Page 23 of The Perfect Son

The fears changed as I grew up, but the worry has always been the same.

I tried to hide it from you, Mark. I tried to bury the worry deep inside and I bit my tongue to stop the questions coming out and the fear from sounding in my voice. You saw it anyway. I guess it’s why you kept things from me—a loan from Ian, your secret project. What else didn’t you tell me?

This feeling, it isn’t worry, it isn’t like before. This loss is raw—an open wound, blood that won’t clot, tissue that won’t heal. I’m worried about things, sure, but it isn’t all that there is.

Exhaustion is tugging at my thoughts and my eyelids are pulling closed. In the darkness I feel the fog creeping back until I see nothing but you.

CHAPTER 13

Saturday, February 24

43 DAYS TO JAMIE’S BIRTHDAY

The phone is ringing. Ringing and ringing—an incessant noise that pierces my sleep and drags me into the world.

I breathe in and peel open my eyes. There’s an alien feel to my surroundings and it takes a beat for the hazy memory of cuddling in Jamie’s bed to drift into my thoughts. I stare again at the room and recognize the row of Ninja Turtle figures on the shelf.

Slits of gray daylight penetrate the edges of the curtains.

“Jamie?” I call in a voice husky with sleep. “Jamie?” I shout this time.

“I’m on the PlayStation.” His voice carries up the stairs.

“What time is it?”

He doesn’t answer.

I stagger to the end of the hallway and to your makeshift study with the old desk you did your homework on as a boy. The room is icy-cold and I long to dive back under the covers in Jamie’s room. Likethe rest of the house, your study is still filled with the cardboard boxes from moving day. They are tucked up against the wall and stacked three high. Resting on one of the boxes is the cordless telephone sitting in its base, and I snatch it up.

“Hello?”

It’s an effort to keep my eyes open, as if the air is filled with needles prickling my irises. I close them and feel myself drift again.

“Tess?” Shelley’s voice jolts me back to the room. “Are you there, Tess?”

“Um.”

“I’ve been trying you all morning. I was getting worried. You were going to call me to talk about what happened at the supermarket.”

It takes me a moment to remember what Shelley is talking about. “What time is it?”

A gust of wind blows into the microphone, and I imagine Shelley on her mobile, walking somewhere.

“It’s... twelve thirty,” she says.

“Oh.” Twelve thirty on a Saturday. Did we have plans today? I can’t remember. Guilt jabs at me—a pin to a balloon—and I’m no longer floating in and out of sleep. I’m awake. “Sorry.”

I haven’t made any lunch or breakfast. I race down the stairs as fast as my legs will allow and poke my head into the living room. Jamie is engrossed in a football game on the PlayStation.

I cover the microphone and whisper to Jamie, “Have you eaten?”

He twists his face around and flashes me a brief smile, nodding his head before losing himself once more to the game on the screen. I can tell he’s pleased with himself. For making himself his own food or for being able to play on the console all morning without interruption, I’m not sure.

The relief that he’s eaten doesn’t touch the surface of my guilt.How could I have slept all morning? What if Jamie had gone outside? Run into the road?

“Tess?” Shelley’s voice breaks into my thoughts again. “Are you all right?”

“I... I’m not feeling too good. I think it’s flu.” The lie seems garbled, even to me. I move an arm and rub my eyes. My muscles feel weak, overused, but from what I don’t know.