Page 40 of One Big Little Secret

Oh, boy.

I stop, staring at the knife in my hand.

The answer is simple—I don’t have the money or time.

It kills me that I’ve never been able to just grab my son and whisk him off to a beautiful national park or even to the ocean.

A little ironic, considering the grandparents he’s never met live in California. But my parents were happy to send us into exile and I’m just as glad to stay the hell away.

“I wonder,” I say with fake enthusiasm, “can you draw me a picture before I finish dinner?”

“Are you crazy? You bet I can!” He whoops and starts to scribble, head down and frowning at the paper. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth and his chubby hands mash the crayon against the paper with unnecessary power.

It’ll only buy me a few minutes of peace, but I savor them. I put on my favorite playlist on my phone and cut up the vegetables, adding them to the pan with the stock and potatoes.

Sometimes Arlo fusses over beef stew, but it’s cheap, it fills you up, and it always leaves behind leftovers.

Tomorrow, I can come home and put my feet up without any worries about fixing dinner. Some TV time would be wonderful.

As I’m thinking about my evening off and enjoying the savory smells of dinner, my phone buzzes.

The name ‘Grumpybutt’ shows on the screen. I resist the urge to hurl it at the wall.

Why does he bring out the most violent urges?

And can’t he leave me alone forone dang evening?

I hesitate longer than I should before I sigh and pick up.

“Hello?”

“Salem?”

Who else?“Yes.”

“Mommy!” Arlo says, running up with a page fluttering in his hands. “I beat you!”

“Mommy’s on the phone,” I whisper under my breath, giving the drawing a thumbs-up even though I can’t see what it is. “Hang on, sweetie.”

“Sorry if this is a bad time,” Patton growls, not sounding sorry at all.

“No, it’s fine. It’s not like I have a life.” Too bitter? Oh well. “What’s up?”

“Sorry for intruding,” he says stiffly. “I know it’s late.”

It’s half past seven, long after normal people call it a day, but apparently he doesn’t know that.

But he’s my boss. And after that trainwreck earlier, I can’t refuse the call.

“I said it’s fine.”

“Okay, good.” He takes a breath. It’s just as awkward as I could’ve imagined, every single word we said before hanging between us like a wall.

Everybody makes mistakes.

Ugh, yeah. But not everybody winds up making them with their future boss.

“I’m just calling because I had an idea. I’d like you to throw together a survey,” he says. “We want customer experiences from our other properties. Something broader than the automated survey that goes out after every stay. We’ll take suggestions for improvements and look at integrating them into The Cardinal.”

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