Page 10 of At His Beck & Call

“A puppy. Gregory, at school, got one, and it’s really cute. It’s yellow.”

I feel a slow, sad smile spread over my face. “Maybe. Once you’re better, we can think about it, okay?”

“A yellow one?” he asks enthusiastically.

“Are you sure it was yellow, like a banana, or was it golden, like the retriever Grandma used to have?”

Henry thinks about it for a minute. “It was definitely yellow.”

I laugh at his decisive tone. “Okay then, I’d like a dog, too. Or maybe we could get a cat, so we don’t have to walk him in the snow, hm?”

“I don’t mind. It needs to be fluffy though.”

I take his hand and lead him down the steps to the bus stop just beside our apartment block. It’s a seven-story building, and at this time in the early evening, there are a lot of other people waiting, too. I nod to a couple of faces I recognize, but even after a year, I barely know anybody.

The bus arrives, and to my relief, we manage to find two seats at the back.

It’s overcrowded, noisy, and hot inside, and I check my watch, nervous that if the traffic is bad, I’ll end up being late for my appointment at the agency.

I’m wearing a Chanel blouse and a gorgeous Reiss suit that Bethany lent me. We’re around the same size in terms of body shape, but our heights are wildly different.

Bethany is tall and willowy, whereas I’m petite and what my mother would have called ‘compact’. Beth and I have often been mistaken for sisters, both with dark brown hair in a similar cut, but I’ve always envied Bethany’s golden skin over my own palebody. It’s something James made me paranoid about, constantly calling me pasty or ghost-like.

Why did I put up with his shit for so long?

“Am I sick?”

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by Henry’s question. He’s beside me, staring out the window, his eyes moving rapidly as they try to follow the buildings flying past.

I hesitate, weighing my options. Many parents would choose to lie to their children in the face of such a question. I can understand why. Sometimes, it’s easier to mask the truth than let them know how fragile life can be.

But I don’t want to pretend my son is okay when he isn’t. He’s a clever kid; he’ll know something’s up and ask the doctor a million questions the next time we go in.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “You’re pretty sick right now, sweetheart. But you’re going to have an operation, and the doctor will make you better. That’s what they’re there for, honey.”

“Someone at school said I was going to die of cancer.”

“Who?” I snap sharply, unable to keep the fury from my voice. Henry flinches, and I try to rein myself in. “Sorry, sweetie. I just don’t like bullies. Was it one of the other boys in your class?” I ask, putting my arm around his shoulders.

Henry nods but doesn’t look upset. He rarely cries, not even when he gets hurt, and even then, it usually doesn’t take him long to bounce back. When he badly scraped his knee falling off a friend’s bike in the fall, he came to me limping but didn’t shed a single tear.

“That was a mean thing to say,” I manage, tamping down my fury. “But he might not have known what it really meant. He was probably just repeating something he heard on TV.”

“How is the doctor going to make me better?” Henry asks me, turning those ocean blue eyes my way.

“She’s going to take away all the bad things inside you so that the good things can fill you up again,” I say, the horrible image of the operating table leaping into my mind against my will.

“Are you sad?” he asks, as I fight back the tears that seem to be constantly ready to spill out these days.

“I am kind of sad,” I admit carefully. “But only because I don’t like it when you don’t feel good. Once you have the operation, you’ll start feeling better. I promise.”

“Are you going to be there?” he asks in a small, frightened voice.

“Every step of the way,” I say, hugging him tightly to me and kissing the crop of blond curls on the top of his head as the bus continues on.

I don’t let go of him for the rest of the ride, praying that what I’ve told him is the truth.

A bird is staring at me.