Page 40 of One Night Flame

And it hit me—quiet and sudden—that this wasn’t hard.

It wasn’t terrifying.

I wasn’t doing anything special. Just being there. Just listening.

But the way the kid lit up? Like he mattered? Like he’d been seen?

That did something strange and warm to the center of my chest.

I didn’t know what to do with it. So I just stayed there, knees popping, nodding along, letting this tiny human tell me about extinct giants like I was the one lucky enough to hear it.

Dimly, I registered the sound of the shower turning on down the hall.

“I been sick,” Liam announced, as if he hadn’t just been giving a short dissertation on dinosaurs.

“I know. That’s no fun. How you feeling now?”

“Better. I’m hungry.”

Probably a good sign that he wanted food, but I should be careful what I gave him. “I’ve got soup on the stove. How about some crackers?”

“Goldfish?” he asked hopefully.

I hadn’t bought Goldfish. “Uh. Let’s see if there are some in the cabinet.”

“I know where they are!” He scampered across the room and pointed to an upper cabinet.

I dutifully followed and tugged it open, finding a box of single serve packs of Goldfish on the shelf. Snagging one, I opened it and handed it over. “Take it slow, okay? Want some Sprite or ginger ale?”

Liam thought this over as if it were the answer to world peace. “What’s ginger ale?”

“It’s another fizzy drink, like Sprite. Tastes a little bit different. Want to try some?”

“Okay.”

I found a sippy cup in another cabinet and poured a little ginger ale into it with some ice. Liam sucked some down, considering, then his little face brightened. “Yum!”

“Like I said, take it easy. Your tummy’s been through a lot.”

“I frew up alot.” He announced this in a tone that was just a little bit proud.

“Have you thrown up today?”

A head shake as he stuffed Goldfish into his mouth.

“Okay, good. How about you find a spot to sit with your snack, while I do a little cleaning up, okay?”

“Can I watchShaun the Sheep?”

I didn’t even know whatShaun the Sheepwas. Liam, as it turned out, was more than happy to tell me. I managed to cue up an episode on the TV from one of the streaming services, figuring if it made it through the child locks, it was probably fine. Once he was settled, I did a sweep of the whole house, gathering up trash, clearing dishes. Checking down the hall, I heard the shower still running. For a moment, I hesitated atLucy’s bedroom door before cracking it open. The bathroom door was still shut.

The bed looked like a war had been fought in it, covers askew. I went ahead and stripped all the linens, carting them to the washer I’d found in a hall closet and stuffing them in. I stripped the kid’s bed, too, adding those sheets to the load and getting the whole thing started. Fresh sheets were in another small closet at the end of the hall, and I made quick work of getting both beds made. The comforters probably ought to be washed, too, but those would need a bigger unit than what she had here.

I loaded the dishwasher and got that running, then found some Lysol wipes under the kitchen sink and wiped down every surface I could think of. Liam had rolled on to another episode ofShaun the Sheep,and I was half-watching as I began to sort through the evident hurricane that had hit the living room. How the heck did they manage to tell so much story with no dialog at all?

Sometime later, Lucy stepped into the hallway, barefoot, damp hair curling around her shoulders, wearing clean clothes that still looked more like pajamas than anything else—but she looked ten times better than she had an hour ago. Color back in her cheeks. Less wobbly around the edges.

She froze when she caught sight of the living room.

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