Kit pocketed his phone. “That was Char. We’re good to go.”
“Her name is Charlotte,” Melanie said, trying not to sound testy but failing. Use the person’s given name, for heaven’s sake.
Her husband made a frowny face. “I know. Anyway, I’m out of here. I’ll call you once I know something. Do you want to join me and Charlotte after the presentation? I’ll spring for the good champagne.”
“Noah has a baseball game. It’s on your calendar.”
Kit slid his wallet and keys into his pocket. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll try to make the game before it’s over.”
“I know he’ll appreciate seeing you in the stands.”
When Noah first started playing his freshman year, he’d been an incredible pitcher with a curve and slider that fooled the batter almost every time, but then he’d injured his shoulder in football the next year and hadn’t been able to pitch that spring. So far, his junior year had been rocky with him sitting the bench a lot and not making the travel team. Kit had gone from being involved in the dads’ booster club to barely mentioning the sport he’d once thought his son would excel in. Noah had asked to quit the team. Melanie responded with hiring a pitching coach and getting him better physical therapy for his shoulder. She didn’t raise quitters. Even if every game now felt like watching an execution—starting with hope, ending in a solemn ride home.
Kit disappeared out the bedroom door, and Melanie picked up the piles of laundry she’d stacked on their bed.
She walked toward her daughter’s room, now lifeless since Emma had taken all her favorite things with her when she went to college. Periodic summer and Christmas breaks brought the room back to its former state of disaster, but those times were like a summer storm—quick, brutal, and gone before a mom could blink. She placed the sweater her daughter had left behind on the shelf in her closet and then headed to Noah’s room to put away his raggedy socks.
When she opened the door, she registered two things—Noah was still home, and Noah thought the door was locked.
“Mom! Oh my God!” he shrieked, jackknifing up and covering himself with a towel. “You’re supposed to knock!”
Melanie ripped her eyes from her son and focused on the baseball print she’d had matted and framed for him last year. “I-I didn’t know you were here. I thought you’d left. And why—”
“Get out,” he yelled.
“Noah, it’s natural—”
“Please, Mom. Please,” he pleaded.
Melanie tossed the stack of clean laundry onto his cluttered desk and pretty much ran from the room. She closed the door a bit too loudly and then leaned against it. She heard her son utter a word he was not allowed to use in the house, but she figured after having someone walk in on a masturbation session, she would let his use of the mother of all curse words slide.
Why was he still home? It was eight thirty, and school had started a half hour ago.
Then it hit her. He had an appointment with the optometrist to get fitted for his new contacts. She’d forgotten they’d agreed he would check into school afterward.
“For goodness’ sake, lock the door next time,” she called through the closed door.
Still a little shaky from what she’d glimpsed, Melanie made her way downstairs, where Poppy met her with a wagging tail and one of the Aquatalia boots she’d just purchased. Poppy looked so pleased with herself as she dropped the mangled suede bootie at Melanie’s feet. Her “wanna play” face was in place.
“Poppy, no,” Melanie groaned, stooping to pick up the boot she’d just taken from the Nordstrom box last week. She’d had her eye on the boots all winter but refused to pay full price. When they’d gone on sale for 33 percent off, she’d snagged them, knowing they’d be perfect for next fall.
Or not.
She examined the damp boot, noting Poppy had gnawed on the heel. She glanced around and spied the right boot in the center of the living room. Poppy had chewed a big hunk off that one.
“Son of a b,” Melanie muttered under her breath, wanting to reach out and smack the good-natured retriever. Poppy was still like an overgrown puppy, given to her kids five Christmases ago only because she could think of no other gifts for them. They’d been thrilled with Poppy—there had been tears and a precious video that went semiviral. Noah and Emma had vowed to walk her