The Perfect Son

“I thought he reserved his door-slamming for me.” Felix loosened his tie and pushed off from the kitchen island. “I should go and make sure he didn’t upset his mother.”


“Eudora’s got it covered,” Katherine said. “I’m sure she’ll shout for reinforcements if she needs them, and I was hoping to say something to you before I left.”

Felix dove into the fridge and pulled out a small bottle of Perrier for himself and a bottle of the ginger limeade that he’d started keeping in the house for Katherine.

“No, I’m good, thanks.” She reached down for her bags.

He put the limeade back, twisted the cap off his bottle of carbonated water, and guzzled. No alcohol today, not when he was contemplating an all-nighter. Thank God he could still make sound decisions about alcohol. He’d never realized before how exhausting the role of caregiver could be. Having a caregiver buddy—or in his case, two—might be the reason he was still drinking for pleasure, not need.

Katherine wound her hair into a knot and then released it. “I spend a lot of time reading people,” she said, “and apart from the husband fail, I thought I was a decent judge of character. But I have to admit I was wrong about you. I’d like to offer a carte blanche apology for every snide comment and evil glare. And I’d like to start over.” She hoisted her bags up onto her shoulder. “Felix Fitzwilliam, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

She held out her hand and he shook it. “Does this mean I’m no longer the antihero?”

“Well, let’s not go that far.” Her crooked smile was almost endearing. “How are things between you and Harry?”

He and Katherine updated each other daily on the basics of Ella’s progress: she ate X today, her energy level was down, she slept for an hour this afternoon. The spikiness had disappeared from their conversations, but they didn’t discuss anything personal. Katherine seemed ready to change that.

“Unlike you, Harry does not think he’s misjudged me. I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

“Aren’t sons meant to hate their fathers and lust after their mothers? Oedipus and all that.”

“Oedipus didn’t hate his father. And he didn’t know the identity of either of his biological parents when he married the queen.”

“Right. Thanks for the potted history lesson.” She smirked and he relaxed. Sarcasm from Katherine he could handle. “Look, Harry’s a good kid; he’ll be fine. He and Ella are just so close, and this has to be turning his world on its head.”

“I don’t know what he wants from me.”

“Well, if my brothers’ interactions with my dad were anything to go by, I’d say that’s standard for a father-son relationship. My dad spent his life complaining that he didn’t understand his sons.”

“Your father’s dead?”

“Both my parents are.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Ella’s the only real family I have. Brothers are useless, you know.”

He nearly contradicted her, but he wasn’t ready to open up their relationship to include Tom. “How’s the deadline coming?”

“Inspired by you, I asked for an extension.”

“Did you get it?” Felix stretched out yet another crick in his neck. Working at the dining room table was killing his back, his neck, probably even his eyesight.

She nodded. “How’s the deal?”

“D-day is looming. Which means enough pleasantries, woman.” He smiled. “As we say in England, bugger off. I need to check on my wife and get back to the grind.”

He started walking toward the bedroom, and then—pandemonium. Eudora screamed, Katherine dropped her bags—Oh God, was that her computer smashing?—Harry’s door flew open, and Felix’s gut said Run.

Ella and Eudora were huddled on the bedroom floor. Ashen, Ella clutched her chest. “Can’t breathe . . .”

“Katherine, call 911,” Felix shouted, tugging Ella into his arms.

Harry sank to his knees beside them. “Mom. I’m sorry! It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault!”

“No,” Ella wheezed. “No . . .”





TWENTY-NINE



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