Page 33 of The Perfect Son

I’m close to him now and before I know what I’m doing—before I can think—my right hand is flying through the air toward him.

I catch myself in time, thank God. My fingers swipe the air inches from his shoulder and I yank my hand back and cradle it in my arm as if I’ve burned it.

Jamie glares at me for a moment before spinning and running around the side of the house toward the garden and the tree house. He looks back just before he disappears as if he’s expecting me to be chasing him, but I can’t. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. My legs arethreatening to give way from under me and hot tears are forming in my eyes.

“Jamie, I’m sorry,” I sob, my voice too weak to be heard by anyone but me.

What have I done, Mark?

It’s OK, Tessie.

Never, never, never have I lashed out in anger before. Not at anyone. Not at you, and especially not at Jamie. I’m not even the type to honk my horn when a car cuts me off.

I didn’t mean it, Mark. I was so scared when he ran off. I didn’t mean to hit him. I wouldn’t do that. I’d never do that.

I close my eyes, freeing the tears. A phone is ringing somewhere and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from inside the house. I force myself to move, praying it’s Shelley calling. She’ll know what to do.

Sweat cloaks my skin under my winter coat and I’m panting as I wrestle open the bolt on the side door and kick off my boots. The ringing is louder now and I remember Shelley’s comment about the answerphone being full.

I dash through the downstairs and into the dining room, snatching it up mid-ring. “Hello?” I say all breathless from my dash and my fight with Jamie.

The line is quiet.

“Hello?” I say again.

There’s a click and the dial tone purrs in my ear.They must have been hanging up as I answered and didn’t hear me,I think.

I’m all the way in the hall when it starts ringing again and I turn back and snatch up the receiver on the second ring.

“Hello?”

Silence.

I wait for a beat and listen to the sound of nothing. No heavy breathing, no dodgy signal, just nothing.

“Mark?” It’s only when I whisper your name, when I hear myself say it out loud, that I realize what I’m thinking. I slam the phone into its cradle and stumble until my back hits the edge of the dining room chair. It’s not you, it’s... it’s a stupid call center or a wrong number or a hundred other things. It’s not you calling me.

CHAPTER 19

Thursday, March 1

38 DAYS TO JAMIE’S BIRTHDAY

People are screaming. So many screams. Men and women alike, wailing loud and shrill. The man two rows ahead of us struggles out of his seat and throws open the overhead compartments. I want to ask him why—why is he bothering? I want to scream too but I can’t open my mouth, I can’t move. An invisible force is pinning me against the chair, crushing the breath right out of me.

There is smoke pouring through the plane. My eyes are stinging and I can taste it in my mouth. More people leap from their seats and a suitcase flies down the aisle, slamming into the headrest of a nearby seat.

The window is a kaleidoscope of blue sky and green, then gray—the tarmac, the ground.

Any second now. Any second and we’ll hit it.

—

My eyes shoot open and I gasp for air. My lungs hurt and I can taste the smoke of the bonfire I lit the same day you died. The top of my head throbs with every furious beat of my heart pounding in my ears.

I blink in the gloom. There’s a moon out tonight and its pale silver light illuminates the shapes of the furniture and bounces off the giant TV in the corner. I must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa.

The nightmare clings on and all I can think about is how scared you must’ve been. How alone you must’ve felt.