her experience, the statement “I need some time by myself” was a euphemism for, “I want to try somebody else. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll be back.” She got up to leave, and he didn’t move to stop her.
It was a difficult walk back to the house. A few blocks seemed like miles, and the San Gabriel Valley had turned cold. There were people on the street—distracting activity around her. She checked her Blackberry. No messages.
As Josie walked up the sidewalk toward the house, it was dark—but she could see there were two cars in her driveway. The city car was parked safely in the garage. She got closer and could make out David’s jeep beside the Porsche. Her first thought was wondering why David had been home more in the last two days than in the last two months, and immediately she felt guilty. A mother should be happy to see her son and she was, but David’s companionship frequently came not only with his dirty laundry but with conditions.
When he was a boy, David was closer to her, but as he got older Jake was his confidant and mentor. She was never certain what was going on in her son’s life—what was real, or what he wanted her to believe so she wouldn’t ask too many prying questions. She was a cop and maybe not as gullible as Jake or most of the other mothers, but lately she was resigned to ignoring his deceptions, knowing inevitably the truth would surface. Otherwise, she feared their relationship might become a series of nasty interrogations. Tonight she wasn’t certain she could play his games. Her nerves were already on overload.
She found him rummaging in the refrigerator. When she said “Hi” he straightened up and hit his head on the top shelf.
“You alright,” she said, trying to touch the back of his neck. “Kind of jumpy, aren’t you?”
He moved away. “I’m fine. You scared me. I didn’t expect you home.”
“Where did you expect me?”
“With Dad. What happened?” He pulled the butter dish out and closed the refrigerator door.
Great, she thought. They’ve already talked about it. Well, she wasn’t going to discuss her marriage problems with her son.
“You staying? Want me to make you something to eat?”
“What happened with Dad?” David asked again, taking a loaf of bread from the counter.
She sat at the breakfast table and watched him. He buttered four slices and started devouring the bread. Josie always marveled at how much food her son could consume and never gain a pound. Obviously, he got his metabolism from her. He was skinny but ate enough to keep three people alive.
“I’m guessing you already know,” she said with a tight smile.
“Male menopause.”
“Possibly.” She watched him butter and eat his fifth slice of bread. “I can make you a steak or heat up some soup. You don’t have to eat like a prisoner.”
“I told him he was a shit if he left you.”
“He’s . . . confused,” she said, not wanting to have this conversation.
“You don’t quit on people you’re supposed to love.”
Who is this guy, she thought staring at her son, this tall, goodlooking young man who was coming to her defense. At times, she wasn’t certain David even liked her anymore, but here he was on one of the weirder nights of her life taking her side, defending her instead of his father.
“Thanks,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll work things out. You wanna stay tonight?”
“Can’t,” he said, standing, brushing crumbs off his Levi’s, and leaving a mess on the table.
Josie couldn’t explain why, but the question popped into her mind, so she asked, “Did you know Misty Skylar?”
“She’s my agent. How do you know her?”
Josie rubbed her temples. It was the wrong answer. “I met her in an alley this afternoon. She’s dead.”
The color faded from David’s face. He pulled out the chair and sat. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered. “What the hell’s going on?”
“How long have you had an agent?” Her son’s
It was a difficult walk back to the house. A few blocks seemed like miles, and the San Gabriel Valley had turned cold. There were people on the street—distracting activity around her. She checked her Blackberry. No messages.
As Josie walked up the sidewalk toward the house, it was dark—but she could see there were two cars in her driveway. The city car was parked safely in the garage. She got closer and could make out David’s jeep beside the Porsche. Her first thought was wondering why David had been home more in the last two days than in the last two months, and immediately she felt guilty. A mother should be happy to see her son and she was, but David’s companionship frequently came not only with his dirty laundry but with conditions.
When he was a boy, David was closer to her, but as he got older Jake was his confidant and mentor. She was never certain what was going on in her son’s life—what was real, or what he wanted her to believe so she wouldn’t ask too many prying questions. She was a cop and maybe not as gullible as Jake or most of the other mothers, but lately she was resigned to ignoring his deceptions, knowing inevitably the truth would surface. Otherwise, she feared their relationship might become a series of nasty interrogations. Tonight she wasn’t certain she could play his games. Her nerves were already on overload.
She found him rummaging in the refrigerator. When she said “Hi” he straightened up and hit his head on the top shelf.
“You alright,” she said, trying to touch the back of his neck. “Kind of jumpy, aren’t you?”
He moved away. “I’m fine. You scared me. I didn’t expect you home.”
“Where did you expect me?”
“With Dad. What happened?” He pulled the butter dish out and closed the refrigerator door.
Great, she thought. They’ve already talked about it. Well, she wasn’t going to discuss her marriage problems with her son.
“You staying? Want me to make you something to eat?”
“What happened with Dad?” David asked again, taking a loaf of bread from the counter.
She sat at the breakfast table and watched him. He buttered four slices and started devouring the bread. Josie always marveled at how much food her son could consume and never gain a pound. Obviously, he got his metabolism from her. He was skinny but ate enough to keep three people alive.
“I’m guessing you already know,” she said with a tight smile.
“Male menopause.”
“Possibly.” She watched him butter and eat his fifth slice of bread. “I can make you a steak or heat up some soup. You don’t have to eat like a prisoner.”
“I told him he was a shit if he left you.”
“He’s . . . confused,” she said, not wanting to have this conversation.
“You don’t quit on people you’re supposed to love.”
Who is this guy, she thought staring at her son, this tall, goodlooking young man who was coming to her defense. At times, she wasn’t certain David even liked her anymore, but here he was on one of the weirder nights of her life taking her side, defending her instead of his father.
“Thanks,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll work things out. You wanna stay tonight?”
“Can’t,” he said, standing, brushing crumbs off his Levi’s, and leaving a mess on the table.
Josie couldn’t explain why, but the question popped into her mind, so she asked, “Did you know Misty Skylar?”
“She’s my agent. How do you know her?”
Josie rubbed her temples. It was the wrong answer. “I met her in an alley this afternoon. She’s dead.”
The color faded from David’s face. He pulled out the chair and sat. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered. “What the hell’s going on?”
“How long have you had an agent?” Her son’s
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