A Million Little Things: An uplifting read about friends, family and second chances for summer 2018 from the #1 New York Times bestselling author
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“Are you hungry?” As she asked the question, her stomach growled. “Me, too. I’m going to make lunch. Want to watch?”
Jack laughed and crawled the short distance between them. Once he reached her, he stood and held out his arms for a hug.
She pulled him close and let the warmth of his little body comfort her. He was such a good boy, she thought, her heart overflowing with gratitude. Smart, loving, sweet. If only...
She pushed that thought away. The day was going well. She would focus on that and deal with the rest of it later.
She rose and together they headed for the kitchen. Jack made a beeline for the small activity table set up in the corner by the pantry. There were all kinds of things to keep him busy while she cooked. A giant pad of paper and chubby, nontoxic crayons, a blue-and-green “lunch box” that played music and talked about the various items he loaded in it. She’d wanted to put in a small play kitchen, but Kirk had objected. When she’d pointed out that it was perfectly fine for boys to cook, he’d insisted on equal time, with a play workbench, and even though their kitchen was large, it couldn’t hold both toys and still leave room for her.
She carefully pulled the gate closed behind her, so Jack couldn’t go exploring without her, then plugged her phone into the small speaker docking station. After starting Pandora, she scrolled to one of their favorite stations.
“In the mood for disco?” she asked with a smile.
Jack looked at her and grinned.
The Bee Gees’ “You Should Be Dancing” started. She moved her hips. Jack did the same—kind of—he was a little awkward, but still pretty coordinated for his age. She began stepping from side to side, moving backward toward the sink. Jack laughed and clapped his hands. She spun twice and he did the same.
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting down to their meal. She’d pulled Jack’s high chair close. Disco music still played from the overhead speakers.
His lunch was a small portion of tender chicken and a cauliflower-potato fritter modified from a recipe she’d found online. She used an air fryer to make sure it wasn’t greasy, with eggs and a bit of organic cheddar acting as a binder. She made them smaller than the recipe called for so they were the perfect size for him to pick up. While Jack was pretty good with a spoon, she found that the meal went better when he could simply pick up everything on his plate.
She had leftover salmon from the night before and a couple of crackers. She probably should have made herself a salad, but it was so much effort. Kirk would tell her to buy one of those premade bags, which probably made sense, but seemed a little wasteful to her.
“Today is Wednesday,” she said between bites. “It’s nice that it’s so sunny outside. We can go for a walk later and see the ocean.”
Everything she’d read said to be sure to talk to Jack as if he were capable of understanding. Just because he wasn’t talking didn’t mean he wasn’t hearing. She was careful to always use complete sentences and plenty of specific nouns. Lulu, her mom’s pet, wasn’t just a dog. She was a Chinese crested. Food was specific, too. Bread, apple, rice cereal. The same with his toys.
Every second he was awake, she knew where he was and what he was doing. She was always looking for opportunities to stimulate his brain, to help him grow. She knew all the warning signs of autism and except for his inability to speak, Jack didn’t have any of them. But there was a reason he didn’t talk and a thousand things that could still go wrong. That reality kept her up at night.
After lunch, Jack carefully carried his plate back to the kitchen. She took it from him and put it on the counter, next to hers. She drew the gate shut again and turned off the music. Because a child had to get used to quiet, as well.
She plugged in her earbuds and, as she did every day after lunch, tuned into the police scanner app. It was the usual barrage of chatter. Two officers being sent to investigate possible domestic abuse. Someone checking in with dispatch to see if they wanted breadsticks with marinara. She glanced at the counter to make sure she’d put all the food away. Seconds later, her entire body went cold.
The words came too fast for her to follow what was happening, but enough of them got through. Two detectives. Shooter. Officer down.
Kirk! Panic flooded her, making her heart race. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch her breath. Even knowing she wasn’t having a heart attack didn’t stem the growing sense of dread. Her chest was tight and even though she was inhaling, she couldn’t seem to get air into her lungs.
Crackers are a tasty snack.
