Page 4 of Bitter Falls

I feel oddly exposed now too. I’m always prepared for a fight. Not forthat.

I get back in the car and tell Sam I’m headed home. It’s a solid hour and a half drive home without traffic, but we’ll have some overlap to enjoy being together. Quiet time.

I’m almost never that lucky, and today’s no different. I come in the front door and reset the alarm. Connor’s already up and sitting at the breakfast table nibbling on a piece of toast. At thirteen he’s put on a growth spurt that caught me by surprise. He’s filled out in the shoulders and chest. He’s got some height going too.

But Connor doesn’t look great today. Slumped shoulders. Dull, dark shadows in his eyes. Sam’s cooking eggs at the stove. He flashes me a warm, quick smile and a shrug, messages received and acknowledged. Sam’s in his late thirties, just a bit older than I am. Medium height, medium weight, blondish hair. A nicely symmetrical face that somehow can look olderoryounger, depending on his mood and the light.

And I love him completely. That still surprises the hell out of me; what right do I have to love a man this solid, this good? And how does he loveme? It’s a mystery I don’t think I’ll ever solve.

“Hey, baby,” I say. I kiss my son on the top of the head. He barely reacts. “What’s wrong?”

Connor doesn’t answer. He looks pretty zombified, which is partly the hour and partly something else. Sam replies for him. “He says he woke up sick.”

“Sick,” I repeat. I sink down in the chair next to Connor. “Stomach again?”

He nods and gnaws a tiny bit of toast. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he needs a haircut. I keep intending to take him in for one, and it hits me that he looks halfway neglected right now. He’s got on a favorite threadbare sweater I told him to throw away, paired with distressed blue jeans. Add the ragged hair to that, the exhausted eyes...If you sat him on a corner with aWILLWORKFORFOODsign, he’d absolutely get donations.

“You don’t want to go to school?” I ask him, and get another nonverbal agreement. “How about going to the doctor?” This time it’s a negative. I press the back of my hand to his forehead. He isn’t running a fever. “Baby, I’m sorry, but you know you either need to go to the doctor or go to school. I can’t let you just stay home. You’ve missed enough days already.”

He gives me a miserable look, but still doesn’t say a word. He just drops the toast and heads back to his room. I look at Sam, and he holds up his hand in an I-don’t-know gesture. “If I had to guess, I’d say bullies,” he tells me.

“Connor’s been dealing with those for years.”

“Connor’s also been moving around town to town. He could look forward to leaving bullies in the rearview, but he’s settled now. He has to face them with no end in sight. I could be wrong, but—”

“But you’re probably not,” I sigh. “Okay. Save me some eggs?”

“Cheese and crumbled bacon. Got it.”

I knock on Connor’s door and ease it open. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring at the floor with socks he hasn’t yet put on in his hands. I step in and he doesn’t get mad, so I shut the door behind me. “Sam thinks it’s bullies,” I say. “Is he right?”

A slow nod.

“Can you talk to me about it?”

I’m not sure he will, but he finally does, in a voice so rusty it’s painful. “I just...it’s hard.”

He’s right. I get abuse and threats daily in my email. On social media. Even sometimes mailed right to our address. But at least those people are at a distance.

Connor’s face-to-face with his bullies every day. And he can’t escape.

I feel an overwhelming surge of fury, frustration,anguishthat makes my pulse beat hard in my temples. Although I want to protect him from the pain, there’s not much I can do.Stick to your decision. He needs to learn how to cope with this as he grows up.Wrapping him in my arms and protecting him from the world can’t give him the armor he needs.

Teaching him how to guard himself...That will ensure he’s safe when I’m not there.

“Sweetie, I know. I’m sorry. I can talk to the principal, make sure he knows that they need to back off...”

He’s already shaking his head. “Mom. No. If you do anything it’ll be worse.”

I take a deep breath. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just like...” He doesn’t finish that. His voice trails off, but I know what he meant to say.Just like always.It must seem that way. Even though he knows how much of my life I devote to protecting them. It hurts, but I endure that. “I’ll be okay.”

“I can make you an extra appointment at the counselor if you—”

He puts his socks on, then his shoes. Calm, methodical motions, like it’s important he gets it right. “Sure.” His voice is bland now. Disturbingly empty. “Whatever.”

The dreadedwhatever. It’s a steel door slamming in my face. I’m used to getting it from my daughter, not Connor. But he’s growing up, becoming his own person. I’m no longer his shelter.

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