Hannah wanders into the kitchen in her bare feet just as the timer goes off for the meatloaf. Jason makes a big deal out of how delicious it looks, but Hannah just crinkles her nose. She glares at the gray mound, glistening with tomato sauce and its own juices. “We’re not eating that, are we?”
“Of course not,” Jason says. “That’s our new TV. What would you like to watch?”
“Dad,” she groans. She narrows her eyes at the dinner I just spent the last hour cooking. “It’s just so… meaty. It’s like this big hunk of meat.”
“Yes, Hannah. That’s the definition of a meatloaf.”
She sinks into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “I’d rather have chicken.”
“Well, I’d rather be in the Bahamas.” Jason shrugs. “We don’t always get what we want. Sometimes you have to do horrible things like eat delicious meatloaf.”
I smile to myself as I continue chopping the tomato. “Where is Liam? Can somebody tell him to come down?”
Hannah takes out her phone and start thumbing through her text messages. “Liam isn’t home.”
What? “He isn’t?” I try to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Track practice? What’s the big deal? It’s not that late.”
I glance out the window, where the sun has already dipped in the sky. “The sun is down.”
“So?” Hannah keeps her eyes on her phone. “He probably went to eat somewhere with his friends or something. Why are you freaking out?”
“I’m not freaking out.”
But she’s right. I am freaking out. I look over at Jason, who doesn’t seem even the slightest bit concerned that Liam is not home. Which makes sense, because our son is sixteen years old and practically driving. He can be responsible for himself. He’s not even late yet. He’s come home at this time before.
But it’s not Liam I’m worried about.
My hands are shaking so badly that I slip with the knife and the blade goes right into my left index finger. Blood immediately pools all over the cutting board.
“Geez, Erika!” Jason winces and goes for the paper towels. He grabs two squares and thrusts them in my direction. “Are you okay? That looks like a bad cut.”
I press the paper towels against my finger, and they immediately saturate with crimson. But the cut on my finger is the least of my concerns. Where is Liam? All I can think about is Olivia Reynolds. What if he’s with her?
What is he doing to her?
I hope Frank hurries up and does his damn job.
“Erika!” Jason’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “That’s really bleeding a lot. Maybe we should go to the emergency room…”
“No!” The word comes out too loudly and Jason blinks at me. I clear my throat. “It’s fine. Really. I just bleed a lot.”
Jason tries to smile, but he looks pale. “And you were worried about me chopping the tomatoes…”
The front door slams, and I let out a breath. Liam is home. Thank God.
My son stomps into the kitchen, still wearing his sneakers that have now tracked dirt all over the carpet and the kitchen floor. I’ve yelled at him for that many times before, but I’m not going to freak out over it right now. I’m just glad he’s home.
“Mom was worried about you,” Hannah speaks up before I can pretend the opposite is true.
“You were?” Liam looks surprised. “I just went out to Charlie’s with some of my friends from track. You just said to be home by seven. Right?” He looks down at his watch. “I’m not late.”
“No, it’s fine.” I grab another paper towel from the counter to replace the one that’s drenched in my blood. “Did you have fun?”
Liam shrugs. “Sure.”
The blood seems to have slowed down, which is a good thing. I was beginning to worry I needed stitches. I’ve never had stitches before, except for during childbirth. “Was it just the guys from track? Or were there girls there?”
I try to say it casually, hoping he might let something slip. But given the way Jason smirks at me, I don’t think I was successful.
Liam goes to the cupboard to grab some glasses, which Jason forgot when he was setting the table. Liam has set the table many more times than Jason has. “It was just the guys.”
Jason laughs. “He probably wouldn’t tell us if it wasn’t.”
He probably wouldn’t. And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.