After work, Katie drove to her mom’s home, wanting to spend an hour or two with Sam before Eve’s sleepover. The sound of a radio greeted her inside the door, and she followed the music to the kitchen where she found her mom busy cubing potatoes on a cutting board.
“Hi.” Her mother flashed a smile. “Sam’s in the living room if you want to say hello. Dinner in forty-five. I’ve already got gravy simmering on the stove.”
“Mmm.” Katie nodded, inhaling the aroma of hot chicken stock, butter, and seasonings. Despite the non-traditional manner in which she’d raised her daughters, Katie’s mom had always ensured both girls had a hot cooked meal. It might have been tossed on the table as she dashed out to grab a drink with some loser in a beat-up Ford, but she’d made sure her girls had something more substantial than fast food or snacks.
“Is there anything you want me to do?” Katie dropped a green carry tote onto the floor. The bag contained a few items she’d need for the sleepover, but also a gift for Sam.
“I’m fine, hon.” Another quick smile. With her bleached blond hair and blue eyes, Doreen Sue looked like an older Kim Carnes. People sometimes said as much, a comparison that never failed to earn a flirty flutter of her eyelashes, especially if the compliment came from a man. Wearing the same clingy black leggings and oversized silk shirt she’d worn to her salon, she hardly looked dressed to be mashing up potatoes or frying chicken. At least she’d traded the stiletto heels for a pair of comfortable blue jelly flats.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
“I have everything under control. Go see your son. He’s anxious to show you what he’s been drawing.”
Nodding, Katie pulled a paper bag from the tote. “Yell if you need me.”
She found Sam in the living room, seated on the sofa, hunched over a loose-leaf notebook. He grinned when he saw her.
“Hi, Mom.” Thrusting his pad aside, he hopped off the couch and ran to give her a hug.
“Hey, my handsome man.” Katie knelt, wrapping him in her arms and inhaling a mixture of autumn grass, browning leaves, and denim. “You were outside.”
“I was looking for Rex.” Sam had her green eyes paired with his father’s floppy brown hair. Thankfully, hair color was all he’d inherited from Lyle Mason.
“Don’t worry. He’ll turn up.” She smoothed a scattering of bangs from his forehead. “Sometimes dogs just like to roam.”
“That’s what Martin said.”
“Then you should listen to him.” Martin was the first good guy her mom had dated. It didn’t surprise her he’d go out of his way to soothe Sam’s fears. “Hey, look. I brought you something.” Standing, she handed him the bag.
“What is it?”
“Open it and find out.”
Eagerly, he tore into the package. “Wow, thanks, Mom!” His mouth split with an exuberant grin as he withdrew two sketchbooks and a pack of graphite pencils.
“Grammie said you started drawing.”
“Yep. Look at this.” Grasping her hand, Sam tugged her toward the couch, then handed her his notebook. “I did most of these last night.”
Katie bit her lip. “There’s so many.” Too many, as if her son had pored over the notebook for hours. The pages were filled with random drawings, some in pencil, most in ink. The detail was astounding. Images of trees, houses, fields, even the sky, all rendered in a precision she wouldn’t expect an eight-year-old could manage. Her heart beat faster as she flipped through the pages. Sam had crammed the inside of the trees and houses with all manner of geometrical shapes. Triangles, squares, lines, and diamonds. The patterns repeated over and over in mirrored perfection.
Noise.
How did she know that term?
“Do you like them?” His face held eager expectation, his eyes bright. The corners looked a little puffy, the whites pinkish.
“When did you find the time to do all of these?”
Dancing from foot to foot, he shrugged. “Last night. Today.”
“Is this all you’ve been doing? Don’t you want to go outside and play?”
“I was outside, remember? I helped Martin look for Rex.”
His eyes were definitely puffy. Maybe he hadn’t slept well. Maybe he’d been up all night scribbling tiny patterns in houses and trees.
“Don’t you like them, Mom?” His voice carried a note of worry.
“Of course I do.” She smoothed a hand over his hair. “I’m just concerned about you. You look a little tired. Your eyes—”
“They itch, that’s all.” As if to prove the point, Sam dug a knuckle into the corner of his eye before pointing back to the tablet. “That one’s my favorite.” He tapped the open page.
Katie’s gaze fell to the picture. Her mother’s backyard. She recognized the willow tree near the rear porch. The flowerbed, tucked beneath the kitchen window, bare now but for a scattering of dried leaves trapped by a black plastic border. Rex was in the picture, muzzle pointed skyward, mouth open as if caught in mid-bark. A fat cloud hovered over the tree, casting a wide beam to the ground. In the center of the diaphanous cloud, small pinpricks of light pulsed like dancing fireflies. Unlike Sam’s other drawings, this one did not contain any geometrical shapes.
Katie tapped a fingernail against the cloud. “What’s this?”
Sam angled for a better look. “The cloud.”
Goose bumps prickled her arms. Not a cloud, but the cloud. She tightened her fingers on the tablet.
“It was there right before Rex disappeared,” Sam continued, seemingly unaware of her distress. “It was green.”
He scrubbed his eye, this time using the back of his hand. “Rex started barking at it and then took off.”
Katie wet her lips. “Did Grammie see the cloud?”
Sam shook his head. “It kind of vanished.”