He spent the next few weeks being particularly attentive to me. Flowers, expensive dinners out—even some diamond earrings he had caught me admiring on my computer. I couldn’t help but think that Jason was filling out every checkbox for signs of a cheating husband.
I considered confronting him about it, but in my heart, I didn’t believe my husband was a cheater. I imagined how hurt he would be if I even suggested it. I finally decided I must have imagined the perfume. Or maybe he had dinner with an investor that had particularly strong-smelling perfume and the scent clung to him. It’s like when you go out to a bar and come home reeking of smoke, even if you haven’t had a cigarette.
And after that night, I never smelled it again. So even if it did happen, it never happened again.
But there’s still that worry in the back of my head. Especially now that Jason has gotten “hot.” I wish his hours weren’t so long. I wish waitresses didn’t flirt with him when we go to restaurants, even if he doesn’t flirt back. Ultimately, I do trust him though. I don’t think he would ever cheat on me—not really.
After all, it’s not worrying about my husband that keeps me up at night.
“Jason,” I whisper. I don’t want to wake him up, but if he happens to be up, then I wouldn’t be at fault.
He snores.
Fine. He isn’t waking up. And I’m not going to fall asleep again so fast. May as well get up and make myself some tea.
I slide my feet into my slippers and grab my fluffy blue housecoat from the dresser where I throw it every morning. I yawn and pad out into the hallway. I start for the staircase, but something stops me.
The door to Liam’s bedroom is ajar.
Liam never leaves the door to his bedroom open at night. Ever. Not even when he was five years old. He always wants the door closed tight. The sight of that door slightly open is as terrifying to me as my nightmare. When it comes to Liam, unexpected is always bad.
I walk over to the bedroom door and push it the rest of the way open. I squint into the darkness of my son’s room.
It’s empty.
I race down to the living room, my heart pounding. Maybe I’ll find Liam on the couch, watching television. Like me, he often has difficulty sleeping. Even though I make him go to bed at ten, I know he’s up far later. He told me once that he only needs five hours of sleep.
But Liam isn’t in the living room. And he’s not in the kitchen. Or either of the bathrooms—downstairs or upstairs. I comb the entire house and even look out on the porch and in the backyard before I race back up the stairs to my bedroom.
“Jason!”
So much for not waking him up. But our son is missing. I can’t not say anything to him. What am I supposed to do now? Go back to sleep after Liam vanished from his room in the middle of the night?
Jason’s eyes crack open. He rubs at them with the back of his fists like he’s two years old. “Erika?”
“Liam’s gone!” I wring my hands together. “He’s not in the house. He went somewhere.”
I stare at Jason, waiting for him to get as upset as I am. He rubs his eyes again. Yawns. Honestly, I’m not feeling his fear right now.
“Jason,” I try again. “I can’t find Liam and it’s two in the morning.”
“Okay, relax. He’s not a baby.” He yawns again. “Did you try calling his phone?”
I can’t believe that somehow I did not think to do that. I’m amazed by my husband’s ability to think rationally in any situation.
I snatch my phone off the nightstand, where it is charging. I select Liam’s number from my list of favorites. I press his name, holding my breath, praying he’ll pick up.
“Hello?”
I feel a rush of relief at the sound of Liam’s voice. Jason mouths: Told you so. “Liam! Where are you?”
“Oh.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep. So I went out and took a walk.”
“At two in the morning? I was worried sick!”
“Dad said I could walk around the block if I couldn’t sleep.”
I look at Jason accusingly. “Did you tell him he could go outside and walk around the block in the middle of the night?”
Jason taps his chin. “Uh…”
I’ll deal with him later. I turn my attention back to the phone. “Liam, I want you to come home right now.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
He’s quiet again. “Okay. I’ll come right home.”
We hang up, and now I’m free to yell at my husband. Apparently he has absolutely no common sense. “You told him it was okay to wander the neighborhood in the middle of the night? Seriously?”