Page 18 of Haunted

“Well, he’ll be old enough to leave home on his own steam. Do you think that his mother will have a problem with your relationship?”

“I’ll have a problem with her,” I grumble.

She puts her hand on my arm. “Do you believe he might be unsafe in the household if his mother suspected he was gay? Because what he said last night didn’t reassure me.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Mom, you didn’t see the way she talked to him. It’s like he’s just her unpaid babysitter. I’m scared she can’t cope without him, and he’ll never get to college or have a life of his own.”

“Honey, a lot of young people care for family members, and they do it willingly. We can’t make assumptions. Even so, it does seem like it’s hard for Parker, and maybe not in his best interests.”

I purse my lips together. “So you think I’m going overboard?”

“I didn’t say that. If you say that something’s not right there, if you say that he’s not being treated well, I do believe you. All we can do is make sure that he always knows he’s welcome. Even if she came to our door today, I wouldn’t let her take him without proof that she has a place to keep him. If I had my way, I’d find some way to let her keep him here until at least his birthday. After that, all we can do is support him.”

I nod.

“And that means giving him space.”

“But he needs me,” I insist.

“He’s confused and in pain. Sweetheart, I know you mean well, but let him decide what he wants. If he wants to be alone, find somewhere else to be. If he wants to talk, listen.”

I look down at my hands. “You do at least like him, right?”

“Yes, of course we do, honey, but when I said that he was fragile yesterday, I just thought it was because of the fires and the worry. After what he said about his family last night, well, that’s something different. I need you to be careful for yourself as well.”

“I’ll take care of him.” She looks at me. “That’s not me being noble, Mom. I want to. When he’s right here I know he’s okay, and I—” I stop, because I don’t have the rest of the sentence.

She sighs and looks like she’ll say something else, but then she smiles. “Good morning, sweetheart!” she says louder than we’ve been whispering. I turn and see Parker framed in the hallway. Mom stands up. “What would you two like for breakfast?”

“Do you have any cereal? That would be great,” Parker says. He looks at his phone. “We can still make it to school on time.”

“Oh, no, you’re not, buster. I’m keeping you both home today, and I am going to fill you with soup until you float. You’re not going anywhere until I get you in to see Dr. Hanson. That cough of yours is scaring me.”

“I don’t have my insurance card.”

“Honey, I’m the adult. I will take care of it. Sit, sit. Let’s see what I can whip up for you two.”

Parker sits next to me and looks at his phone.

“Anything?” I ask him, even though I can tell by his face that there’s nothing.

Dad turns on the news, and Parker’s eyes lock on it until Mom turns it back off again. She gives Dad a look and proceeds to chat with Parker about food, while he nods and looks freaked out until she retreats to the kitchen. She cracks enough eggs to feed a football team. Parker sits awkwardly at the table and teaches Bree how to layer colors, guiding her as she frowns at her coloring book.

There’s a knock at the door and we all freeze. Mom looks at Dad. “Robert?” she asks. I stand up and put my hands protectively on Parker’s shoulders. He reaches up and squeezes my fingers.

Dad opens the door. There is a woman standing on the front porch. “Excuse me, is Parker Bishop here?” she asks.

“Aunt Shelley?” Parker asks uncertainly.

Dad stands aside for her as she rushes into the dining room and envelops Parker in a hug. She’s smaller than I expected—shorter than Parker, with dark circles under her eyes.

“Oh my goodness. You look so much like your mother,” she says, and her voice cracks on the last word. She cradles his face in her hands and doesn’t let go. “The police called me this morning. They’ve found Mom and Angela and Elliott.”

“Oh, thank God.” He pulls back to look at her. “Where are they? Are they in the hospital—is that why they haven’t called? Is it Elliott? Mom? Do they need something? Blood? I can give blood. Elliott likes those little juice boxes. Anything fruit punch, and he can’t get enough.”

Shelley hesitates. She looks up at me, and I know. Her lips tighten. She takes both his hands. “Parker. They’ve gone. I’m so, so sorry. They didn’t suffer—the police said the smoke would have taken them long before the fire did. It would have been just like going to sleep.”

The room is dead silent. Parker is stock still. He just stops.