Offering endearments wasn’t something that happened often in my house growing up as my father frowned upon my mother when she showered us with affection. He believes love makes you weak, and loving words and displays were pretty much banned in the Lawson household. Mom still told me she loved me when we were alone, but it always felt off. Like it was wrong. I know better now, and I’m determined my son will always know how much he is loved and cherished, so I make a point of telling him at least once a day that I love him.
We wave to Mrs. Smith, and I power up the engine, keen to get the hell out of here.
“Mommy?” he asks when we are halfway down the road.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a blacked-out SUV pulling out onto the road a little farther back. “Yes, Rowan.”
“Auntie Saskia wouldn’t let me get candy.”
Of course, she wouldn’t. I’m strict with sugary treats, but Serena knows Rowan is allowed a visit to the candy store on Fridays after school. I’m much closer to my middle sister now, and I’m positive she would’ve told Saskia this.
“I’ll drop by the store on our way home,” I assure him, eyeing him through the mirror.
“She wouldn’t let me keep the money her friend gave me either.”
Oh my God. If Saskia had one of her airhead bitchy friends near my son, I will string her up. And what kind of heartless monster takes money from a child? Just when I think Saskia really couldn’t sink any lower, she finds new ways to surprise me.
“It’s okay. I will talk to Auntie Saskia and get it back for you. For now, I’m good for it.” I waggle my brows, and he sits back, looking happy and content. I hook my cell up to the sound system in the car, and we sing along to some kids’ songs I keep on my playlist while we drive.
After a detour at the candy store, we head home to our bungalow. I pull into our small driveway and kill the engine, noticing a large black SUV park at the curb a few doors down. I could swear it’s the same one I saw earlier. Apprehension trickles up my spine, and I rub a hand across my chest, hoping to ease the sudden anxious fluttery feeling.
“Mommy.” Rowan thrusts a sugary hand out. “Want some?”
I pop a couple Sour Patch Kids in my mouth, my cheeks puckering automatically as the sour, tangy, fruity candy bursts in my mouth. I don’t know how he can stomach those things.
“Want to bike to the park to look for bugs?” I ask as I unbuckle him from his car seat.
“Yes, yes, yes.” He jumps out, flinging himself on me, and I almost take a tumble.
I laugh, nuzzling my nose into his hair, inhaling the strawberry smell from his shampoo. I look down the road, but I don’t see the black SUV anymore. Air whooshes out of my mouth in grateful relief. I was obviously imagining things. “Let’s get changed out of our uniforms, grab some water, and then we’ll hit the road.” I snatch his backpack and my purse, slinging them over one shoulder as I lock the car with the key fob while Rowan slides his sticky hand into mine.
“How was school?” I inquire as we walk across the gravel toward the front door.
“Great.” He beams up at me. “Mr. Stewart let us paint, and then we watchedDr. Doolittle.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It was,” he agrees, racing into the house while I turn off the alarm. “Be careful,” I shout after him because he’s a little accident prone at times, especially when he’s running around the place at full speed. Rowan is full of boundless energy, which I never want to tame, but I need to strike a balance to ensure his safety.
Depositing his backpack on the floor, I dump my keys and my purse on the hall table, stifling a yawn as I pad through our combination kitchen and dining room and out into the corridor at the back that leads to the three bedrooms. Over on the other side of the house is a large living room, a small sunroom, and an art studio, but my favorite part of the property is the large garden at the rear. I added some swings, a slide, and a climbing frame for Rowan, plus we have a vegetable and flower garden, a sand pit, and a small, covered pond with some colorful fish.
Walking into Rowan’s room, I chuckle as I watch my rambunctious son wrestle with his school shirt. “Here, let me help.” I kneel on the carpet, pulling the tangled shirt back down over his torso. “It’s quicker to unbutton it, Firecracker.” I tweak his nose, smiling, as I quickly flip the buttons. I leave him to strip out of his pants while I remove sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie from his closet. It’s still relatively warm out, but it can get distinctly chilly in the evenings.
I leave my son to get dressed while I strip out of my black work top and pants.
I managed to graduate from Loyola two years after I had Rowan, and then I took the acupuncture program part-time at night and online. I don’t want to miss a minute with Rowan, so studying when he’s in bed is my only option. I’m working part-time at a local practice in the village, and I’ve put my studies on hold for now. When Rowan starts elementary school next year, I’ll probably sign up for the homeopathy program.
“Ready!” Rowan vaults into my room, announcing himself loudly.
“Well, I’m not,” I say, standing in my underwear. “Why don’t you fill two water bottles while I get dressed.” I hurriedly pull on a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt of Dion’s before lacing my sneakers tight.
Ten minutes later, we are on our way. This neighborhood is quiet and peaceful, and there isn’t much traffic on this side of town, but I still ensure we stick to the footpaths and the bike lanes until we arrive at the park.
17
SIERRA
We spend an hour at the playground before exploring the small woods where Rowan finds another worm, beetle, and butterfly to add to his ever-growing insect collection. He wants to delve deeper into the woods, but I’m on edge for some reason. I can’t put my finger on it, but all the tiny hairs keep lifting on the nape of my neck when we are alone in the forest, and I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back.
