Page 165 of Oddly Fine

Their mother’s eyes widened with shock as she covered her mouth with trembling hands.

Everyone held their breath.

They’d speculated on her reaction while having breakfast that morning. Franklin had wagered on mainly anger, followed by a long period of fussing, questioning, and ranting. Hayes had put his money on crying and instant forgiveness, which he’d been thoroughly ridiculed for. Beckett had guessed she’d be a mess of crying, hitting, and hugging.

She played all of them for fools by standing there silently. Then she looked over at Beckett and Hayes, as if making sure they’d witnessed his arrival as well.

“Franky?” she asked shakily.

He gave a quick nod.

She was on him in an instant, but didn’t say a thing. Not a word. She embraced him fiercely. She seemed gigantic then—towering above them all as she hugged him. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, her right hand settling in Franklin’s hair as her left ran up and down his back.

“Oh, my baby boy,” she said, barely above a whisper. Like a muttered prayer. “Thank you,” she said. It was anyone’s guess who she was thanking.

It was several minutes before she pulled away, and by then, Hayes had returned to his rightful place next to Beckett. Silent and supportive. Beckett couldn’t have been more grateful for him. When she finally pulled away, she had tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t sobbing like he’d expected. She turned to Beckett with her lips pressed together firmly.

“You knew?” she asked, and it was a loaded question.

“Not at first,” he said, shaking his head. “I found out the day before we left.” He’d pondered the facts of what he’d done and ways he could frame his answers. He didn’t want to deceive her any more than she had been already.

She gave a sharp nod, and there was a flash of anger there, but she didn’t express it. She turned back to Franklin and seemed to notice for the first time the lanky figure standing there behind her son.

“Are you—” she hesitated, looking back and forth between Matthew and Franklin.

Franklin took a deep breath and offered their mother a soft smile that was rather uncharacteristic.

“Mom—meet Matthew—my boyfriend.”

That stumped her. She opened her mouth to say something—God only knew what, but then nothing came out. She just stared at Matthew like one might gape at seeing a magic trick.

“How about a cup of tea, Mrs. Thérault?” Hayes said, taking the lead in breaking the uncomfortable silence in the room.

She startled and turned to him, and whatever spell he’d managed to cast worked because she nodded frantically and walked over to Hayes. He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the kitchen, talking in a low voice about putting the kettle on.

“That’s—” Franklin began, clearly running out of words.

“I think you broke her,” Beckett said, transfixed by the sight of his mother leaning against Hayes as he seated her at the counter.

“Wait ‘til she hears about the sex trafficking,” Matthew said, shutting the front door behind him.

Beckett clucked his tongue and turned to his brother-in-law.

“FYI—I’m still not opposed to using Franklin’s recently dug up burial plot for your remains,” Beckett reminded him.

Matthew snorted dismissively, calling his bluff.

Beckett smiled evilly in response, contemplating the reassuring weight of his Glock in his shoulder holster, and the extra clip he carried at all times.

“Come on,” Franklin said, nudging Beckett as he walked past him and towards the kitchen. “This isn’t over.”

Hayes made tea. They all sat in the kitchen at the breakfast nook, avoiding looking directly at one another.

“Thank you,” she finally said as Hayes placed a cup of tea in front of her. He served everyone else, then sat down next to Beckett.

“Thank you,” Beckett said, hoping Hayes would sense everything he was thanking him for.

Hayes nodded and winked before leaning sideways to whisper, “This seems like the wrong time to be sober.”