“Now that, we can’t have. Come on.” He led Zach back into the garage and through the door into the kitchen. It was a mint green color, which he’d thought cheerful, unique and a nice contrast for the dark cabinets at the time and now felt stupid about. It was like living in a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. He just didn’t have the energy to paint it right now. Not when the mere idea of lifting his arms over his shoulders made him want to cry daily.
He opened the tiny pantry and waved a hand. “Pick a snack, any snack.” For a moment, he expected to see a good rendition of a plague of locusts, descending on the free-for-all food. He kept his diet pretty solid, but stocked some junk food for when he had guys over . . . especially Greg, whose taste buds gave a toddler a run for his money.
Grabbing a bottle of water and a few aspirin for himself, he turned to see Zach carefully picking up each box of food and reading the ingredients thoughtfully before setting it back down. It tore at his heart, knowing this was his life. That he couldn’t do what any other boy his age would do and grab an armful of snacks and chow down. That each bite he put in his mouth could have dire effects on his health.
“Oreos,” he managed to choke out. “Oreos are good, right? I think I remember seeing that on your mom’s blog.”
Zach turned, blinking sad eyes at him. “Yeah, you don’t have any in here though. Can I just have some lunch meat?”
Oh, you poor, sweet, smart boy. “I’ve got a special stash.” He’d forgotten in the moment he’d decided to keep the cookies handy in case Kara ever happened to magically drop by with Zach in tow . . . you know, in his fantasy world. He’d put them in a hidden spot so Greg or anyone else wouldn’t scarf them. He reached on top of the fridge, pulled down a small wicker basket and set it on the kitchen table. “There’s regular and double stuff.”
“Who even eats regular when you’ve got double stuff?” Grinning, Zach grabbed the package and dropped his book bag on the floor. He kicked his shoes off and they landed beside the bag. The hoodie came off next, landing somewhere in the near vicinity. “Do I have to eat them at the kitchen table?”
“Nah.” Graham grabbed a bag of carrots and hooked an arm around Zach’s neck. “Let’s go watch something bloody and violent on TV.”
He might have imagined it, but Graham thought he heard the boy sniffle a little before he let out a low, “Yeah.”
*
KARA settled back in the break room of the gym, wondering how many more extra classes she would have to take before Henry backed down. She couldn’t afford the retainer without working overtime, and she still had two more in-home private lessons to give before she was done for the day. She loved yoga as much as the next person, but even she had her limits.
Her phone buzzed in the outer pocket of her duffel bag, and she eyed it warily. If it was Tasha calling with more bad news, she didn’t want it. Maybe that was childish, but she’d rather just have it pushed aside to deal with later. When her back didn’t ache and her feet didn’t hurt from walking on the hard wooden floor all day.
It stopped, then immediately started buzzing again. With a groan, she pulled it out and saw the babysitter’s name on the screen. She answered, “Hey, Syl, how’s Zach?”
“Uh, you did say he was supposed to come today, right?”
“All week,” Kara agreed. “Why, is he telling you he shouldn’t be there?”
There was a short pause, then the babysitter answered softly, “He isn’t here.”
The breath left Kara’s lungs in one big rush that left her feeling hollowed out, empty, deflated. Her heart sank, she could actually feel it sink, down to land on top of her stomach, leaving her weak and nauseous at the same time.
Henry. Henry had come and . . . no. Not yet. He wouldn’t do this yet.
Kidnappers. Had someone come and taken her beautiful boy? Human trafficking. Drug mule. God . . .
Her phone beeped with an incoming call, and she pulled it away to see Graham’s name and face smiling at her. Not now, not now.
“Sylvia . . . you’re positive he wasn’t on the bus.”
“I was at the bus stop when it drove by. It never even stopped.”
“Did you call the school? Maybe he fell asleep on the bus, or got on the normal bus to go home instead. Maybe—”
“I called the school. No kids were on the wrong bus. I drove by your apartment really fast, to make sure he hadn’t gone home, but he wasn’t there. Or if he was, he wasn’t answering the door when I knocked. Kara, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where he is.”
Graham buzzed again, and she nearly screamed with frustration. “Syl, I’ll call you back. I’m . . . I’ll call you.” She hung up, but as she hung up, it answered the other call instead. She started to hang up when she heard Graham’s voice.
“Kara? Hello?”
Ask for help. Don’t do this alone. You need help. Biting back a moan, hand shaking, she held it to her ear. “Graham?”
God, she sounded weak. She sounded ineffective, weak, and young. None of which she really was, so she had to steel her spine and find her son.