Page 45 of The Quiet After The Fall

“He was at the office yesterday too,” I say.

“Well, your father’s a busy man.”

I want to say he hasn’t been a busy man in years, not in the ways that count, but I keep my mouth shut. She sips her coffee, spilling a dribble down her chin. I wait for her to realize but after a few seconds, she doesn’t, so I crouch beside her.

“Mom.”

Her eyes meet mine. Up close, they’re glassy. “We should talk about table arrangements. I called Sawyer, told her that your father added more to the list.”

My heart stops. She said Sawyer.

“Sawyer?”

She blinks, mouth hanging open. “Why would you bring her up?”

“I didn’t,” I say. “You did.”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“Mom.” I hold my head in my hand. When I look back at her, she has her phone again, clicking open an app. “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t look up from her phone. “I’m fine, Knox. I just have a lot to coordinate.”

I stay crouched beside her for a moment, looking at her face. The glassy eyes, the wrong buttons, the smudged lipstick she doesn’t know is there. It’s not even ten in the morning. What the hell is she on?

“Mom.” I take the mug gently out of her hand and set it on the table. “When did you last eat something?”

“I’m having coffee.” She waves a hand. “There’s leftovers in the fridge. I’ll have some later.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“The florist called about the centerpieces.” She looks at her screen, taps on something. “Friday. We lose the order if I don’t…Your father keeps saying ask you and Ella, but Ella says ask you, so.” She looks up and her eyes take a second to find mine. “Tall or low?”

“Tall or low what?”

“Centerpieces, of course.”

“Low, I guess. Whatever you think.”

“Maybe tall,” she says, and she waves me off. “I need to make a call.”

Jesus Christ.

She needs some help. I know I’m one to talk, but something is seriously wrong and I’m scared. I’m scared she’s going to slide back to how she was again.

Too bad I can’t talk to my prick of a father about it. If I want to help, I’ll have to do it myself.

I go down the hall to my father’s office, close the door, and stand there in the quiet. This makes two days in a row that he’s at the office early. Whatever the hell he’s doing, I’ll bet Moretti’s involved.

I try my father’s cell. It rings once and goes to voicemail.

His filing cabinet is right there. He’s never liked me to touch it, but I’ve had to go in there a handful of times over the years. If his office computer was a dead end, I’ll bet there’s something in that old metal box.

It’s too early for this shit and I’m too tired. But this may be the only chance I have to look around.

The first drawer is nothing but yearly tax forms going back the past couple years. Could be worthwhile info in there, but it’s not screaming scandal.

I close it and pull open the second. Its uneven track squeals and I hold my breath for a second.