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Of course, I have a deeply-rooted desire to believe Voss is a decent person, because if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being wrong about someone. Even so, I’ll never be able to face this guy again, and if he doesn’t already think I’m a freak, well, that’s a problem in itself.
It comes as a surprise that my head isn’t throbbing like yesterday, when I swore there were rhinos bouncing on pogo-sticks inside my skull. “Must’ve been good wine,” I mutter, stumbling out of the bed toward the bathroom.
I brush my teeth and relieve myself quickly, before nabbing my phone off the nightstand on my way out of the bedroom.
Oliver’s bedroom door is cracked, and I peek inside to find him sleeping. Moving to beside his bed, I’m taken back to the days when he was just a baby, asleep in his crib, and I could watch him for hours, dreaming of so many things for him in life.
I curse the world for being so cruel to him at such a young age, for proving how shitty some human beings can be. So many days, I wish I could go back to those moments, when he fit in my arms, and I could keep him safe just by holding him.
The moment his form blurs, I quickly shuffle out of his room. I can’t get caught up in those thoughts. Not today.
Hustling to downstairs, I enter the kitchen and find an entire pot of coffee already made. Either Voss programmed it, or I was walking around in a drunken, zombie state while performing all my usual bedtime routines.
I make Oliver a quick lunch, then drink a cup of coffee while reading the news on my CNN app. Locally, another girl has gone missing—a young blonde socialite last seen by friends in The Loop. Authorities suspect it’s the same guy who swiped up a couple girls before her, whose bodies were found without eyeballs.
Ugh. This is exactly why I hate watching, or reading, the news. Stories like these play on my paranoia, and suddenly every man I know is a suspect.
I click out of the app, then head up the stairs to wake Oliver. My phone buzzes in my back pocket on the way, and I slip it out to see Jonah calling.
“Hey,” I say on answering.
“Hey, Diane wanted me to let you know she’s going to be about fifteen minutes late grabbing Oli after school. Is he okay to be home for a few?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Most likely, he’ll come home, sit in his room, and either read, or draw, or blast his music. Either way, he’ll keep himself occupied. As a single mom, I’ve had to make quick runs to the grocery store, leaving him home for a few minutes at a time.
“Okay, cool. How’s the new roommate working out?”
“Voss? He’s … not bad. Keeps to himself mostly, but not in a creepy way.”
“Good. You’ll tell me if anything goes awry.”
“Duh. And thanks for giving me a heads-up for today. I’ll let Oli know to wait on the front porch for her.”
“All right. Talk later. Love you.”
“Love you more,” I say, before hanging up the phone.
One thing I always regretted was never giving Oli a sibling. Just wasn’t in the cards with Denny. We tried when Oliver was two, but a half dozen miscarriages later, and I was tired. Tired of crying, tired of hoping, but mostly, tired of feeling like a broken woman. I think a sibling might’ve changed things, though. There were times when I couldn’t talk to my mother, but things just came easy with Jonah. Not even Nora and I had the kind of bond I shared with my brother.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Time to wake up, Oli.”
As usual, he doesn’t say a word, but huffs and rolls over in bed.
“C’mon, Champ. I know you’re tired, but you have to get up.”
Seconds pass, and he doesn’t move.
“Oliver, you have to get up, baby. It’s time for school.”
Still no movement.
I pad across his room to beside his bed and give a light shake of his arm. “Hey, I hate having to get up for work, but that’s the breaks, kid.”
He shoves my hand away, burying his face in the pillow.
“What’s going on?”
When he turns to face me, I catch the shine of tears in his eyes.