The singing voice from Jack’s toy cut through the growing fog in her brain. She glanced at her son, who pushed the square of plastic crackers into the lunch box, then laughed.
She hung on to the counter and told herself to stay calm. If Kirk was the injured officer, she would be getting a phone call. A squad car would show up to take her to wherever it was family went in times like this. In the meantime, she dialed Kirk’s cell, but it went right to voice mail—as it always did when he was working.
She desperately wanted to turn on the TV, but couldn’t. Jack couldn’t be exposed to the news. It was too violent. She didn’t know what memories he might retain. Besides, everything she’d read or heard said to limit television at his age.
She carefully scraped the food into her composting bin, then put the plates in the dishwasher. She wiped down the counters, all the while listening to the scanner. There were no details, just more jumbled information. No mention of names. Just a repeat of what she’d heard before.
When the kitchen was clean, she reluctantly took out her earpieces. She didn’t want to wear them in front of Jack. He needed to know she was paying attention to him. She was still having trouble breathing and was wracked by occasional tremors. Going to the beach was out of the question now. She had to stay home in case the worst had happened.
Jen took Jack into the backyard. She kept the slider open so she could hear if someone came to the front door. She had her cell phone in her pocket. For an endless hour, she played with her son, all the while waiting anxiously for some bit of news from Kirk. About one forty-five, they headed inside, where she gave Jack a light snack of pumpkin dip with a quarter of a sliced apple. When he was done with that, they went into his room to begin his afternoon prenap ritual.
She pulled the curtains shut while he picked out which stuffed animal he wanted with him. Winnie the Pooh usually won and today was no exception. She helped Jack take off his shoes, then got him into bed. She sat next to him and turned on the night-light/music box she played every afternoon. The familiar music made him yawn. One story later, he was already asleep. Jen turned on the baby monitor, then slowly backed out of the room. Once the door was closed, she ran into the family room and turned on the TV.
All the local stations were back to their regular programming. She switched over to CNN but Wolf Blitzer was talking about an uptick in the stock market. She raced to her desk and waited impatiently for her laptop to boot, then went to her local affiliate’s website and scanned the articles.
She found one on the shooting, but it hadn’t been updated in thirty minutes. There was no news beyond a suspect shooting at two detectives. The suspect had been taken into custody. There was no information on a downed officer—which meant what? No one had been shot? They didn’t want to say anything until family had been notified?
She tried Kirk’s cell again and went right to voice mail. She told herself he was fine. That he would be home soon. She needed to get moving, to tackle all the chores that piled up during the day. Jack’s nap was only about an hour. The quiet time was precious.
Only she couldn’t seem to move—mostly because her chest hurt and she still wasn’t breathing well. Panic loomed, threatening to take her over the edge. She needed her husband. She needed her son to start talking. She needed someone to keep the walls around her from closing in.
Her eyes burned but she didn’t dare cry. If she started, she might not stop and that would frighten Jack. She didn’t want any of her craziness to rub off on him. She still remembered being little and having her mother always worry and how that had upset her.
She forced herself to stand. She had to plan menus for the next few days then create a grocery list. There was laundry and the sheets needed to be changed. She would just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Kirk was fine. He had to be fine. If he wasn’t—
She sank back into her chair and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She was going to throw up. Or maybe faint. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
Her phone chirped, notifying her of an incoming text message from Kirk.
She straightened and grabbed her cell off the desk. Relief poured through her as she read and she sucked a lungful of air.
Hey, babe. Did you want me to pick up something at the grocery store? Sorry, but I can’t remember what you told me this morning. Love you.
Jen made a half laugh, half sob sound and typed back a response. Kirk was okay. Order was restored.
She stood and ran through her mental to-do list. Sheets, grocery planning and the list, if she had time. Then five minutes online looking for information on someone who could tell her why her little boy refused to talk.
Chapter Two
“It’s not gonna happen.”
Pam Eiland allowed herself a slightly smug smile as she rolled her shoulders back to appear more in charge. Because she knew she was right. “Oh, please, Ron. You’re doubting me? You know better.”
