Page 3 of Protecting Love
“Mom never knocks.”
He pushed the bottom of his suit jacket away and sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” Ian mumbled and looked back toward his textbook.
“Something,” he said, nudging his son’s arm.
Ian hesitated. He hated that too. That his son felt he couldn’t talk to him when something was wrong or bothering him. “She’s the one who’s never home. Not you. I’m used to it with you.”
No kid should be used to their father not being home. Those words cut deeper than anything Lorraine had said. “She’s working,” he said. Or so she claimed.
“She goes out with coworkers,” Ian said. “That’s what she says. Or what I hear her saying on the phone.”
He hated the question before it left his mouth. “Do you know who?”
“A bunch of women.”
He nodded. “She’s allowed friends just like you. If you’re scared being home alone, you should tell me. Let me know what is going on.”
His son tensed. He’d damaged that fragile pride with those words, but they still had to be said. “I’m not scared,” Ian argued. “Just…there’s pizza again. She didn’t cook.”
It was eight. He had been home less than twenty minutes.
“You love pizza.”
“I do. Just not all the time.”
He smiled and ruffled his son’s hair, but missed most of it as Ian dodged away. “Says no kid ever. So what’s this really about? I didn’t know you were so bent on home-cooked meals.”
Ian hedged for a beat. “We really aren’t moving, right?”
“Nope.”
“Good. I like it here.”
“So do I.” He stood. “Do you need help with homework?”
“Nah.” As he turned, Ian stopped him. “Thanks, Dad.”
“For what?”
“For being on my side.”
He felt the tightness in his throat. His son could always do that to him at the worst of times. Make things feel not so bad.
“It’s only two years, bud. Then we’ve got all the time in the world to do things.”
“You’ll hate it,” Ian said. “You’re going to be bored. You love your job. Why doesn’t Mom get that?”
His son saw more than his wife did.
“Because she cares,” he said, though even he wasn’t convinced. “Someday you’ll understand.”
“She’s bad at showing it,” Ian muttered.
He didn’t argue.
This time, his son wasn’t wrong.
