“We learned about the different types of clouds,” he says, accepting his plate and taking a massive bite before I’ve finished filling my plate.
“Slow down there, Jay. Dinner’s not going anywhere.” He must be growing again, judging by the rather impressive appetite he’s shown lately.
I’ll need to get ahead of it and get him some new shoes soon.
He’s always been terrible about telling me when they get too small—I had to find out the hard way last time when his toes literally tore through the front of his shoe and his teacher had to call me because Jackson couldn’t stop crying.
He thought he’d ruined them when in fact, it made me feel like the worst mother in the world that I hadn’t realized he’d outgrown them.
Won’t be making that mistake again.
“Any other fun news?” I press, curious whether he’ll tell me more about his first walk home as a big boy.
Jackson shrugs, then his face lights up as if he’s suddenly remembered something. “I made a new friend today,” he says after swallowing his mouthful.
“That’s wonderful. Tell me about him,” I suggest as warmth floods my chest. Jackson tends to be on the shy side.
The friends he has have been hard to come by because he’s quiet.
He doesn’t like to make the first move, and I smile as I picture someone new to the class coming up to introduce themselves to the boy who’s probably the least intimidating kid in a class.
“His name’s Gio, and he’s got the coolest tattoos,” Jackson says enthusiastically.
“Tattoos?” I repeat, my heart skipping a beat. “Like the stick-on kind?”
Jackson giggles, his smile breaking across his face. “No, like the real kind. He had them all across his knuckles and hand and up his arm…”
I don’t know why, but my immediate thought is to jump back to my creepy customer this morning, and I rack my brain trying to remember if he had tattoos.
But I can’t, for the life of me, recall one way or the other.
“Jackson, was this new friend of yours a man? Like, an adult?” I clarify, my pulse suddenly racing.
“Yeah,” he says, seeming almost confused by my question as he keeps his fork in hand.
“Where did you meet him—when?”
“Just outside, while I was taking out the trash…”
Jackson glances over his shoulder toward the side door of our townhome, and that creeping sensation of goosebumps crawling along the nape of my neck has me out of my chair in an instant.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jackson asks as I race to the side door, throwing the deadbolt home before I turn my attention to the window and peer out into the deep shadows along our walkway.
It makes me wonder if that gut feeling I had early about being followed was spot on, but if someone did track me home, I don’t see them now.
The street is empty aside from Mrs. Henderson from two doors down as she shuffles along the sidewalk, taking her little Yorkshire terrier, Snickers, for an evening stroll.
“Tell me more about this man. What did he look like?” I press, turning back to Jackson.
Again, he shrugs, his brows furrowing in concentration. “He was tall and had one of those fancy shirts with the buttons down the front.”
A common clothing option for businessmen—and also what my creepy customer was wearing.“Good. What else do you remember? What color was his hair? Did he have a beard? A mustache?” I ask as I head back to the table.
“I don’t know. His hair was dark, kinda like mine, and yeah, I think he had hair on his face, but it wasn’t, you know”—Jackson gestures to indicate a full beard—“long like a wizard’s or anything,” he finishes.
“Did he say why he was outside our house?” I ask, my ears roaring with the sound of my adrenaline rushing through my veins.
“No,” Jackson says thoughtfully, as if checking his memory with care. “He just seemed like he was on his way home from work or something.”