Ron, the blond, thirtysomething plant guy and part-time coach of the UCLA volleyball team, shook his head. “You can’t grow bush monkey flower in a container. These guys like rocky soil, lots of sun and excellent drainage.”
“All three conditions can be created in a container. I’ve done it before.”
“Not with bush monkey flower.”
What was it about men? They always thought they knew better. One would think after nearly two years of her buying plants he swore wouldn’t grow in containers on her condo deck and then making them flourish, he would be convinced. One might think that, but one would be wrong.
“You said that about the hummingbird sage and Shaw’s agave,” she pointed out.
“No way. I totally told you Shaw’s agave would grow in a container.”
The man was incredibly intense about his plants. Intense and wrong. “I’m going to buy the bush monkey flower and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“You don’t even have a plan,” he complained. “You buy your plants based on the names.”
That was true. “When my grandson asks me about my plants, I want to be able to say they all have funny names.”
“That’s a ridiculous reason to buy a plant.”
“So says a man who doesn’t have children. One day you’ll understand.”
Ron didn’t look convinced. He collected the three one-gallon plants, shaking his head at the same time. “You’re a stubborn woman.”
“You’re actually not the first person to tell me that.” She handed over her credit card. “You’ll deliver these later?”
“I will.”
The words were more growl than agreement. Poor guy, she thought. He didn’t take defeat well. He would be even more crushed when she showed him pictures of the flourishing plants.
After returning her credit card to her, he tore off the receipt for her to sign, then he held out his hands, palms up. Of course. Because Pam and her regular purchases were not the real draw for Ron.
Pam opened her large tote. “Come here, little girl.”
A head popped out. Lulu, her Chinese crested, glanced around, spotted Ron, yelped with excitement then scrambled toward him. Ron picked her up and cradled her against his broad chest.
The tiny dog looked incredibly out of place against Ron’s How’s Your Fern Hanging T-shirt. Lulu was slim, hairless—except for the white plumes that covered the top of her head, her lower legs and tail—and wearing a pink sundress. The latter as much to protect her delicate skin as to make a fashion statement.
Ron held her gently, whispering into her ear and getting doggy kisses in return. It was an amazing thing, Pam thought. Lulu was a total guy magnet. Seriously—the more macho the guy, the more he was attracted to the tiny dog. Pam’s friends teased her she should put that power to good use. Which was not going to happen. She was old enough to be Ron’s...
She glanced at her plant guy. Okay, maybe not mother, but certainly his much older babysitter. Not that the age thing mattered. She wasn’t interested in any man. She’d lost the great love of her life two years ago. While she would never forget John, the sharpest pain had faded, leaving wonderful memories. They were enough.
Ron reluctantly handed Lulu back. “She’s a sweet girl.”
“She is.”
“You’re wrong about the bush monkey flower.”
“When I prove to you I’m right, I will mock you for your lack of faith.”
Ron flashed her a grin—one she was sure sent hundreds of coeds swooning. “We’ll see.”
Pam put Lulu back in the tote, slung it over her shoulder and headed out onto the sidewalk. It was mid-March. She was sure there was a massive snowstorm happening somewhere in the country but here in Mischief Bay it was sunny and a balmy seventy-two. There were skateboarders practicing their moves in the park, people on bikes and mothers out with small children.
For a second she thought about calling her daughter and suggesting she and Jack join Lulu and herself for a quick lunch. An excellent idea in theory, if not in practice. Because Jen would obsess about Jack getting too much sun or not the right food. She would also fuss about the table being clean enough, and then point out that it was wrong for Pam to bring her dog into a restaurant. And while Lulu was technically not allowed, she stayed in her tote and never made a sound. Which was more than could be said for a lot of the human patrons.
The point being... Pam sighed. While she would very much like to spend an afternoon with her grandson the same couldn’t be said about her daughter. Oh, she loved Jen. She would die for Jen or donate an organ. She wished her only the best. But—and this was something Pam hadn’t admitted to anyone but Lulu—since Jack had been born, Jen wasn’t very much fun.
