Page 10 of Darkwater Lane

Connor and I work silently—him with his headphones in as he listens to a lecture. I glance over at him every now and again. His hair is shaggier than he would normally wear it, though I think part of that is to cover the scar on his head from being shot several months ago. Sometimes, I notice the light on under his door in the middle of the night and know he’s up late reading, fighting against sleep and the nightmares that often come with it.

I remember when he was a baby and would hurt himself—a scraped knee or stubbed toe or knot on the head from walking into a table—and he would cry and hold out his arms for me. I would gather him close and feel his little body sag against mine with relief.

There was a time when I could fix my kids’ problems with a hug.

I miss those days.

It’s one of the hardest tasks as a parent: teaching your kids how to live without you. Taking this infant who knows nothing otherthan you—your scent, your heartbeat, your voice— and is completely dependent on you and, over time, teaching them to become their own being.

I’m not ready to let either of my kids go, though I know that eventually I won’t have a choice. Lanny turns eighteen soon. She’ll be a legal adult. She has plans to start community college. Connor will follow a few years later.

My throat tightens at the thought, emotions welling inside. I swallow them back. As Sam reminded me earlier, I shouldn’t borrow trouble from the future. Especially when the present has enough trouble. I can worry about all of that later.

I refocus on my job, diving into the background of a political candidate considering running for higher office. They’re curious about what opposition research would find and hired us to dig up anything we could.

A few hours later, I’m knee-deep in research when Connor’s phone pings. He pulls off his headphones and checks his messages. “Sweet!” he says with a fist pump.

I lift my eyebrows in question.

“A book I’ve been on the hold list for at the library finally came in. I’ve been waiting for it for months. Can I go pick it up?” He’s already standing and packing up his school things.

I glance down at my screen. I have a dozen tabs open, and searches currently running through two databases. It will be at least another two hours before I’m even close to finishing. “If you give me an hour or two, I can drive you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, Mom, it’s just the library. I’ve been there a zillion times.”

Still, I hesitate.

He crosses his arms, settling in for an argument. “You’re letting Lanny go on a field trip to DC, but you won’t even let me bike to the library on my own? How is that fair?”

I want to tell him that Lanny wasn’t shot last year after meetinga young, pretty girl and falling for her. It wasn’t Lanny I found stumbling out of a burning house. It wasn’t Lanny’s hand I held in the hospital while she was in a medically induced coma.

Instead, I take a measured breath. As my therapist has pointed out to me multiple times, Connor’s troubles earlier this year came from his willingness to trust others. That’s a good trait for people to have. He shouldn’t be punished for it.

“Make sure to maintain your situational awareness at all times?—”

He breaks into a smile, knowing that means I plan to let him go. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

He starts to back out of my office, and I call after him, “And if you feel like someone is paying you more attention than they should?—”

“I know, Mom,” he shouts back.

“Make sure to take your phone!” I add. “Call me if you want a ride home!”

My answer is the sound of the front door slamming shut. I pull up the tracking app on my phone. The icon representing Connor is already moving away from the house, verifying that he remembered to take his phone.

I lean back in my chair, watching his icon on my screen wend its way toward the library. Maybe I should have pushed my work aside and gone with him. Except I know I can’t watch him all the time. If I tried to, he’d only chafe against the restrictions which might lead him to rebel.

It’s such a difficult balance—letting my kids grow older and allowing them to take on more responsibility, while also protecting them. Given everything they’ve been through, they have a good understanding of the threats that exist for them in the world. But they’re still teens—they believe they’re invincible.

The reality is, I can’t stop the future from coming. All I can do is give them the tools they need to face it.

The doorbell rings before I can spend too much time falling down the rabbit hole of anxiety over my kids. I switch over to the front door camera on my phone to find a man and woman standing on the front porch.

Both are on the early side of middle-aged, wearing dark suits, with sensible haircuts and neutral expressions. I immediately peg them as law enforcement and feel a spike of adrenaline, wondering if they’re here for Sam.

Our lawyer told us that if the Norton DA decided to move forward with charges against Sam, we’d get a heads-up. But that wasn’t a guarantee. Panicking won’t help anything, and I force a deep breath. Whatever this is, I’ll handle it. I always have.

I move to the closet in my office where I keep the lockbox containing my Sig Sauer. It pops open with the touch of my finger to the biometric sensor. Once I’ve loaded the clip and have it securely in hand, I click on the intercom button to the front door camera and ask, “Can I help you?”

---