Chapter 162

I don’t have much choice—I’m already here. Might as well get it over with. Cautiously I lean into the open doorway, one foot angled after Caitlin in case I have to run for it, too. She’ll be in a mood now, I remind myself. She lost the woman who practically raised her as her own, she lost the son she thought she knew, she probably thinks she has a very tenuous grip on what’s left of her world, too. Gently,I think. Gently…“Mom?”

“What?” She sits on the double bed, already neatly made, and stares at her reflection in a small mirror on the bedside table. One hand is raised to her face, an eyeliner pencil held between fingers that tremble slightly—she tries to steady them with the pinky against her cheek but it doesn’t work, the sharpened tip of the pencil wavers as it nears her eye. With a dramatic sigh, she sets the pencil down and frowns into the mirror at me. In a peevish voice, she asks, “Michael, what is it? Can’t you see I’m busy here?”