Angel Falls

Liam hung up. He realized a second too late that Carol had still been talking, and he made a mental note to apologize.

Then he stood in the empty kitchen, wondering what in the hell to fix Bret for dinner. He opened the refrigerator and stared at a confusing jumble of jars and cartons. He found a plastic container of leftover spaghetti sauce but had no idea how old it was. In the freezer, he found dozens of similar containers, each marked with a date and contents, but no instructions for cooking.

The phone rang again. This time it was Marion from the local 4-H chapter. He tossed out a jumbled explanation, thanked her for her prayers, and hung up.

He didn’t make it five feet before the phone rang again. This time he ignored it and went into the living room, where he knelt beside his son. “What do you say we order pizza?”

Bret popped the thumb out of his mouth. “Jerry doesn’t deliver on Halloween. Not after the Monroes tee-peed his truck last year. ”

“Oh. ”

“It’s stir-fry night, anyway. Mommy and me put the chicken in its sauce last night. It’s marinatin’. ”

“Stir-fry. ” Chicken and veggies. How hard could it be? “You want to help me cook it?”

“You don’t know how. ”

“I can slice open a man’s abdomen, remove his appendix, and sew him back up. I’m sure I can cook one little boy’s dinner. ”

Bret frowned. “I don’t think you need to know all that for stir-fry. ”

“Why don’t you climb up onto one of the kitchen stools? We’ll do it together. ”

“But I don’t know how, either. ”

“We’ll figure it out. It’ll be fun. Come on. ” He helped Bret off the sofa and followed him into the kitchen. When Bret was settled on the stool, Liam went to the fridge and got out the plastic bags full of veggies and the marinated chicken. After some searching, he found the cutting board and a big knife.

He started with the mushrooms.

“Mommy doesn’t put ’shrooms in it. I don’t like ’em. ”

“Oh. ” Liam put the mushrooms back in the bag and reached for the cauliflower.

“Nope. ” Bret was starting to look scared. “I tole you you don’t know how to do it …”

Liam grabbed the broccoli. “This okay?”

“Uh-huh. Lots of trees. ”

He started to chop it up.

“Littler!” Bret shouted.

Liam didn’t look up. He sliced the broccoli in small pieces, but the contours made it difficult.

“You gotta put oil in the wok. ”

The phone rang. Liam reluctantly picked it up. It was Mike’s friend Shaela, from the Saddle Club, wondering if there was anything she could do.

Liam found the electric wok. “Thanks, Shaela,” he said in the middle of her sentence—God, I can’t believe it—or something close, and hung up. Then he plugged in the wok and poured a cup of oil into it.

“That’s a lot of oil,” Bret said with a frown as the phone started ringing again.

“I like it crispy. ” Liam answered the phone—Mabel from the horse rescue program—and repeated what he’d told everyone else. By the time Mabel said “I’m sorry” for the fourth time, Liam almost screamed. He appreciated the calls—truly—but they made it all too real. And now the damn oil was popping and smoking.

“Daddy—”

He hung up on Mabel in the middle of a word. “Sorry, Bretster. Sorry. ” He tossed the chicken and marinade into the oil. It splattered everywhere. Tiny drops of scalding oil hit his cheeks and stung.