Chapter Twenty-Eight
The boy, who looks to be about six years old, walks on stage, his emerald eyes twinkling, and waves to the crowd.
“Oh my God,” Iris says, placing a hand on my arm.
“Christopher has a son?” Anthony says.
Even though we’re outside, I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I close my eyes and struggle to fill my lungs with air, pressing my hand against my chest as though applying pressure to an open wound.
The voices on stage sound like they’re coming from inside a tunnel, but snippets of the conversation filter through the pounding in my head. “My daughter-in-law and CHI’s new head of acquisitions . . .” And from Jessica, “Came straight here from the airport . . . excited about my new role . . .”
I back away from the table, and somehow snag the plastic tableclot
