He looked at the four chairs still boxed by the wall, then at me, and something warm moved through his expression. Not quite a smile. The thing that lived next door to a smile and was, in many ways, better.
Through the kitchen window, I could see William and Jolly in the backyard. Whatever game they’d invented today involved William running in wide circles while Jolly herded him like a very enthusiastic sheepdog. The yard was soft from the rain we’d had the last couple days, and both of them had been out there long enough that I was choosing not to think about the state of William’s clothes.
“I should unbox the chairs,” Ben said.
“I can help.”
“You’ve already helped. Go sit. I’ll bring you tea.”
“You don’t have tea.”
“I bought some.”
He’d bought some.
I was following him into the kitchen when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.
An email. From an address I didn’t recognize, which meant I recognized it immediately.
I’ve been thinking about what’s best for you, and I know you’ve been thinking about it too. That’s me, Kayla. We both know it?—
I closed the email. Opened the Evidence folder. Dragged the message in. Done.
Six months ago, my hands would have been shaking. Now it was fifteen seconds of my life. Open, file, move on.
I did want Craig Dutton completely out of my life. Notin the desperate, panicked way I’d wanted it at the beginning. In a tired way. A finished way. I was done giving this man space in my head, and the fact that he kept claiming it anyway, one email at a time, was less frightening than it was exhausting.
I thought about a restraining order again, but Craig hadn’t threatened violence, so there was no cause. He was just relentless, and there wasn’t a court filing for that. If he would just stop, I wouldn’t need one. If he would just find some other woman to fixate on, I could close the Evidence folder for good and forget he existed.
I set my phone facedown on the table.
Ben came back with two mugs. Lemon ginger for me. Black coffee for him. He sat across from me, and for a moment, we were just two people at a table. The ordinariness of it was the point.
A crash came from the backyard.
Not a bad crash. The particular percussion of a back door thrown open with the full enthusiasm of a six-year-old boy and a dog who couldn’t get enough of each other.
They came through the kitchen in a blur. William first, sneakers pounding the floor, Jolly right behind him, both of them moving at a speed that suggested they were being chased by something only they could see. William was laughing so hard he was barely upright. Jolly’s tail was a propeller, his mouth open in that wide, happy grin, his body a dark streak of uncontained joy.
They made it to the dining room before I fully registered the damage.
Mud. Everywhere.
William’s sneakers were caked with it. His jeans were brown from the knees down. His jacket had a streak across the front like he’d slid on his stomach. Jolly was worse—pawsblack, underbelly coated, a trail of prints across the kitchen floor that looked like a crime scene.
“Mom! Mr. Ben! We were playing army, and Jolly was the?—”
William stopped.
The laughter cut off like someone had pulled a plug. His eyes dropped to the floor, to the muddy prints tracking from the kitchen through the dining room. Then to his shoes. His hands. The mud on his jacket.
Then he looked up at the adults.
The joy drained from his face so fast it was like watching a light go out. His body went rigid. His shoulders pulled in. One hand found the hem of his jacket and gripped it, twisting the fabric the way he always did when the world was going wrong.
Jolly was still moving, tail going, oblivious. He bumped against William’s leg, and William didn’t react. He was staring at the muddy floor with an expression that made my stomach drop.
A kitchen in another town. Craig’s voice filling the room, filling every space my son had left to hide in. The look on William’s face when the screaming started. How small he’d made himself.
