Page 17 of Trapper Road

Kez’s father Easy lives nearby, and so she drops by from time to time to check on things and make sure nothing untoward is going on.

“Just a few days ago. Everything looked fine.”

“Thanks. There’s a new renter coming in this weekend, so if you see lights, that’s why.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” She pauses. “Seriously, Gwen, you okay?”

The concern in her voice is genuine and makes my throat tighten. Kez was in the lighthouse with me several months ago when Jonathan Watson tried to kill me. She endured her own trauma, handcuffed in the control room watching as Jonathan led me through his twisted games. She was the one who warned me that he was about to electrocute the metal stairs I was climbing. That saved my life, even as it put hers — and her unborn child’s — in grave danger.

She’d put everything on the line for me.

This morning I would have told her that things were great. It’s terrifying how quickly that can change. But I know that better than anyone. I’ve been through it before.

“I will be,” I tell her.

“I don’t know how you do it, Gwen. You must be the strongest woman I know.”

I don’t tell her that I don’t have a choice. “You’ll see as soon as you hold that precious baby in your arms. There’s nothing you won’t do for them.”

“You’re a good mom,” she says.

I smile. “You’re a good friend. Now give that baby belly a rub for me and tell Easy and Javi I said hello and I’ll see them in a couple of weeks at your baby shower.”

* * *

It feels like an eternity before I hear Sam’s truck turn into our driveway. I’m already at the door when it opens and I pull Connor against me, hugging him fiercely.

He allows it for a moment before starting to squirm. “Okay, Mom,” he says, voice muffled by my shoulder.

I don’t care, I keep hold of him for a while longer before finally releasing him.

“How did it go?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Fine.” The typical non-answer. I try not to let it frustrate me, especially after everything he’s been through.

“How are you feeling?” I press.

He grimaces. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

I want to tell him that absolutely we do. I’ve spent most of the day in emotional turmoil over him. First terrified that something happened to him, and then, once I knew he was safe, horrified by what he’d gone through.

But I also recognize that what I need right now may not be what he needs. I take in his overlarge tee-shirt, one with the school’s name on it that they must have given him to change into because his own shirt was covered in blood. There are streaks on his arms where he tried to wash the blood away, but wasn’t able to get rid of it all. His nails are still caked with it.

My heart breaks at the sight of him, at the knowledge of what he witnessed. I want to pull him against me and make it all okay, but I worry that might do more harm than good.

I glance toward Sam, meeting his eyes and looking for guidance. He’s spent the last several hours with Connor. He knows better than I do what kind of emotional state he’s in. Sam knows exactly what I’m asking and he nods slightly, letting me know it’s okay to let him go.

“Okay,” I reluctantly tell my son. “You go clean up.”

He looks visibly relieved.

“I called your therapist,” I add. “You have your regular appointment scheduled for Monday, but he said he can fit you in before then if you’d like. And of course I’m here if you need anything. We all are.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he mumbles as he steps around me on his way to his room. I watch him go, my chest aching at the slump to his shoulders.

The minute his door closes I turn back to Sam. “How is he?”

He lets out a long breath, and I notice the tension cording his shoulders. Today hasn’t been easy for him either. “I think he’s doing okay, all things considered. It’s been a lot for him to process. I think he’s overwhelmed by it all right now and is a little shut down.”

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