Chapter One Hundred
*The Home Front*
Alexander’s key fumbled in the lock. The hallway light was still on in his mother’s small, tidy house, a silent accusation. It was past one in the morning. He pushed the door open, the smell of lemon polish and leftover meatloaf hitting him. He just wanted to get to his room, to the dark, to forget.
“Alexander Byrne! Is that you?”
His mother, Eleanor, stood in the doorway of the living room, wrapped in a faded floral robe. Her face, usually soft with worry, was pinched with anger and disappointment.
“Yeah, Mom. It’s me. Go back to bed.”
“Go back to bed?” She stepped into the hallway, blocking his path to the stairs. “I’ve been waiting up for three hours! I called your phone twelve times! Where have you been?”
“Out,” he mumbled, trying to sidestep
