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Midday is approaching fast, though, and I can feel the sand slipping through the hourglass. I think Charlotte senses my agitation when she sends the rest of them out on the boat, holding Ethan back with the promise of some time to go rock hunting with Dad. I’m skeptical he’s going to give up a boat ride for that lame activity when she suggests it, but he shocks the hell out of me when he looks at me wide-eyed, clapping his hands. There's an ulterior motive—he wants the rocks so he can show the older boys how he paints them later on this afternoon—but that’s okay. I'll take what I can get.
Me and Ethan are sorting through our spoils when she comes over to join us. “They’re heading out on Thursday. Next weekend it’s just us, I promise.” Her face reddens as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “I mean, I shouldn’t assume.” She goes on to lip-synch, “Are you coming next weekend?” so that Ethan is none the wiser.
“I’ll be here.” I nudge Ethan. “Come and look at the calendar with me. Let’s draw a picture on the day I’m coming back, okay?”
“You weavin’?” It cracks my heart wide open when he asks the question, even though he doesn’t look too broken up. “You goin’ to school?”
“No, buddy, I’ve got to work this week, but I’ll be back in just a few days.”
We take the calendar down then, count off Monday through Friday. He draws a picture of me, complete with the baseball cap I never wear, in the box for Saturday.
“I’ll be here around eleven or so on Friday night, same as this week,” I say to Charlotte. “I’ll head to Lawrence’s unless you text me otherwise.”
She nods, biting her lip. “I’m sorry this weekend was so crazy.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad I got to meet Barbara.”
She goes to say something else when a different kind of ringtone sounds. Ethan hops out of his chair and goes to grab the tablet sitting on the coffee table.
“Leave that for now,” she says to him, but it’s too late.
Ethan swipes the screen and then chirps, “Hi, Wes!”
I’d nearly forgotten about that asshole. I look to Charlotte and speak without bothering to censor myself. “What the fuck?”
Her eyes are saucers. “Keep your voice down!”
Telling my family that I have a child, letting Charlotte know I’m in the process of transferring to Michigan Law, finding out the status on her relationship with Wes—all important things I planned on doing this weekend but didn’t get the chance to.
I can barely contain my rage when I hear Wes making a play for my son’s affection. “Hey bud, I’ve missed you.”
I make a mental note never to call Ethan “bud” or “buddy” ever again. Coming from that dipshit’s mouth it sounds stupid. And Wes hasmissedEthan?
Charlotte grabs my forearm when I go to stand. “What are you doing?”
“What areyoudoing? You let that piece of shit around my son?”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t.” I shake her off and walk into the living room, taking a seat next to Ethan. My molars are nearly grinding themselves to dust, but I paste a smile on my face, taking care not to scare my child.
“Officer Wes Kellar, as I live and breathe.”
“Simon?”
“That’s my dad,” Ethan says with pride, and I want to high-five him for the awesome timing.
I look back to see Charlotte standing in the kitchen with her eyes closed and her lips fixed in a firm line. I wonder if this is a ritual. Does he call to check on them every Sunday?
“How’s life back east treating you, Wes?”
“Uh, it’s good. When did you start coming around?”
Is that a dig? Is he insinuating that I’ve shirked my responsibility where Ethan is concerned? Before I can think of a retort that doesn’t include a string of profanities, Wes asks, “Bud, is your mom around?”
Ethan looks towards the kitchen. “She right over dare.”
“Is she all right?”
