He knew he hadn’t been fooling Josh earlier. The cross on the eastern side of the bridge that spanned the Skamania River had been freshly painted, startling Nate more than it should’ve. He’d slowed the Crown Vic and stared at it, wondering who’d painted it. Robbie’s mom and dad had left town years ago.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Josh had asked from his booster seat in the back.

Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, Nate had flashed his son a grin. He was good at hiding his darker feelings. But Josh was a sensitive kid. “Nothing, buddy. You ready to fly?”

Josh nodded.

“Here we go!” Nate pulled onto the highway and hit the gas. He flashed the cruiser’s lights, the car surging forward with a low growl. The engine thrummed as he accelerated to forty, then fifty, then sixty miles an hour.

Josh laughed and Nate laughed with him, twin bursts of relief and happiness expanding in his chest. Nate felt like a god when he made his son laugh. He remembered when his own father used to do this for him, the whir of the siren in his ears, the rush of adrenaline as the trees flew by.

“Faster! Faster!” Josh crowed.

But they’d reached sixty, and Nate was already easing off the gas. “We’ve reached the speed limit, Josh. I can’t go any faster—it’s against the law.”

Soon Nate was pulling into the school drop-off lane. He turned to face Josh, surprised to see that he looked like he was about to cry.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Josh?”

“I don’t feel so good.”

Josh had been complaining he wasn’t feeling well a lot lately, but he didn’t have a temperature. At first Nate thought his reluctance was over going back to school after the long Thanksgiving weekend. Then he remembered the bruises on Josh’s back.

“Is there something going on at school you want to talk about?” he asked.

“No. I just wanna stay with you.”

Nate made a mental note to talk to Josh’s teacher later. “Mommy will be here to pick you up before you know it.”

Nate had helped Josh put his backpack on, handing him over to the school warden who was waiting to take him to his kindergarten classroom. He watched his son drag his shoes across the pavement in the way only a five-year-old boy could. Josh was smaller than the other kids, and now, his shoulders sagging under his backpack, he seemed tinier, more vulnerable than ever.

For a moment Nate had debated going inside to talk to Josh’s teacher, but he’d heard the radio crackling in the cruiser and knew he had to go. Josh peeked over his shoulder one last time, his sad eyes meeting Nate’s. Nate lifted a hand good-bye.

And a second later, Josh was gone.