Page 84 of Sterling Clay

“Do you have any idea who he could have been?” Clay had asked me, keeping his voice low as we stood side by side in the kitchen sipping coffee, waiting for the jolt of caffeine to kick in. Dutton stirred his oatmeal in his bowl, hardly eating. Clay had skipped their oatmeal routine.

I didn’t want to lie to Clay, but I also didn’t have any truths to share. I had speculations, so I shook my head, afraid words would betray me. One thing I was rather certain of was the man was not Wesley. The size of the person didn’t match his stature. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a creditor, legal or otherwise, wanting money from Wesley. Or a person affiliated with Wesley somehow. I refused to believe the man was from the club. Dad told me he didn’t have anyone to spare for West Virginia, and he wouldn’t allow someone to go rogue.

Still, whoever he’d been, he was somehow familiar with Dutton and me, and I didn’t like that he’d been lingering in Sterling Falls. I didn’t want to put Clay in danger and not for the first time did I consider either returning to Florida or taking us on the run. However, a life hopping from one place to another, always looking over our shoulders, wasn’t how I wanted to raise Dutton.

I’d encouraged Clay to go to work. I had to be at the hospital. A sense of normalcy was what we needed. There was no other way to act around Dutton, who had gone into sloth mode when told to get dressed. Clay didn’t have the heart to challenge him, so he simply wished Dutton a good day and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before he left for work.

We’d both been disappointed last night hadn’t concluded the way it started, but other things took precedence. Dutton would always come first.

After Clay left, I tried to hustle Dutton along, but I was losing my patience. “Put your shoes on.”

“I want to wear the pink ones.”

I couldn’t find the left shoe of the pair, and I was running out of time. I needed to get him to Meredith’s before I went to the hospital for my shift.

“It’s got to be the blue ones today, little bear,” I said, attempting to loosen the clench of my teeth.

As Dutton fell back on the couch, his feet came upward, and he kicked my phone out of my hand. It landed somewhere near the fireplace.

“Dammit, Dutton.” I didn’t have time or patience for his attitude this morning, but my outburst had nothing to do directly with his behavior. I was on edge because I had decisions to make when I didn’t want to implode our lives again.

Wrestling with his feet to slip on the blue gym shoes, Dutton laid back on the couch, unflinching at my hasty movements.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t sleep well last night and clearly you didn’t either. I’m in a mood, little bear, and you need to give Mama a break today.”

Dutton didn’t reply but his expression shifted, chagrin for his actions. He stood once his shoes were on and helped himself into his coat as I slipped into mine and grabbed my tote bag.

Once we were out the door and heading toward town, a light dusting of snow fell from the gloomy sky.

“Look, buddy.” The winter holidays were a favorite of mine, and the sprinkling of snow hints how close they are. Ducking my head to peer out the windshield better, I glanced up at the clouds beautified by the soft flakes softly drifting downward, covering the car but not sticking to the road.

So, I was surprised when the car suddenly jerked, skidding toward the edge of the road, then hitting the shoulder despite my effort to control the Jetta.

The tires spun in the narrow strip of gravel before we pitched downward into a ditch.

When the airbag explodes, the force knocks into me so hard, I think I passed out a second. I definitely cannot right my bearings at first.

“Dutton,” I scream, battling the deployed bag to turn and confirm he is still safely inside the car.

With his booster seat shifted to the right, Dutton is pressed up against the door, but thankfully, he appears unscathed. The front of the car is aimed nose first into the sharp dip off the side of the road.

Dutton’s eyes are wide when he looks at me, and I reach behind me to make physical contact with him. The movement pinches my shoulder, but I need him to touch my hand. I need him to speak.

“Tell me if it hurts anywhere, little bear?”

“The seatbelt choked me.” His fingers shake as he reaches for the thick strap over his shoulder and near his neck. A red rash swells along the right side of his throat. I’m still concerned he hit his head.

My own shoulders and neck will be stiff later. My face stings from the airbag impact. I’m certain to have some bruising or raw skin in places as well.

“Anywhere else? Did your head jolt forward? Did you hit it on the window? Does your tummy hurt?” I’m trying to think of anything I might miss as the seat belt and booster seat held him tightly in place.

He shakes his head.

“I need to call 911.” Reaching for my bag, my own hand visibly trembles. I rustle through the large tote one handed, moving around items, realizing I never made myself lunch. When I don’t feel my phone inside the bag, I awkwardly dump the purse upside down, allowing the contents to scatter on the passenger seat. Frustrated when I don’t see my phone, I shakily unclip my seat belt, and struggle around the airbag, leaning toward the passenger seat.

Maybe the device fell into the foot well? Then, I remember Dutton kicking outward this morning when I was struggling to get his shoes on him, knocking the phone from my grasp.

Did I retrieve it off the floor?