Page 12 of Deacon

Despite everything, my mouth twitched. “Do your homework.”

“I’m doing my homework.”

“You always say that like it proves you’re doing your homework.”

“It does prove I’m doing my homework.”

She moved around the kitchen as she spoke. A plate clinked against the counter, followed by the microwave door and the muted thump of another cabinet. Home sounds. Safe sounds. They settled through me slowly, smoothing a few of the jagged places the hospital had left behind.

“You good otherwise?” I asked.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m good.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice softened. “Seriously. Go have dinner with Aunt Blue and Guncle Evan.”

A real smile tugged at my mouth. “He is not your guncle.”

“He kind of is.”

“He’d become unbearable if he heard you say that.”

“That is exactly why I said it.”

I laughed beneath my breath and looked through the windshield at the dim concrete levels of the garage. “We’re still doing the Stranger Things marathon this weekend. Don’t make plans and act shocked when I remind you.”

“I remember.”

“You said that last time, then Chloe talked you into a sleepover.”

“Mom, I was fourteen.”

“You were fifteen.”

“Same difference.”

“It literally isn’t.”

She groaned. “Yes, Mom. I know, Mom. I am good, Mom.”

There she was.

My girl. Sarcasm layered over sweetness, impatience protecting a heart that still checked whether I was okay while pretending she hadn’t noticed anything at all.

“Love you,” I said.

Her answer came without hesitation, warm and automatic beneath the attitude. “Love you too, Mom. Drive safe.”

Because she was sixteen and physically incapable of allowing sincerity to remain uncovered for long, she added, “And try not to let Aunt Blue and Guncle Evan turn dinner into a support group slash crime podcast.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You won’t.”

“Probably not.”

“Night, Mom.”

“Night, baby.”

I remained in the car after the call ended, my phone resting in my hand while the silence pressed around me more gently than before. Eventually, I set it down, pulled in a long breath, and started the engine.