adults, Francesca knew they shouldn’t have been horrified, but it was pretty amazing to see it. Chris looked vastly amused, although he didn’t look like the type to watch porn, but he thought the incongruity of it on their breakfast table was very funny.
“I guess Little Bo Peep is not quite as innocent as she looks,” he commented. He thought it was harmless, and it didn’t bother him, although he wouldn’t have thought it so funny if Ian had been in the room. That would have upset him deeply.
“I’ll ask her not to watch that stuff on the house computer,” Francesca said quietly, thinking of Ian too. He liked playing with the computer and was good at it. She didn’t want him happening on any scenes like that, and she didn’t want to see them either. She liked Eileen, but she felt like a house mother in a college dorm a lot of the time. Some of the men Eileen went out with looked worrisome to Francesca. But Eileen breezed right through it, went out with them a few times, and then moved on to the next one. The one she was seeing for the moment seemed like a good guy, and he had lasted longer than the others, but some of the previous ones had seemed unsuitable and downright crude. Eileen didn’t always notice the difference. She was a small-town girl in the big city, excited by everything.
Chris was still chuckling over the porn incident when he went back upstairs to work. And Francesca mentioned to Eileen discreetly that evening not to watch things like that on the house computer, in case Ian came across it on the weekends.
“Oh, I would never do that!” Eileen said, looking horrified. “We just watched it because we thought it was funny. I guess I forgot to turn it off when we went to bed. I had kind of a lot to drink last night. I’m really sorry, Francesca.” She looked so contrite and like such an innocent child as she said it that Francesca felt sorry for her. It made her suddenly grateful that she didn’t have children. She hated telling anyone what to do, or scolding them for their behavior. It wasn’t her place to tell Eileen how to behave. But she didn’t want porn on the kitchen computer. Eileen hugged her after she apologized, and Francesca sighed as she watched her bound up the stairs. Francesca was beginning to feel like her older sister, and wasn’t sure she wanted the role. But Eileen’s sweetness was hard to resist.
Chris was still chuckling about it the next night when he, Francesca, and Marya ate dinner in the kitchen. Marya had made them a wonderful roast beef, with vegetables and Yorkshire pudding. Eileen was out on a date with her new friend. “Maybe we should buy them porn DVDs instead,” he teased. He was in a good mood and chatted more than usual as they reached dessert. Marya had shared one of her better wines with them, and it had been a delicious meal.
Marya had made baked Alaska and had just lit the flames when Chris’s cell phone rang, and he took it out of his pocket and answered as he admired the spectacular dessert. It was like living in a four-star restaurant having Marya there, and she loved cooking for them. She alternated old favorites with new recipes.
The two women were chatting as Chris got up from the table with a suddenly serious face. He walked into the hallway, still holding his cell phone, and Francesca could hear him asking questions in a terse voice, and a moment later he rushed into the room and grabbed his jacket with a panicked look.
“Are you okay?” Francesca asked him, looking worried. Even though they weren’t close friends, their lives had become intertwined from living under the same roof.
“No, I’m not,” he said as he struggled into his jacket and headed for the stairs.
“Is it Ian?” Francesca asked as she hurried after him.
“No… yes-I don’t have time to explain it. That was the police. I have to go get him.”
“Oh my God…” She didn’t waste his time with any more questions, and just prayed the boy wasn’t hurt. She and Marya sat staring at each other at the table, and no one touched the beautiful dessert. All they could think about was the little boy they had come to love.
Marya quietly cleaned up the remains of dinner and Francesca helped her. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Chris’s face had been sheet white as he ran out of the kitchen. He was obviously terrified for his son, and the two women were desperately hoping the child would be okay. They had no idea what had happened to him. Francesca had sensed for a long time that there were frightening things in the boy’s life that Chris worried about, probably related to his ex-wife’s illness, which Ian occasionally referred to, or something even worse.
They both went to their rooms after dinner, and were thinking about Chris and the boy. All they could do was wait. At midnight, Chris still hadn’t come home, and he hadn’t called either of them. Francesca knew that he owed them no explanations. He rented rooms from her, and he owed her nothing except rent. The details of his private agonies were none of her business, but it explained a lot about him, why he was so quiet and introverted, shared nothing about his past, and said very little. She suspected Chris had a great deal on his mind.
She fell asleep at two A.M. and had left her door open so she could hear him come in, in case he needed moral support or help of any kind. But she heard nothing. All she knew was that his door was closed the next morning, and he hadn’t come downstairs when she left for the gallery at ten-thirty. She had no idea what had happened to Ian, or how the crisis had resolved itself, or even if. She thought about him as she walked softly past his door and hurried down the stairs. Whatever had happened to panic him the night before was a mystery. They each had their private griefs and traumas to deal with that had nothing to do with the others, and belonged only to each of them.
Chapter 8
WHEN FRANCESCA CAME home from the gallery that night, she found Ian sitting quietly at the kitchen table with Marya, eating a bowl of soup. His father was nowhere in the room, and Francesca was instantly aware that it was Thursday, a day when Chris didn’t normally see Ian. And he only came to the house on weekends. Something was clearly out of step.
Francesca set down her bag, and slipped into a chair next to Ian and smiled at him. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to hug him but didn’t want to overwhelm him. Marya had been reading him a story.
“I’m happy to see you, Ian,” Francesca said softly, and ran a gentle hand across his hair. He looked up at her with sad eyes, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and when he looked at her it nearly broke her heart.
“My mom got sick last night,” he said quietly. “She fell asleep and wouldn’t wake up. I tried to wake her but I couldn’t. There was a lot of blood. I thought she was dead. I called nine-one-one.” Francesca tried not to look as shocked as she was as she listened and nodded.
“That must have been so scary for you.” He nodded, and Francesca didn’t want to ask if his mother was still alive or had died the night before. It would have explained the expression of shock and sorrow on his face. He looked like an orphan sitting there, and she wanted to put her arms around him, but he seemed so fragile she didn’t dare.
“She’s in the hospital now, but she’s very sick. I’m going to stay here with Dad.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.
“So am I,” Marya added. “You can help me bake lots of cookies. You can take some with you to school.” He nodded again, as his father came into the room, and Chris looked as traumatized as his son. There were dark circles under his eyes from the night before.
Chris took a seat at the table and smiled at Ian, as though they had come through the wars together. Francesca suspected they had, given what she had just heard.
“How are you doing, Champ?”
“Okay,” Ian said quietly. He had eaten very little of the soup.
“I think we both need to go to bed early and get some sleep. How does that sound to you?” Chris looked utterly worn out.
“Okay,” Ian said again. He wasn’t the bouncy, happy child he normally was on weekends, but if he had watched his mother nearly die in a pool of blood, it was easy to understand why he was so subdued.
Marya touched his arm sympathetically, as Chris picked the boy up and carried him upstairs. He looked gratefully at Marya, who had been wonderful to Ian all that afternoon. Francesca stayed and talked to Marya for a while. Neither of them knew exactly what had happened, but it sounded bad, and the horror of it was written all over the child’s face.
