Sitting next to Paul on the sofa, I threw out conversational tidbits — jokes I had read on the Internet — that glowed, then quickly died, like sparks from a campfire.
My mother laid aside the magazine she had been flipping through without actually reading anything in it. “Why doesn’t Scott call? He’s got to know that we’re worried sick.”
“I guess he’s got a lot on his mind right now, Mom.”
“But you’d think he’d at least check in to make sure the children are OK.”
“He knows the children are OK. They’re here with us.”
Mother sighed. “I suppose so.” She chewed on her thumbnail, a habit she had recently acquired when she finally gave up a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit.
I didn’t think I could stand one more minute of not knowing. I had to do something. Anything. Surprised I hadn’t though