She was obsessed with her child. Was he growing? Was he sitting up when he should? Did he maintain eye contact? Being around her was exhausting and stressful. And thinking that probably made her a bad person. She knew what it was to worry about kids. She’d been a bit of an obsessive mother herself. But nothing like this.
She reached into her tote and patted Lulu. “What do you suggest?” she asked her little dog. “Should we live with our flaws and go get ice cream?”
Lulu barked. Pam took that as a yes. She would, she promised herself, gird her loins and visit her daughter in the morning. But for this afternoon, she would enjoy the beach and the fun of repotting her bush monkey flowers. Later, there would be ice cream.
* * *
Off to later switch down.
Zoe wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t sure where to place the blame. A faulty translation program or human error. Either way, the message was getting lost. She glanced at the second document open on her large computer screen and began to type.
To turn off the unit, press down on the power switch. After thirty minutes in standby mode, it will shut off automatically. Because if you’re stupid enough to walk away without turning off an incredibly hot iron, we will do our very best to keep you from burning down your house. Personally I’m not sure you deserve that much consideration, but no one asked me.
Zoe allowed herself a brief fantasy that she would simply hit the send button. If only. Then she carefully and responsibly deleted the last two sentences and moved on to the next section of the instruction manual.
She translated more semi-English to the real thing. This week’s work was small appliances. The week before had been some high-tech medical equipment. That had been more challenging. It wasn’t so much that the original manuals weren’t written in English, it was that they’d been written by people who spoke in code and abbreviations. Technicians in hospitals were busy with pressing problems. They didn’t have time to figure out what they thought the instructions meant. They had to do their job and move on to the next patient.
Zoe made that possible. She translated manuals from their original gibberish to something easily understood. She knew that for the most part the average consumer never bothered cracking a manual, but if they happened to read one of hers, they would find easy-to-understand instructions written in a way that made sense.
She reached the bottom of the section, then rose to stretch. Too much computer time made her back stiff and her legs ache.
“Wasn’t I supposed to be getting more exercise?” she asked out loud, then turned to Mason, who was asleep on the old club chair in the sunniest corner of her small home office. “Did you not want to talk about it now? Should I point out I’m the only person who feeds you, and I’m the only one who loves you? So if something happens to me, you’re going to be swimming in regret.”
She waited, but Mason didn’t even twitch an ear. Right before she reached down to scratch him under the chin, he gave her a little murr of greeting and began to purr.
“Ha! I knew you were listening. And yes, I get how pathetic it is that we’re having this conversation.”
Her phone rang. Saved by the ringtone, she thought as she glanced at the screen, smiled and pushed the talk button.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Why don’t I ever see you? What are you hiding from me? Did you get a tattoo? Shave your head?”
She laughed. “Why does it have to be about my appearance? Is this a woman thing? Are you discriminating against my gender, assuming that we’re all about how we look? Women have brains, Dad.”
“Zoe, I beg you. No talk of female equality. It’s barely ten in the morning.” Her father chuckled. “As for your brain, I suspect you have too much of one. I’m checking up on you because I’m your father. Things are good?”
Zoe thought about “the attic incident” but decided not to mention it to her dad. He would worry and she didn’t need one more thing in her life. Well, truthfully she needed a lot more things in her life, but his worrying wasn’t one of them.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s going on?”
“Work.”
“And when you’re not working?” Her father sighed. “Please don’t say you’re hanging out with Mason. He’s a cat. He does nothing but sleep and eat.”
“Sometimes he poops.”
“Yes, and it’s a moment to be treasured by all of us.” There was a pause. “Zoe, are you getting out at all? You’re no longer going into an office and now Chad is gone. I’m glad you finally dumped him, but you’re young. You should be having fun.”
Uh-oh. She could hear the worry building up a head of steam. “Dad, I’m great.” She emphasized the last word. “And busy.” She desperately tried to think of something that would make her sound busy. “Oh, you know what? I’m having a barbecue next Sunday. You should come. It will be fun.”
