“Then maybe you should tell him, Janie. If it's eating you up this badly. You have a four-year-old son. I don't think your brother or your parents will be mad, or whatever it is that is keeping you so scared. It will work out. Do what's best for you and for Beckett. That's all that matters.”
The fire cracks, and I swipe at a tear before it falls. “God, Gem, I never anticipated feeling like this. You're right, though. Beckett didn't ask for any of this, so I need to get my shit together. But I can't talk about this anymore. Can we change the subject before I throw myself into the fire?”
Her smile tilts, soft but knowing. “Sure. Tell me about my boy. What’s he getting into there? Is he starting preschool soon?”
Relief loosens my chest, just a little. “Next week. Momtook care of all of that for me. She's already begging for him to spend weekends with them. They’re desperate to make up for lost time.”
"That's fabulous. I'm so happy for all of you! You could use a break. I know your parents will love having him around so often, and Beckett will get that quality time with his grandparents."
Just not his father… Or, if he does, he won't know it's his father.
"Yeah," I say forlornly.
"You should be ecstatic. You'll finally have more free time than you know what to do with. Maybe even a social life." She winks dramatically.
A laugh bubbles up, unexpected and light. "I don't even remember what a social life is."
"Well, I'm pretty sure it involves showering before noon on Saturdays and wearing something other than stained t-shirts and house shoes."
"Hey, those are designer stains."
After we hang up, silence rushes in to fill the space her voice occupied. Only the firepit answers me, popping softly, embers glowing red against charred wood.
I lean back, eyes locked on the coals. This place is haunted now. It's not haunted by ghosts, but by choices. By the secret upstairs, breathing softly in my old bedroom. Beckett’s tiny hands, the tilt of his eyes, the way his brow furrows just like Warren’s. All proof of what I’ve hidden.
I clutch the navy blanket tighter, the same one from that night, and stare into the embers. I tell myself they’re dying, harmless. But I know the truth.
One breath, one wrong move, and they’ll roar back to life.
EIGHT
Warren
"...further move to exclude any testimony from the grandmother's therapist as privileged communication under Florida statute 90.503." I pause, pinching the bridge of my nose. "New paragraph."
Kaley's fingers fly across her keyboard, keeping pace with my dictation. The familiar click-clack should be soothing. It isn't.
"The petitioner's claim of abandonment fails to meet the statutory threshold and..."
My mind slips sideways again. I see Janie standing at the front of the conference room yesterday. Her spine straight as a blade. The way she pointed to her slides without looking at them, every number memorized, every projection calculated.
The way she barely glanced at me.
"Mr. Carter?" Kaley's voice cuts through. "You stopped mid-sentence."
"Right." I clear my throat. "Start over. The petitioner's claim of abandonment lacks merit under Florida law, which requires clear and convincing evidence of..."
Focus, Carter.
But my mind goes right back to Janie in the hallway after the meeting, her voice cool and professional. She's a different woman, completely transformed. There's hardly any trace of the young woman who led me upstairs, whose laugh vibrated against my mouth.
"Shit." I shake my head. "Delete that last part and let's start fresh with paragraph three."
Kaley's eyebrows rise slightly, but she doesn't comment. Smart woman. Too smart, probably. She's been with me long enough to recognize when I'm off my game.
"The established pattern of visitation, though irregular, demonstrates their commitment to maintaining a relationship with the minor child. This pattern directly contradicts the statutory requirement for?—"
The Mathis case. Focus on the Mathis case. Not on Janie's tailored navy dress. Not on the slight tremor in her hand when she passed me in the hallway. Not on that clinical smile that never reached her eyes.