Nicole
A noise coming from the front door woke me up.
My body jerked upright. The couch groaned underneath me as I pushed myself up. I was still dressed. Same pants. Same wool sweater. Same shoes.
I must have passed out here after Detective Nolan took the Dustin family to the shelter.
I turned toward the hallway with a stiff neck and found Dylan standing in the doorway.
Tall. Too tall for sixteen. Just like his dad had been back then.
Fog clouded my thoughts. The room felt foggy, like I was still dreaming.
“W-what time is it?” I looked for my phone. The cushions must have swallowed it.
“Eleven in the morning,” Dylan said.
My whole body went rigid. “Dear God, I never sleep that long.”
I looked him over. Sneakers. Jeans. A baseball cap pulled low, the same way his dad always wore it. His school bag hung loose over one shoulder.
“Wait.” I pushed myself to my weak feet. “Why aren’t you in school, Dylan?”
He crossed the room and sat in the TV chair beside the couch. He leaned back, shoulders sinking into the worn cushion as his fingers played with the loose fabric.
“Because …” The sentence died halfway out of his mouth.
“Oh, Dylan. Did you get in trouble again? Did you get suspended?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. Dad called the school for me. He told them I was sick today.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.”
His eyes scanned me, head to toe.
“Are you okay, Grandma?”
“Yeah.” That came too fast. “Why, honey?”
He wrinkled his forehead. “You joking? Have you looked at yourself?”
My gaze drifted to the hallway mirror. Even from here, the reflection hit hard.
My hair was unbrushed, sticking out in uneven strands. Mascara was smeared beneath my eyes, black and harsh. I was still wearing the same clothes I’d been in for three days straight. I stank of perfume and sweat.
I looked like I’d escaped the psych ward and stopped here for a nap.
My throat tightened. “I’m just … a bit tired, honey.” I forced my lips into something that looked like a smile. “But why aren’t you in school? Please just tell me. I don’t want to worry for nothing.”
“I …” His gaze dropped to his shoes as his fingers went back to playing with the ripped piece of fabric on the chair.
“Dylan,” I said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“Ah, fuck it.” He lifted his head, and his eyes locked onto mine. “I’m going to visit Mom in jail today.”
My body moved before my thoughts caught up, and I rose to my feet. “You’re what?”