“A barbecue?”
“Yup. At, ah, four. You can bring a date, assuming she’s age appropriate.”
Her father laughed. “We have different definitions of that.”
“Yes, we do and yours is icky.”
“I never dated anyone younger than you.”
“You don’t get points for that. Most people would tell you dating someone younger than me shouldn’t even be a consideration.”
“You know I gave up young women years ago. I’m not seeing anyone, but if I were, I promise she would be age appropriate.”
Zoe sank onto the floor next to Mason’s chair. “Dad, you haven’t had anyone in your life in a while. Why is that?”
“I want something more. I’ll know when I find her. Until then, I’m happily single.”
Zoe wondered when the change had occurred. If she had to guess, she would say it was when her mother had died. While her parents had been divorced for years, they’d always stayed friends. Her father had been nearly as devastated as Zoe by the loss.
“You need to get back to work, young lady,” he said. “I’ll see you next Sunday. Can I bring anything?”
She smiled. “The usual.”
“Tequila it is.”
* * *
Jen heard the garage door open and jumped to her feet. “Daddy’s home!”
Jack’s eyes widened and he clapped his hands together. For a brief, heart-stopping second, she thought he was going to say something. Anything would be great. She so wouldn’t care if Da-da was his first word. But he only laughed and got unsteadily to his feet before running toward the far end of the family room.
Jen was feeling a little giddy herself, but her excitement was more about knowing that her husband had made it safely through another day. His working for the Mischief Bay Police Department hadn’t bothered her very much. Nothing bad ever happened in the small, family-oriented beach community. But the LAPD was totally different. There were over eight million people in the metro area and some days Jen agonized that too many of them were after her husband.
Kirk walked into the house. He and Jack rushed toward each other. She watched as Kirk scooped up his son and swung him around. Jack squealed and held out his arms and waved his hands. Then Kirk pulled him close and they hung on to each other.
Seeing father and son together always filled her with love and gratitude. Jack took after his dad—both with red hair and blue eyes. Her two men, she thought happily. As long as Kirk kept coming home.
He kissed Jack’s forehead, then walked toward her. “How’s my best girl?” he asked before kissing her on the mouth.
“Good.”
She leaned into him for their ritual greeting of a family hug. Jack grabbed her hair and pulled her close. For several heartbeats, she allowed herself to feel only the perfection of the moment. This was everything she wanted, she told herself. They were all going to be okay.
Then Jack squirmed to be put down. Kirk stepped back and the spell was broken. He set his son down.
“How was your day?”
While there hadn’t been anything scary on the police scanner in the past few days, she’d still had her share of worrying about Jack. Her panic attacks were getting more regular, at least one or two a day. But she didn’t want to mention them to Kirk. He didn’t need to be concerned about her. Not when he could be shot at any second. Telling herself he was a detective and not a beat cop didn’t help her relax.
“Good. Jack and I went to the park and he met a little boy there. They played well together.” Something that made her happy. She didn’t want to put Jack into day care, but she didn’t have any friends with kids. She knew the importance of socialization for a child his age. She was either going to have to suck it up about day care or get him in a playgroup. But that wasn’t something she would worry about today.
Kirk headed for his study where Jen knew he would lock up his sidearm and badge in the small wall safe they’d had installed when Jack was born.
“I invited Lucas over for dinner,” Kirk called from the other room.
Jen glared in his general direction. No doubt her husband had deliberately waited until he was out of sight to share that nugget.
“Tonight?”
He returned, his smile winning. “Yes, for tonight. Is that okay?”
Okay? No, it wasn’t okay. It was never okay when Lucas came over, but it was so much worse when Kirk sprung it on her. She was a mess—she didn’t have on makeup or nice clothes and she honestly couldn’t remember if she’d showered that morning. She’d planned on a simple, healthy dinner, neither of which her husband’s partner would appreciate.
But Lucas was Kirk’s best hope at coming home alive every day. She drew in a breath and forced a smile. “It’s fine, although I doubt he’s going to want what I have ready for dinner.”