“Definitely not as fast as you.”
She watches him eat. He needs a haircut, and his arms are too long for his shirt. Every day he changes, and she doesn’t notice. Too close, too distracted.That’s how Tom managed to never tell me,she realizes, an electric shock of awareness running through her.I saw only a slice of him, never his whole self.
“Mom?”
This is one of those moments Duncan will always remember, and Diana wills herself not to let him down.
She shares only the essential facts, hewing as close as possible to the truth: Tom may have been involved in a fire—the details of which are unclear. Two men died, and a woman was injured. She doesn’t talk about the horses, the barn turning to ash, or the impact of William’s loss on Grace. She definitely avoids telling him about the person who broke into their house and her now constant worry that she and the kids are unsafe.
Duncan holds it together at first. But William’s and Carson’s deaths, even with her lack of detail, make his chin quiver and his eyes glass over.
She scoots around the bench, and he crumples against her. His tears drip onto her chest, her hands still his fists. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay,” she says into his ear. He smells like coconut and sunshine; her mother must have forced sunblock on him that morning.
It was a mistake to come here. The others she shared Tom’s story with had been in private when they heard the news. None of them is a child, none of them is Tom’s son. She’s messed this up.
At that moment, Stephanie peeks around the corner, coffeepot in hand, her blue ponytail bobbing up and down. She sees Duncan in Diana’s arms and leaves, only to return seconds later sliding an oversize armchair across the floor. She positions it next to the ficus, hiding them from curious customers. Diana bends her head in a silent thank-you.
A few minutes pass before Duncan sits up, wiping his eyes. “What’s next?”
“‘What’s next?’ That’s the first thing you say to me? ‘What’s next?’” No parenting handbook she ever read prepared her for this conversation. “You don’t want to disagree with me and tell me I must be wrong about what your father did?”
“Why would you lie to me?”
Someday, Duncan will understand how easy it is to deceive,Diana thinks. How people use half-truths to protect themselves. Maybe then he’ll look back and realize how screwed up it was Tom left that letter.
“I have to find Jessica, your dad’s friend from that time.” She doesn’t explain how they were involved. Sex and drugs are topics for anotherday; death is enough for today. “Or I could stop here, and we can put all of this behind us.”
“You can’t stop, Mom. You need to find this Jessica person.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“You tell me the hard stuff is worth it. Don’t give up and all that. Well, you can’t either,” Duncan says. “I bet a private detective could find her. You can have my allowance to hire one, if it’s too expensive.”
“A private detective? We don’t have to do that.” Diana pushes his hair off his face. “You keep your allowance. Aren’t you saving up for a new Celtics jersey?”
“Maybe Grandma and Grandpa will get it for me for my birthday. It doesn’t matter. Figuring this out is way more important.”
What a burden her son carries because of Tom. Because of her, too. “I’ll find her. Please don’t worry about it,” she adds, though she knows he’ll worry. In that way, he resembles her more than Tom.
He shrugs and sucks on the straw in his smoothie until only ice remains. He picks up his sandwich and is about to take a bite when Diana changes the subject.
“Your coach called me today.”
“He did?”
“You’re not turning in your homework, and you’ve been goofing off at practice. He wanted to give me a heads-up. Duncan, if this continues, you’re going to lose your cocaptain position, and you could be cut from the team.”
Duncan lowers the sandwich to his plate.
“Our deal was that you’d focus on school, right? And I’d take care of the rest?” Diana places her hand over his and squeezes. “I asked him to give you time to improve, and he agreed.”
It hadn’t taken much to convince the coach to give Duncan another chance. All she had to say was “grief” and “missing his dad,” and the coach had done everything possible to end the call. Sometimes, the loss card did work in their favor.
“You have two weeks to get back on track,” she continues. “Two weeks, okay?”
“Okay,” he croaks. He swipes a lone tear from under his left eye and attacks his sandwich. As she finishes her coffee, she promises herself she’ll check in more regularly on his homework.
When only a lime-green pickle remains on Duncan’s plate, he lowers his voice and leans over to her. “Mom? We shouldn’t tell Phoebe about any of this.”
