Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Under the covered area.” He slid a glance over his shoulder. “Miss Wallis wasn’t there.”

“I didn’t ask about her,” Trace said with more bite than he’d meant. He flipped on the wipers.

“I know.” Again the shrug.

Trace felt like an idiot. What had he been thinking, going out with his kid’s teacher last year? It had been a mistake, and he’d known it from the second she invited him to dinner. He’d told himself that it was because of Eli, that she wanted to discuss his son and the trouble Eli was having in school, but Trace had known better, sensed it.

And yet he’d gone out with her four times. Well, five, if he included that last night of their final argument after trying to rekindle something that had never really sparked.

He’d only ended up disappointing everyone involved, himself included.

He sighed. Jocelyn Wallis had thought she could be the woman to heal the scar left by Eli’s mother walking out on them. She hadn’t believed Trace when he’d told her he wasn’t interested in a relationship, that he was okay raising his kid alone.

She wasn’t the only one. Eli couldn’t seem to forget the few times that his father had been with his teacher.

Yep, he’d made a royal mess of things.

Now his son said, “She wasn’t at school today.”

“Miss Wallis? Doesn’t matter. Someone was. Someone had playground duty.”

“Mr. Beene was on duty ’cuz Miss Wallis wasn’t there. He’s a substitute.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Eli assured him. “It was that stupid butt Cory Deter!”

“I know you’re mad, but no name calling, okay?”

“But he is.” Eli swiped at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket and set his jaw again. “He’s a stupid butt.”

“C’mon, Eli. It’s not nice to talk about someone like—”

“He pushed me!”

“And that was wrong,” Trace agreed equably.

“Yeah, it was!” Eli glared at him, offended his father didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of Cory Deter’s actions.

“Okay, so maybe he is a stupid butt.”

Eli relaxed a bit.

“Just keep it between us, okay?” Trace pointed a finger at Eli, then swung it back toward himself, repeating the motion several times. “Our secret.”

“Everybody already knows he’s a butt.”

“Okay, whatever. You don’t have to say it again.”

“But Becky Tremont and her friend Tonia, they laughed at me.” Eli’s face was suddenly flushed with color. Embarrassment. Even at seven, what girls thought mattered.

“Don’t worry about them,” Trace said. “Hang in, okay? We’re almost there.” They reached the bottom of the hill just as the railroad crossing signs flashed and the alarms clanged, and Trace gritted his teeth as a train with graffiti-decorated boxcars and empty flatbeds sped past. Traffic backed up behind the crossing bars.

Come on, come on, he thought, frustrated with anything that slowed them down. He was worried about his son, wondered how badly he was hurt. “We’re almost there,” he said again and patted a hand on Eli’s small shoulder.

Eventually the train passed, and they, along with a snake of other vehicles, were allowed to pass. One more stoplight and they’d be at the clinic.

“Got an emergency,” Heather said as she poked her head into Kacey’s office. “Eli O’Halleran. Seven years old. Hurt on the playground. The school called his father and sent him here.”