Ethan appears in the kitchen doorway in his socks. When did he take off his shoes? He looks at me with an expression of deep personal suffering. “I’m hungry.”
I stare at him. “You had three slices of pizza.”
“I know.” He presses his hand to his stomach. “But they’re gone.”
I look at Grayson.
He shrugs with zero remorse. “Growing boy.”
“He’s a growing boy, not a black hole.” I look at Ethan. “Are you sure you’re hungry? How about a glass of milk?”
His stomach suddenly gurgles, and I have no choice but to believe him.
“Have you considered the possibility that he may have worms? It’s very common in young kids.”
Grayson makes a strangled noise. “He does not have worms.”
“I’m just saying. He shouldn’t be this hungry so fast.” I look at Ethan, who has pressed himself against my leg and is looking up at me pleadingly.
“He’s fine. He just eats a lot,” his father assures me, and I sigh. “Peanut butter and jelly?”
Ethan’s face transforms instantly, suspicion and hope fighting for the top spot. “What’s that?”
I blink at him. “You’ve never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
He shakes his head slowly, like he’s worried the answer is going to disappoint me.
I look at Grayson. He looks faintly defensive. “He’s a picky eater.”
“He’s a picky eater who ate three slices of pizza and is now starving at seven o’clock at night.” I open the cabinet and pull out the bread. “Right. Okay. Ethan, this is going to change your life.”
He climbs up onto the kitchen stool and watches me. I make the sandwiches, cutting them diagonally because corners matter and every child deserves that small consideration. I slide the plate across to Ethan. He picks up one triangle, sniffs it exactly the way he sniffed Grayson’s cap in the park, and takes a bite.
His eyes go wide. “It’s good,” he announces.
“I know.” I lean against the counter.
He works through the first sandwich with total commitment, and I watch him eat, smiling softly. I’ve never thought about having kids, but seeing Ethan makes me want one. The smile fades from my lips as I imagine the kind of life my child would lead, would be forced to live.
Straightening up, I pick up my coffee and take another sip.
Dreams are not for me.
Not anymore.
Chapter Seven
Grayson
Standing in the doorway, I watch my son sleep. His chest rises and falls in the soft glow of the nightlight. His teddy bear is tucked under one arm, and there’s still a faint smear of peanut butter at the corner of his mouth that I’m only now noticing. He must have sneaked another sandwich into his pockets. I should have known something was up when Miranda winked at him as we were leaving.
The corner of my lip twitches reluctantly as I think of the sharp-tongued nurse. With me, she is all thorns and bristles, but when it comes to my son, she’s sweet as can be.
You have absolutely no concept of my actual life.
Her words from this evening wipe the smile from my face. The bitterness in her tone and the weary look in her eyes. She called it charity, but I don’t see it that way. Life dealt her an unfair card, so why can’t I help her out of it? I don’t see it as charity at all. I purse my lips together. I looked into the loan shark she’s indebted to. It wasn’t that hard to find his name, especially since she had some of his information in that beat-up car of hers.
Kozlov is a violent man, and he is known for fronting women loans and then dragging them into sex work to pay it off. It doesn’t matter if Miranda is an educated woman, a nurse. To him, she is just another woman he can use. He has a nasty reputation. I wanted to tell Miranda that today, but Ethan interrupted us. She should know this. She must have known it when she took on that debt. How does she expect to pay it back? For a woman who’s so smart, she’s not acting like it.
