Then Nathan called.
Conor’s phone was on the kitchen counter while he was in the living room.
I answered.
“Hey, Nathan.”
“Oh. Hey, Cynthia.”
“Want Conor?”
“Oh. Hey, Cynthia.”
“I was just checking how he’s doing after everything.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“After breaking his ankle, that’s what you mean, right?”
A pause.
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”
I looked through the doorway.
Conor was pretending to read.
“I was just checking how he’s doing after everything.”
“He’s fine.”
“Good. Tell him I called.”
When I hung up, Conor glanced over.
“Nathan?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“To know how you’re doing after everything.”
“Tell him I called.”
His eyes lifted.
“What?”
“His words.”
Conor shrugged.
“He meant the accident at work, Cyn.”
I walked away before he could see that I didn’t believe him.
“He meant the accident at work, Cyn.”
***
That evening, I made a decision.
