“Beckett,” she whispers, her eyes wide with worry as they lift to mine.
“Oh.” My heart sinks. This can’t be good. “Do you need to take it?”
“He never calls. I probably should.” I can tell she’s conflicted.
“Go.” I nod to the bedroom. “Don’t worry. Take as long as you need. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Thanks.” She slips from the room as she answers.
At her absence, a knot of worry forms in my gut. He never calls. So, why the fuck is he calling now?
35
ROSALIE
“Beckett.”I’m a little breathless when I say hello. The anxiety in my body is tightening my lungs the same way exercise does.
“Rosalie.” His tone is no-nonsense. He’s calling with a purpose. “I want to run something by you.”
“Okay.” I close my bedroom door and sink down on the edge of the bed. Silence stretches through the line and for a moment I wonder if we’ve been disconnected.
“I want to discuss Edward’s education.”
“Oh, okay.” A little of the worry loosens in my chest.
“You’re doing a good job with him.” My brows lift in shock. In all the years I’ve raised our son, Beckett’s only offered one compliment—and that was after Edward was born. “I don’t know how, in that godforsaken place, but he’s intelligent and inquisitive, and his manners are impeccable.”
“Well, obviously,” I tease, only allowing a little snark to invade my tone. “Have you met his father?”
“Right.” Beckett chuckles the way he used to whenever I said anything that tickled his sense of humor. I used to live for thosemoments. Now, it’s just nice to know he’s still capable. “Well, I think it might have more to do with his mother.”
“He’s the best of both of us,” I say.
“Thank you for the week last month, by the way.” He clears his throat. “I know it was the first time you’ve left him for such a lengthy period of time.”
I appreciate his acknowledgment, but something in his voice sets me on edge.
“You’re welcome.”
“Anyway, we should consider boarding school. At my expense, of course. There are several programs I’d be open to. I’ll send you the details and we can work together to select one that suits him best.”
“Boarding school?” I want to laugh, because the suggestion is so absurd.
“Yes. They’ll be able to challenge him in ways he won’t get in Wilder Valley. The experience will grow him into a man.”
“Beckett, he’s seven,” I challenge.
“Obviously, but I believe he’s ready. It will be good for him to be around other boys of his age and brilliance. To have other role models who encourage him to aspire to more.”
I think back to last weekend, when Jackson took us down to the creek for lunch. I picture my baby playing in the mud. The pure joy on his face when he caught his first crawdad.
“He’s a child, Beckett. There’s more to development than structure and traditional education.”
“We don’t have to start him until next year.”
“Next year?” I repeat, my voice pitching with my shock.
“Calm down, Rosalie.”
