's go get your brother. We've got chores to do at home," I grab my coat and move to stand from our booth.
Liam stands too, tossing the pulling hood over his head. We head to the front to pay, and I gasp, "Ooh, could I tell Birdie about the time you stuck a Lego up your nose?"
"Mama!"
???
Six hours later, Liam is outside practicing his jump shot, though every time I peek out the window, he's smiling at his cellphone, thumbs tapping away almost frantically.
I suspect it's because of alittle bird,because he's never worn that smile while texting Will. The sight makes me smile as I clean up after dinner.
Noah's sitting at the island, nodding along to the soft music playing from the speakers and drawing in his sketchbook when the doorbell rings.
"Can I get it?" Noah asks immediately, already half out of his seat. I check the front camera on my phone and see that it's Diane. I nod and he sprints to the door before I can say another word.
"Hi, Mom-Mom!"
Diane walks into the kitchen, Noah's mouth going a mile a minute as he tells her all about his art class today.
The rest of Atlas' things are in a box by the front door for her to take back to her house, packed up by me when we got backhome. I only shed a couple of tears.
Progress.
"Hey, baby," I tell Noah, grabbing his sketchpad and handing it to him along with his apple juice. "Can you go into the living room and watch TV?"
"Okay, Mama," he says easily, grabbing his things and skipping out of the kitchen.
Once I hear the TV turn on and the familiar, soothing tenor of Bob Ross, I turn back to Diane. She looks tense, and I notice the circles under her eyes, exhaustion carved into her face.
"What happened?" I ask, my stomach dropping.
She glances back in the direction of the living room and sighs, placing her purse down on the counter.
"Emmett took Atlas out last night. They were gone for a couple of hours," Diane says, sliding onto the stool at the island. I gesture toward the coffee machine out of habit, and she shakes her head immediately. "No. Caffeine is the last thing I need right now."
I stay standing because I don't think I can sit still now, not with the anxiety buzzing under my skin.
"He said... well, Emmet said he wasn't making much sense," Diane continues, shaking her head slowly. "Atlas was angry at first, saying he needed to get back to you, to the boys. Emmett just hammered into him. He'd been steaming mad ever since I told him what you told me."
She exhales shakily, "But he said Atlas just... cracked. Frantic, erratic, babbling about nightmares and you and money..."
Nightmares. I think of Atlas’ nightmare, the confusing words he spoke during it, how he acted after. How he pulled me close and then pushed me away.
Diane rests her head in her hands, rubbing at her forehead. My mind splinters into a million directions, and the one it latches onto makes me gasp.
"It's not... it's not drugs, right? Or alcohol?"
Frantically, I pull out my phone to pull up our banking statements.
Oh, God. Atlas...
Has he been pulling out cash? Is that what the other job is for—to fund that? How the hell could I have missed that? Am I heartless, or did I just assume he was neglectful when instead he was actually suffering from addiction? What kind of wife does that make me—
"No," Diane says instantly, sharply, cutting off my panic before it can spiral further. "No, it's not drugs. It's not booze."
She leans forward, eyes intense. "Emmett said he seemed like he was having a... some kind of mental break."
"Mental," I repeat faintly, my entire body going ice cold.
