Page 9 of In Hiding

“It’s too large,” she lamented with a sigh. “I can’t take care of it all myself. There are repairs needed and the garden is overgrown. I have advertised for a handyman.”

“Hopefully you’ll find someone suitable,” he offered.

“Actually, I have someone coming by tomorrow to interview, so keep your fingers crossed.”

“Oh,” he nodded, seeming a little taken aback. “Be careful, Ms. Andersen, you’ll want to make sure he’s an honest man.”

Despite the icy shiver that raced down her spine, Sarah smiled. “I’ll take that on board. Thank you for the suggestion, Sergeant.”

“Please,” he smiled. “It’s Neville, remember?”

First-name basis with the police? Now there was a first. “Again, thank you for bringing my son home, Neville. I appreciate it.”

She watched him jog down the steps. At the car, he retrieved her son’s school bag and returned to drop it at her feet. With another wave, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine. As the cruiser disappeared down the steep driveway to be swallowed by the darkness, Sarah shivered against the cold.

Retreating inside, she locked and bolted the front door and set the alarm. The thought of making dinner for the boy sleeping off his drunkenness sat uneasily in her belly, but she’d ready a meal all the same. If he was anything like his father, he’d wake with a headache and an appetite to rival a bear emerging from hibernation.

In the kitchen, she fried off onions, added chunks of beef to braise and finished with a pot full of vegetables and broth. While the casserole stewed on a low heat, she moved through the downstairs rooms to systematically ensure all points of entry were secure. Her finger throbbed as she climbed the stairs to check on Will.

Still dressed, he lay across his bed and snored like a locomotive. Sarah entered the room. She removed his shoes and thick jacket before tucking the man-child under the blankets. Picking up the jacket, she shook it out to hang it up. A small photo frame fell out of the pocket. Bending, Sarah turned it over in her hands. Her breath caught in her throat as an image of the three of them stared back at her.

It was their wedding day.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she traced a finger over the three faces. Over the man she thought she knew, the woman who thought she’d won the jackpot, and the boy who’d found his family. He was just nine. So young. So innocent. He’d called her Mama back then, not mother, and she’d promised to love him as if he were her own. The faces disappeared behind a wall of tears and her heart clenched so tight she thought it might break in two.

Beside her, Will murmured incoherent words in his sleep. Like she’d done a thousand times before, she traced her fingertips over his furrowed brow to the deep scar on his temple. Shaped like an arrow, it never failed to remind her how precious he was. Gratitude swelled in her heart that he’d survived and was safe.

She’d kept her promise, never once thinking him anything other than her son, but she couldn’t lie. There were times when he tested her, and tonight was one of them. It wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last. He would be an adult soon, but that would never stop her from protecting him.

He sighed in his sleep and smiled. She smoothed down his hair and set the photo frame on the bedside table. When she tried to stand, he grabbed her hand and opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Shh,” she whispered, pressing her palm to his cheek. “It’s okay, my sweet. We’ll talk tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

It was a restless night for Sarah. The throbbing in her finger coupled with the worry for Will conspired to keep her awake for most of it. By the time the sun rose, she’d cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, made a batch of pancakes and turned the week-old tubs of strawberries and blueberries into jam. A little before nine, she called the high school and let them know Will wouldn’t be in. Shortly after, she climbed to the second floor to check in on him.

He emerged from the bathroom, fresh from a shower though still looking a little worse for wear.

“Good morning,” she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

He squinted at her. “Morning. What do I do for this headache?”

“Pancakes,” she decided. “And fresh jam.”

He practically drooled. “And a lecture, I suppose.”

“Of course.” She nodded with a smile. “You didn’t think you’d get away without one, did you?”

“I had hoped.”

Sarah ruffled his hair and went back downstairs to the kitchen. He took his sweet time joining her, but once he was seated at the island breakfast bench, she swooped.

“Care to explain yourself?”

He shrugged and eyed the stack of pancakes drizzled with jam. “We needed to let off some steam, is all.”

“With whiskey?” She could hardly believe her ears.

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