Page 21 of Taboo
The house is silent, save for the creak of floorboards and Sara’s distant calls downstairs, her voice echoing through the open foyer.
“Jason? Honey, where are you?” she pleads, and it twists my gut, her desperation mirroring mine. I check his room again, the superhero sheets rumpled, his stuffed bear gone, and my chest tightens. Where the hell is he?
The studio comes to mind—Amelia’s space, where she was painting last night. Maybe he went there to look at the dragon painting. I start running towards the studio, my heart racing. I fling open the doorway and my gaze flies around the room, but it’s empty, the easel standing sentinel in the moonlight, her dragon half-finished.
I pause, my hand on the doorframe, her presence lingering in the scent of turpentine and the soft glow of a left-on lamp. The panic is growing inside me. One last place he could be. Her bedroom is down the hall, and I move toward it, and a new tension coils in my chest.
I knock, my knuckles grazing the door, but there’s no answer. My pulse spikes, a flicker of fear that she’s gone too, but I push it down and ease the door open, the hinges whispering in the quiet. Moonlight spills through the purple drapes, bathing the room in a silver haze, and there, on the bed, is Amelia, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow, her face soft in sleep. Beside her, curled under the duvet, is Jason, his small body tucked close, his bear clutched tight. Relief crashes over me, so intense it nearly buckles my knees, and I lean against the doorframe, my breath shuddering out. He’s safe. They’re safe.
I step closer, my feet silent on the rug, and take them in—Jason’s dark curls against the pillow, so like mine, his face peaceful, free of the fear that woke us. Amelia’s arm rests lightly over him, protective, and the sight stirs something deep inside me. This should have been the sight I see every night. This should have been my life. I feel protective and possessive. The warmth battles the relentless guilt I carry. I want to wake her, to thank her, desperate for any excuse to speak to her alone while it is just us three, but I don’t because I can hear Sara’s footsteps. I just watch, my heart a tangled mess of love and shame.
Sara’s footsteps approach, quick and uneven, and she appears in the doorway, her gasp soft but sharp. I turn towards her.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispers, her hand on her chest, her eyes glistening with relief. But then her gaze narrows, landing on Amelia, and a flicker of something—irritation, maybe jealousy—crosses her face. “Why is he with her?” she mutters, her voice low, edged with accusation.
The words ignite a spark of hatred in me, hot and sudden. I turn to her, my jaw tight. “Don’t,” I say, my voice low, but venomous. It shocks her. I walk over to her. “Don’t be rude to Amelia, Sara,” I whisper. “It’s not her fault Jason came to her. For whatever reason, he trusts her. That’s not on her—it’s on us.”
Sara blinks, her lips parting in surprise. I know I’ve crossed a line, revealed too much, but I can’t stop, not when it’s Amelia.
Her eyes search mine, hurt and confused, but I can’t face her, can’t explain the storm inside me. I turn away, my chest tight, and stride away, my bare feet thudding in the hallway. My study door closes quietly behind me, the sound echoing in the silent house, and I lean against it, my breath ragged. The innocent image of Amelia and Jason fast asleep together is burned into my mind. She cares for my son.
God, I love that woman.
Chapter
Fourteen
AMELIA
Max’s low but urgent and edged with panic voice pulls me awake, and my heart lurches as I blink into the dim light of my room. Jason’s small form is still curled beside me, and his steady breathing is quiet. My eyes snap to the open door in time to catch Max’s silhouette storming out, his broad shoulders tense. To say that I am alarmed is an understatement.
I sit up, careful not to wake Jason, my pulse hammering in my ears. What’s happening? The air feels charged, thick with tension, and I catch Sara’s figure standing still in the doorway, her hands limp, her face pale under the hallway’s soft light.
I slide out of bed, my bare feet brushing the plush rug, and pad toward her in my baggy pajamas against my skin.
“Sara?” I call softly, my voice tinged with worry. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Amelia,” she says, her voice trembling, “I couldn’t find Jason—his bed was empty, and I was so scared. We looked everywhere, the kitchen, the den,everywhere. I didn’t mean to wake…” She trails off, her hands fluttering.
My heart softens, the alarm giving way to understanding. “It’s okay,” I say, stepping closer, my hand reaching for hers. Her hand is cold. “He’s here, safe. He had a nightmare and came to me. I’m sorry, I have no experience with kids, so I didn’t think to tell you—I should’ve taken him back to his bed.”
Sara shakes her head, her lips pressing tight. “No, it’s not your fault. Of course, not. You couldn’t be expected to wake us up in the middle of the night for something like this. I just never imagined that Jason would have come to you. You’re almost a stranger,” she says, her voice steadier now. “I was just so worried. We have a pool out back and a pond in the front, and there’ve been stories lately—children drowning. I’m always cautious about where Jason is in the house. I… I’m just relieved to find him safe and sound. I’m sorry for waking you up. Perhaps next time you will take him back to his bed. It’s too scary to find him out of his bed, and I hate waking you up like this.”
Her words are earnest, her fear palpable, and I squeeze her hand, my own guilt stirring. “I understand,” I say softly, my voice warm, trying to ease her. “I’d be scared, too. He’s okay, though. He’s fast asleep. I’m sure he won’t wake up if you want to take him.”
She nods, a small smile breaking through, relief softening her features. “I’ll see you later then for our day together.”
I watch her tenderly scoop Jason in her arms and wish to God I could cancel our outing tomorrow, but after this episode of my unthinking naivety, I’ll just suck it up and stick to the plan.
Later that morning,I stand before the vanity, my fingers brushing the fabric of a simple pink dress. It’s delicate, a cotton sundress with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flares just above the knee, its blush hue catching the light like a whisper of spring. I put it on, the hem swaying as I move, and slip on white flats, their leather soft against my feet. A deep breath steadies me, and I head downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee and warm bread guiding my steps.
Sara’s in the breakfast nook, a sunlit corner of the open plan area. She is seated at a round glass table with cushioned chairs around it. Her blonde hair is glowing in the morning light. She’s in a blouse and tailored pants in shades of weathered stone and sand, and her smile is radiant. A gleaming metal teapot steams beside a row of sleek white cups. A plate of scones, golden and crumbly, waits with a jar of clotted cream and a bowl of red jam.
Jason is at the table too, his dark curls combed neatly. He was nibbling at a scone, but with my arrival, he put it down on his plate, but Max’s absence looms, a shadow I can’t ignore. I know he’s not my brother, not bound by blood, but he thinks he is, and every thought of him is a tightrope I walk, balancing love and guilt.
“Good morning,” I call out.
Sara turns around with a bright smile. “Morning, Amelia. Usually, it’s cereal for Jason, eggs for Max, and a green smoothie for me, but Maria has made scones on account of your arrival.”
