A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

Tears immediately filled Jen’s eyes. Her friend looked away, then back at her. “He’s the same. Bright, happy, loving. I just wish...”

The kettle began to whistle. Jen turned and snapped off the heat, then poured the boiling water into the teapot.

Zoe took her place at the table and held in a sigh. Jack was a sweet baby who had reached every milestone exactly when he was supposed to. Rolling over, sitting up, crawling, reaching for objects. The only thing he hadn’t done was talk. He rarely vocalized, instead getting his point across in other ways.

Jen had grown increasingly worried over the past few months, convinced something was wrong. Zoe didn’t have enough experience to offer an opinion, but as every specialist Jen had been to had said Jack would talk when he was ready, she thought maybe her friend was making herself crazy over something that might not be a problem.

Jen poured the tea, then brought the baby monitor from the counter to the table and took her seat. “I’m still doing a lot of home testing with Jack,” she said. “He does so well on nearly everything. I think he’s bright. He’s not regressing, at least not that I can see. I have another specialist I’m going to take him to next week.” She sighed and reached for a scone. “Maybe it’s nutritional.” She waved the scone. “I’d never let him have this. I’m so careful with his diet.” She sighed heavily. “I just wish I could sleep. But it’s hard. I worry.”

“Of course you do. You have a lot going on.”

“Tell me about it. I had to let the cleaning service go. They were using a spray cleaner. Can you believe it? I told them they could only use steam and those special cloths I bought. What if the fumes from the chemicals are affecting Jack’s development? What if it’s the paint on the walls or the varnish on the floors?”

“What if he’s fine?”

Zoe spoke without thinking, then wanted to call the words back. Jen’s gaze turned accusing and her mouth pulled into a straight line.

“Now you sound like my mother,” she snapped. “Look, I know it’s not a big deal to you, but Jack is my child and I’m his only advocate, okay? I know there’s something wrong. I just know it. If you had children of your own, you’d understand.”

Zoe had been looking forward to her chocolate chip scone. Now she found herself unable to take a bite.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I only meant to help.”

“You didn’t.”

She waited, wondering if Jen was going to apologize for her snipey remarks, but her friend only continued to glare at her.

“Then I should go,” Zoe said quietly. She rose and started for the door.

Jen followed her. Before Zoe walked out of the house, Jen touched her arm.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hear that Jack’s okay from one more person. He’s not and I seem to be the only one who sees that. I’m drowning and no one sees it. Please understand.”

“I’m trying,” Zoe told her. “Do you want me to come back next week?”

“What?” Jen’s eyes filled with tears again. “No, don’t say that. You’re my best friend. I need you. Please come back. We’ll do better next time. It’ll be great. Promise?”

Zoe nodded slowly. The words were there, but they weren’t best friends anymore. They hadn’t been in a while.

“I’ll see you then,” she said and made her way to her car. When she was driving away she realized that she’d never had the chance to tell Jen about what had happened to her in the attic or anything else that was going on.

Everything was different now, she thought. There was no Chad. Jen was slipping away. Zoe felt as if she was living in total isolation. If she didn’t want to die alone, then she was going to have to make some changes in her life. Step one, she told herself, find a handyman to fix her attic stairs. Step two, get her butt out of the house and make new friends.

*

Jennifer Beldon knew that every mother thought her child was special, but in her case, it was genuinely true. John Beldon, who was named after his late grandfather and who went by Jack, was handsome, happy and oh, so bright. At eighteen months old he could walk and run, albeit unsteadily. He could stack large blocks, understand words like up or down or hot. He could laugh, point to objects she named, recognize the sound of his father’s car pulling in the drive and kick a ball with surprising accuracy. He was careful with his grandmother’s very odd and delicate little dog and even washed his hands himself—sort of—before meals.

What he didn’t, couldn’t or wouldn’t do was talk.

Jen sat on the family room floor with Jack across from her. Classical music played in the background. The rug was organic cotton and plush enough to provide a little protection when there was a tumble. Sunlight streamed through steam-cleaned windows. As far as the eye could see, the nose could smell and the lungs could breathe, there were no chemicals of any kind.

She held up a simple drawing of a spider. Jack clapped and pointed. The second drawing had all the spider parts, but they were put together incorrectly, creating more of a random pattern than an insect. Jack frowned and shook his head, as if he knew something wasn’t right. She showed the spider drawing a second time and got a happy grin.

“You are a smart boy,” she said cheerfully. “Yes, that’s a spider. Good for you.”

Jack nodded, then patted his mouth with his palm. She immediately recognized the signal, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was eleven-thirty.

“Are you hungry?” As she asked the question, her stomach growled. “Me, too. I’m going to make lunch. Want to watch?”

Jack laughed and crawled the short distance between them. Once he reached her, he stood and held out his arms for a hug.

She pulled him close and let the warmth of his little body comfort her. He was such a good boy, she thought, her heart overflowing with gratitude. Smart, loving, sweet. If only...