Page 116 of Antagonist

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FLETCHER

I checkon George for the third or fourth time since we got home. He’s still asleep, just like I left him before I took a shower.

Even though he hasn’t moved an inch, I do something I haven’t done since he was four years old. I turn on the baby monitor.

As I go downstairs to check on Rosie, the doorbell rings. I speed up my steps so George doesn’t wake up from the noise.

I want to punch something when I see Fran through the peephole, but I know there’s no way to avoid opening the door. She can see the lights are on and won’t stop ringing until I open the door.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“To see my son, of course. Why do you think?”

She pushes her way inside.

“He’s asleep, Fran. Come back tomorrow.”

“There are a few things I want to talk to you about.”

She doesn’t move, so I close the door and resign myself to my fate.

“What do you want?”

She takes her coat off and drapes it over the couch. Underneath, she’s wearing one of those silky dresses that used to create a reaction in me. Funny how you can look at people and all the things you felt before evaporate once you see a new side to them.

Hopefully, wherever she’s going tonight, she’ll need to leave soon.

“We need to settle things once and for all, for George’s sake. I know your reticence with George coming to London with me, but I’m concerned about him staying.”

I let out a sigh. “Why?”

“Do I need to give you examples? First, there’s a fire at his school. Thank goodness it happened when the kids weren’t there. Then he goes missing. God knows why. Probably under the influence of that little girl. It doesn’t sound like the kind of thing he’d do.”

My blood starts simmering, but I need to keep calm because of George.

“You want to know the reason he ran? It was because you put stuff in his head about London.” I lean forward, my voice low but clipped. “He thought I was abandoning him. That I didn’t love him anymore.”

“That’s nonsense,” she says.

“Oh my fucking god. Fran, are you that clueless? What do you imagine a seven-year-old will think when you feed him a story about him moving across the world without the person that’s been with him his whole life?”

She laughs. “You can’t blame me for him disappearing. That’s insane.”

“What’s insane is you wanting to take George away from me.”

“I’m not trying to take George away from anyone.”

She moves to sit next to me. Her arm goes behind my back and she strokes my wet hair. I try to move away, but she holds me in place by straddling me.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking what’s mine, baby.” She goes in for a kiss, but I move my face just in time.

“What the fuck, Fran?”

She doesn’t move, resting her arms over my chest.