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But he’d saved the girl.
It always came back to that for him.
r /> He’d saved the girl.
Could he help save Miranda and Ethan, too?
Chapter 4
The thing about having a kid was that you couldn’t just make up your mind about something and count on having it happen. When Ethan was a baby, Miranda was in charge. Or at least she’d felt she was. From the twos on, though, he’d been pretty adamant about having his own say in anything and everything, and she’d had to rethink her approach. A process that seemed to happen every day since. She had to foster his independence. And above all, keep him safe. So her mantra had become that if it didn’t involve his safety or health, he could decide—which, in their world, meant he could have his way.
If it did have any kind of impact on his well-being, they did it her way. The line used to be clearly delineated. At least in her mind. And her boy had been good about accepting her decisions once she explained them to him.
That Saturday after dinner with Tad, Ethan woke up talking about Zoo Attack, about a new animal kingdom he was going to create and then show Tad. He’d said he’d come to their house and so, to Ethan, that meant he was coming.
Her moment to object to that idea had already gone.
Tad’s, too, apparently, at least according to her son.
And Miranda was left with the task of explaining to her son that sometimes adults said things they didn’t really mean.
A concept he wasn’t willing to accept.
“Call him, Mom, he’ll come, you’ll see,” Ethan said for the umpteenth time that morning. Standing in a pile of dark clothes on the kitchen floor by the laundry room, he kicked up a sock to emphasize his point.
She threw the last pair of white underwear in the dryer and bent to pick up their darks before he kicked them any farther.
“He’s a grown man, Ethan,” she told her son. “I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than play video games this weekend.”
As soon as she heard the words, she wanted to retract them. Implying that her son’s engagements weren’t important wasn’t what she’d intended to say.
“He said he wanted to,” Ethan insisted.
But she didn’t want him in her home. Hadn’t let any man visit since she’d made the first home for her and Ethan.
Their little rented cottage was her haven. She didn’t have to be as careful there to hide her secrets. Or to worry that someone might be watching her. Looking for her. Or him. Keeping their home private was paramount to her peace of mind, to her belief that she could keep them safe.
None of which she could explain to her son.
“Call him, Mom, please? You’ll see, he’ll come.”
She took her time loading the washing machine. Pouring the soap. Filling the little ball dispenser with fabric softener and dropping that in. What should she tell Ethan?
She’d promised herself that Ethan wasn’t going to grow up in fear. Jeff had trusted her with his son.
Turning, she saw him still standing there, his big blue eyes imploring her.
“Okay,” she heard herself say. “You go put the clean sheets on your bed like I showed you, and I’ll call him.”
“Yes!” Ethan jumped up in the air and he was off.
Miranda had a knot in her gut as she pulled her cell out of her pocket. Tad was in her contacts, as were all the High Risk Team members.
She’d told Ethan she’d call.
“Miranda?” He picked up on the first ring. “Everything okay?”
“Of course,” she lied, listening to the washer fill with water, the clinking of a metal button on a pair of white pants in the dryer. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
