Page 38 of The Haunting Plot

Jonah’s head swivels to mine, his wide-eyed look of shock comical.

“Wait. There’s hair around your butthole?”

“There will be when you get older. It’s part of puberty. You’ll grow hair everywhere.”

Sawyer’s eyes nervously bounce between me and Jonah. The fact that he’s not cracking a joke shocks me. He looks like he wants to say something, but I don’t let him. “There’s no shame in talking about body parts. Puberty is normal, and everyone goes through it. And I’d rather my kid learn the proper names for things and slang words from me than the idiots in his class.”

“I didn’t say anything, and I’ve never thought about it like that, but you’re right,” Sawyer says.

“Is that why Sawyer has a mustache? Because of pubes? Is that his poo-berry mustache? His pube-y ’stache? Pube ’stache?”

“Puberty,” I correct. “Pubes are the hairs that grow on your privates during puberty. They’re called pubic hairs because they grow in your pubic area.”

“Pubic hairs,” Jonah repeats.

Tommy laughs. “That’s a funny word.”

“It is. And they’re words that stay at home and don’t come out at school,” I say.

Jonah nods. “Like shit.”

I sigh. “Yes. We don’t say shit at school. And honestly, I’d prefer you not use it at home.”

“But you say it.”

“It’s a grown-up word,” Sawyer adds. “Some words are for grown-ups because they’re tricky to know how to use in the right place with the right people.”

“That makes sense,” Jonah says as I mouth a “thank you” to Sawyer.

“Go get your water, and then I need your help with this,” Sawyer says to the boys, then turns to me and adds, “I got this. Why don’t you write in your bedroom? I can keep the boys occupied.”

I eye him up and down. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ve got them. They’re gonna be my helpers.”

Reluctantly, I relent and head upstairs with my laptop. I pass by McKenna’s room and pause when her words stop me.

“Jonah gets all the attention, and I get it. He has special needs.”

“Tommy does too because he has ADHD,” Jane says.

I press my ear against the door, trying to listen to their conversation as mom guilt slams me hard. I knew she felt this way, but it’s hard hearing her talk to someone else about it.

“Yeah, Jonah has autism, and he has meltdowns. A lot.”

“Are they scary?”

“Sometimes,” McKenna says.

Tears well in my eyes at her words. I hold my breath, hoping they don’t hear me. I need to make more of an effort to make her feel special, but there aren’t enough hours in the day. Why does all of this have to fall on me?

“So does Tommy sometimes. But my dad says that Tommy has different needs than me, and just because his emotions may come out louder than mine doesn’t mean they’re more important.”

“My dad used to say something like that too, but then he died.”

A K-pop song drowns out their voices. I pull back from the door and clutch my chest with my free hand as I try to slow my heart rate. How am I failing both of my kids? How do I fix this? Why does it feel like my entire life is crashing around me? I take a few steps toward my room before I sink onto the floor, my heart racing as the room spins. My laptop lands on the wood floor in a clatter.

Large footsteps pound up the steps, followed by smaller ones.