“And his mom,” Jason quickly adds.
Hannah snorts. “Nice save, Dad.”
She has commented on more than one occasion that I’ve got Jason completely whipped. I don’t know if it’s true,but he’s a good husband. I don’t have to nag him to take out the garbage, he always remembers our anniversary, and he changed more than his fair share of diapers when the kids were little.
If there’s one thing I would change about him, I’d wish he were a little less laid-back. Especially when it comes to my concerns about Liam. He’s always shrugged everything off as “boys will be boys.” But I know one of these days it’s going to be bad enough that he won’t be able to do that anymore.
I look at Liam, and his face has no expression until he notices me watching him. Then he smiles. “I can’t wait to get my license,” he says.
“And then you can drive me to school in the morning,” Hannah pipes up.
“Sure.” Liam gives me a pointed look. “If Mom and Dad get me a car.”
“We’ll see,” Jason says. “For now, stick with your mother’s Toyota.”
I brace myself, waiting for him to add, “We’ll probably get you one for your birthday.” But he doesn’t. Thank God. I think Liam will be a good driver, but something about him having his own car makes me a little uneasy.
“But Liam did do great today.” Jason joins me at the dishwasher and starts unloading dishes on his own, eventhough it’s Hannah’s job. “He checked his mirrors when he was supposed to. He did the right thing when we got to every stop sign. I wasn’t terrified even once.”
Liam laughs. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’ve got to be careful out there,” he says. He pulls out a couple of plates from the dishwasher and cocks his head thoughtfully. “Hey. Did you hear about the guy who lost his left arm and leg in a car accident? But he’s all right now.”
Hannah lets out a groan. Liam and I are silent.
“He’s allrightnow,” Jason says. “Because he has no left arm or leg. Get it?”
“No, I get it,” I say.
Jason grins at me. “Well, you’re not laughing. So I thought I needed to explain it.”
“Nope.”
Jason winks. Even before the kids were born, he used to tell his cheesy jokes. But back then, a lot of the jokes involved a saucy double entendre. Now they’re straight-up dad jokes. But I find it endearing that he persists in making them, even though nobody laughs.
My phone starts ringing from the living room. I use the generic ringtone my iPhone came with, because I can’t be bothered to change it. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure how. My husband is a tech guy and I can’t change the ringtone on my phone.
I hurry to the phone and pick it up before it stops ringing. I stare down at the name that pops up on the screen. Frank Marino.
Frank is calling me back.
I quietly slip outside to take the call. And I shut the door behind me.
Chapter Ten
ERIKA
“Erika Cass.”
Frank’s Brooklyn accent rings out on the line. It’s so thick that you know he was born and raised there. I found him four years ago—in the Yellow Pages. I searched under private detectives and selected his name randomly. I had no idea what I was doing, and I’m lucky that Frank turned out to be as good as he is.
I don’t want to think about what might have happened if not for his help.
“Hi, Frank,” I say. “Thanks for calling me back so quickly.”
“For you, Erika? Anything. What do you need?”
Frank is a smooth talker. That’s what I thought the first and only time I met him in person three years ago, right before the first job I hired him for. He looked just like he sounded—greasy black hair threaded with gray, yellowing teeth from years of smoking, and sharp eyes that didn’t miss a thing. The man made me nervous. But he’salways done everything I’ve asked him to. For the right price.
