“You drew pictures? That’s great. You’re such a good little artist.”
“Miss Fran thinks they’re scary.”
“She said that?”
He shook his head. “But she thinks so.”
I frowned, wishing I’d read a few more books on child psychology. Or, actually, any books.
Now, I glanced toward the small desk in the corner, where a few sheets of paper were scattered. Even from here, I could see they were more pictures of rectangles, except these were different. Dark. Heavy red and black crayon pressed hard into the paper.
“Can I see?”
He shook his head harder. “You won’t like them either.”
“I like everything you make,” I said. “How about you try to sleep, and we’ll look at them together in the morning?”
“Okay.” He yawned, already relaxing against me. “Mommy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Is Daddy sad?”
My heart clenched. “No, baby. Daddy’s just tired.”
“Does Daddy need more hugs?”
God. Kids noticed everything.
“Maybe,” I said, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “I think Daddy would love more hugs.”
“I give him hugs tomorrow,” Timmy said solemnly. “Big ones.”
“That sounds perfect, baby.”
Timmy seemed to accept that, his breathing evening out as sleep pulled him under. I held him for a while longer, rocking gently, watching the moonlight shift across his floor.
When I finally tucked him back into bed, I paused at the desk for a closer look at his drawings.
Red scribbles. Black shapes. A rectangle that seemed to have eyes and looked dark. Angry.
I grimaced, hoping this wasn’t some psychological price he was paying because of the tension between me and Stuart.
That, however, wasn’t something I could deal with now. So, I stepped away from the drawings, then left the room, pulling the door mostly closed behind me. I had a meeting to get to, and an ancient demon to worry about.
The drawings could wait.
I wason my way to find Allie when I heard voices coming from Laura’s office. The door was cracked open, and I probably should have kept walking, but Laura’s tone made me pause.
“I just think you need to be careful,” she was saying. “New relationships are tricky even without adding stakes and demons into the mix.”
“I know.” Mindy hesitated. “It’s just... He’s really nice, you know? And cute. And he actually listens when you talk to him.”
I leaned against the wall, shameless. Eavesdropping is a vital parenting skill. Anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t have teenagers.
Besides, Laura would tell me everything after the meeting, anyway.
“Those are good qualities,” Laura said. “But you barely know Zane.”
