Marie set the cake on the counter. “No. He went to bed a half hour ago.”
So early? That wasn’t like him. He usually fought his bedtime with as much tenacity as a grizzly bear. “Is he feeling all right?”
“He said he was just tired.”
“Did he eat dinner?”
“No. He didn’t want anything.”
Anna’s forehead creased in concern. “I’m going to head upstairs and check on him.”
“Shall I heat your dinner?”
“No.” Anna gave her a thankful smile. “I’ll get it later. You go on home. I’m sorry I kept you so long.”
“No problem. Are you sure you don’t want me to fix you a plate? It’ll only take a moment.”
“I’m sure.” Anna smiled at her again. “Now, go home. And tell your family hi.”
After Marie left, Anna headed upstairs, still worried about Cody. The only time he ever went to bed this early was when he wasn’t feeling well.
When she reached the top of the stairs, the sound of music grew louder. Light spilled out from under his door, and she couldn’t help but feel relieved. He was still up. With a perfunctory knock, she entered. He was sitting up on his bed, his sketch pad in hand and the stereo blaring—as usual. Walking over to his desk, she turned off the music, ignoring the angry look he shot her. Lately, anger seemed to be the only emotion she could elicit from him. That, and indifference. No one could do indifference better than a thirteen-year-old boy.
“Hey,” she said, taking a seat on the end of his bed. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Marie said you went to bed early. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, leaning forward to feel his forehead.
He shot her another ill-tempered look. “I’m not sick.”
“Just tired?”
He went back to working on his drawing.
“Can I see your sketch?”
His pencil paused mid-stroke, but still he didn’t look up. “Maybe when I’m done.”
A pang of regret wrapped around her heart. Once, he hadn’t been able to wait to show her his drawings. Before she’d even stepped through the door after work, Cody had been there, flipping through his sketch pad, pointing out everything he’d drawn that day. As always, his talent amazed her. This son of hers who could draw anything while the only thing she could draw was a bath. Now . . . now Anna couldn’t remember the last time he’d met her at the door or asked her to look at anything. And before tonight, when was the last time she’d asked him? “Okay,” she said quietly, rubbing his sock-covered foot. “How was school?”
His pencil scratched against the pad as he made quick, deft strokes. “Fine.”
“Did you have a lot of homework?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow’s your spelling test. Do you need help—”
“I already studied.”
Anna leaned back against the footboard, working hard not to rise to the bait. Talking with her son was like pulling teeth. Slow and painful. “Marie said you didn’t eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Not even for cake?” When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer, she wiggled his foot, waited until he looked up. “I got the promotion.”
Silence.
“Come downstairs with me. We’ll have a celebration. Just the two of us.”
“I said I’m not hungry.”
She tried to hide her disappointment. “Maybe this weekend then, after I get off work. We’ll go out to a special dinner. You can pick the restaurant.”
For just a moment, his mask of indifference dropped away. “But . . .”
“What?” she prompted.
“Nothing,” he mumbled, pulling his legs up, away from her touch. Her hand slipped away.
“There’s something in that nothing.” She waited for the reluctant grin that usually followed the familiar saying, but tonight there was no smile.
“What about my game this weekend?” he finally asked.
Her smile froze. Carefully, she said, “I thought you could stay with Grandma and Grandpa this weekend while I’m at work. I know they’d love to watch your game.”
“Work?” he said, anger and disappointment clouding his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Cody, but with this new job, I’m going to be working more hours. Weekends.”
“So you’re not going.”
“No,” she said, feeling the weight of his disappointment. She wanted to explain how important this promotion was to her career but knew that anything she said tonight would fall on deaf ears. Hopefully, in a couple of days, when he wasn’t so upset, she could explain it to him. “I’m sorry. But there will be other games, you’ll see.”
“Whatever,” he said, propping his sketch pad higher on his bent legs until it all but hid his face.