Chapter 2 - Mom Is Gone

Todd crossed the road like he owned it.

Jake stood and moved Ben behind him.

“You don’t get to do that,” Todd snapped.

Jake’s hands curled, then opened again. His parole officer’s warning was still fresh in his head: No fights. No threats. No excuses.

“I just got out,” Jake said. “I didn’t even know Rachel was dead.”

Todd’s face showed no sympathy.

“She died ten months ago.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I wasn’t in charge of your mail.”

Ben tightened his grip on Jake’s shirt.

Jake looked down. “Did Mom write me?”

Ben nodded.

Todd cut in. “That’s enough.”

Jake turned on him. “Where are the letters?”

Todd stepped close enough for Jake to smell coffee on his breath.

“You gave up the right to ask questions when you helped rob that warehouse.”

“I did my time.”

“You did time. Ben did the sentence.”

That landed harder than a punch.

Jake looked at his son.

Ben stared at the sandwich.

Todd reached for him. Ben jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Jake’s eyes snapped up.

Todd froze for half a second.

Too long.

Jake saw fear in Ben’s face.

“What’s going on?” Jake asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Todd said.

Ben’s lips parted, but Todd pointed to the truck.

“Your school called me twice. You’ve missed first period all week. Get in.”

Jake crouched in front of his son.

“Ben, listen to me. I have to go to a place downtown tonight. It’s part of me getting out. But I’m not disappearing again.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Todd laughed without humor. “Careful with those. You’re not great at promises.”

Jake ignored him.

“Do you know my number?” Ben asked.

Jake’s face fell.

He didn’t.

Ben reached into his pocket and pushed a folded piece of notebook paper into Jake’s hand.

“My school. My teacher. Uncle Todd’s number. I wrote all of it.”

Todd grabbed Ben by the shoulder.

Ben flinched.

Jake stepped forward on instinct.

Todd smiled.

“Go ahead,” he said softly. “Touch me. I’ll call your parole officer before you finish the first swing.”

Jake stopped.

Todd put Ben in the truck.

As the door closed, Ben pressed his palm against the glass.

Jake pressed his own hand to the window from outside.

The truck pulled away.

Only then did Jake unfold the paper.

Three phone numbers were written in a child’s careful block letters.

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Below them was one more sentence.

DAD, MOM HID YOUR LETTERS IN THE BLUE BOX. TODD DOESN’T KNOW I FOUND THEM.