Page 90 of Tortured Tones

Yep. Absolutely.

Just. My. Client.

Josh raced out of the yard, poked his tongue at the car driving away, then blew raspberries.

I wrapped my arms around Josh and drew him back against my stomach. “Josh. Don’t do that. Be nice.”

“I hate him. He’s so mean.”

My heart ached and cracked. It broke my soul that Josh didn’t like living with Luther, and there was nothing I could do about it. Not for three and a half more months anyway. I wanted my son to be happy, and it was all my fault he wasn’t. I’d let him down—something I’d never do again.

“I want to stay here with you and Poppy, Mommy. Please?”

“I want that too.” I kissed the top of his head. “More than anything. We just have to wait a little longer.”

“All Daddy does is talk on the phone, have girls over for parties, yell at me to stay out of the way, and go to work. He never plays with me, never takes me to school or soccer.”

I didn’t miss the long hours Luther worked or the client parties—not one little bit. But him not spending time with Josh wasn’t acceptable. “Doesn’t Zoe do all those things with you?”

“Yeah, she does. Zoe’s nice. But she can’t cook like you can, Mommy. Can we make lasagna tonight?”

“I’d love that. But how about we make loaded hot dogs for lunch first.” I needed some greasy food after drinking last night.

“Oh, yay. I love hot dogs.”

But as we headed toward the gate, a shiver ran up my spine. I glanced down the short street. Three cars were parked on the curbside. Two were my neighbors’, but a third blue one on the other side wasn’t one I recognized. The Leighs could just have a visitor. But my pulse quickened. My skin crawled. Was someone watching me?

Why? . . . No. That’s silly.

It was just the aftermath of being in Luther’s presence. I shrugged the feeling aside and wandered into the garden, locked the gate, and skipped into the house with Josh.

“Poppy.” Josh rushed over and hugged Dad, sitting in his robe at the kitchen table.

“Oh, my dear boy, Josh. Have you grown another inch since I saw you two weeks ago?”

“No. I’m still the same.”

As I walked past Dad, I kissed the top of his graying hair. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I heard noises on the front porch.” He winked at me and rose, heading into the kitchen. “Josh, why don’t you get a juice from the fridge, and I’ll make a pot of coffee. Your mom looks like she needs one.”

“Oh, yes please.” I dragged my weary feet to the small dining table and took a seat.

“So?...How was last night?” Dad grabbed the coffee from the pantry and put on a brew.

“Next question.” I rubbed my tired eyes.

“I saw who dropped you home.”

“So?”

“Ava?”

“It’s fine, Dad. I know what I’m doing.”

“You haven’t been yourself since you started working for this drummer. You went out with him last night. You can’t risk getting involved.”

I flopped my hands on the table. “I’m not.”

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