Chapter 97

Across the table, Darian kept throwing quick glances his way. Stacy tried to anticipate them—usually they came after James said something silly. Darian would laugh, and Stacy would look up in time to catch his eye before he turned back to his son. As if watching his reaction to the boy, perhaps. Was it more than that? He didn’t know, and his mind refused to think with the kid next to him, leaning against his arm or digging a spiny elbow into his thigh. Stacy wished James would turn off the motor mouth long enough for him to figure it out. Would this go on all night?

The prospect was exhausting.

After lunch it was back to work. Stacy got a short reprieve when he turned on the table saw and finally drowned out the sound of James’s voice. The boy sat at Darian’s desk, running the Happy Meal car over and around stacks of paper while his father and Stacy worked.