“If the police are trying to ask Ken questions about fake prescriptions, they’re going to find out about you pretty quick.”

“And Eli,” he says. “We’ll all be screwed, huh?”

We’re both silent. The breath I draw in shakes, but I let it out slowly, one puff at a time. He takes my hand. I let him hold it, but I don’t return the squeeze of his fingers.

“I don’t think they’re asking about Ken because of anything to do with that, though. Why wouldn’t they talk to me? I was right there. And whether you want to believe it or not, I’m not even under suspicion of having anything to do with Beth, or they’d have asked me about that. Don’t you think?”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” I ask.

His fingers squeeze mine again, gently, and although I wish it wasn’t, the warmth of his hand on mine is nice. “I’m just trying to make you feel a little better. It’s going to be okay. Hey. Look at me. I’m here for you. I promise.”

He’s lying again. I can tell by the crinkle at the corner of his left eye. The soft, barely discernible dip in his tone. I wish I could let myself sink into it, though. That lie. All of it.

“Stay away from my son, Christian. I mean it.”

An expression flickers across his face, but he nods. “Fine.”

This time, I believe him.

The temp place only has openings right now for jobs I’m not qualified for, so I have to figure out something else. I haven’t had a job since before Eli was born, but I waited tables at a local Mexican place all through high school. The restaurant has new owners now, an updated menu and décor, but they hire me right away. So many places need help now, they don’t seem to care that my serving skills are rusty. They’ll even let me take the lunch shifts so I can be home to spend the evenings with Eli.

The job starts next week. I’m getting my feet under me. I spoke with the mortgage company and explained the situation so I could ask for an extension on the payments. They’re working on it. Marlene sent me a check for the entire bee collection without waiting for the end of the month, and I don’t care if it was from pity or convenience, because the amount is enough to cover the rest of the monthly bills. Serving tables might not be enough to make ends meet, but for the moment, we’re going to be okay.

One thing at a time.

Flashing lights line my street as I pull up to my house. I can’t get into my driveway because of the police cars. There’s also an ambulance. Panicked, I call Eli’s name as I burst through the front door, but he doesn’t answer me.

Detective Anderson does. She greets me in my own kitchen, where she’s standing next to my sink and looking out over the backyard. Eli’s at the table, his face drawn and eyes hollow.