A Mother Would Know (11)

“Browning lives close by, actually. He only stayed with his parents in Oregon for like a year before moving back. Too much rain, he said. Stetson and Griffin live like a half hour away.”

I lean against the counter. “What are you boys gonna do?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe hit up a bar or club or something. Browning said he might have a lead on a job for me, too.”

“What kind of job?”

“Not sure.” After tossing the empty water bottle in the recycle bin, he moves past me, his hand lighting on my shoulder momentarily. “Gonna hit the shower.”

Hudson talking about going out with his buddies gives me a sense of déjà vu.

“Mom.” A quick intake of breath. A crackle in the phone connection. “I need you to come quick. Something bad happened.”

“How bad?” I sat up in bed, heart pounding. In the bed beside me, Darren rolled over and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. The light blinded me.

“Really bad.” His voice shook, and he sounded more like a child than a teenage boy. “I’m scared, Mom. I think I might be in big trouble. I really need you.”

I thought back to the night of the release party. How I’d left him alone, and then not answered when he called later, panicked and scared. It had to mean something that he’d called me tonight, not asked for Darren. This was my moment to make things right.

“Okay, calm down. Tell me where you are.”

A low growl reaches my ears, causing the memory to fade. My neck prickles. Hudson freezes.

“Bowie!” My dog’s hackles are up, his teeth bared. It’s a rare sight. Usually, he’s so friendly. “Stop it. It’s just Hudson. You know Hudson.” But my words aren’t helping. Bowie barks. Growls again. Hudson takes a step back. Heat spills across my chest as I lunge forward. Standing between them, I place my hand on Bowie’s fur and gently pet him. “It’s okay, boy.” I feel his body relax.

Hudson watches warily as he moves around us. Once he leaves the room, I stare down at Bowie, narrowing my eyes.

The only other times he’d acted like this was when he thought I was in danger.





5





Over the next few days, Hudson and I fall into a routine. I wake up early for my morning walk, and upon returning often find Hudson leaving for his run. He spends most of the day in his room, only emerging for meals or to go out with his buddies.

It’s not exactly what I’d envisioned when I invited him to come stay. There are a million little projects around the house I’d love for him to get started on—a door hinge that’s broken, a floodlight in the backyard that’s been out for months, rain gutters that need cleaning out, a few window screens that need replacing—but I don’t have the heart to ask. My mom always nagged at me about everything. She had no problem putting together lists of chores and projects, and then constantly interrogating me about where I was at with them. I swore I’d never be like her, and so far I’ve been good at sticking to that. I certainly don’t plan to break my streak now that my son is an adult.

But I do wish Hudson would do something—anything—productive. Even if it’s for himself. The last time the subject of a job came up was before the first time he went out with his friends. He’s gone out every night since, but the subject has yet to be revisited.

I feel like tonight is the night.

“Have you been applying for any jobs?” I ask him, picking up a crispy French fry and dipping it in ketchup. We finally got our Suzie Burger fix, and now we’re sitting at the kitchen table across from each other with crumpled bags, ketchup packets and napkins littering the table between us. All day long lately, I hear the TV muffled through the wall of his room, but it’s possible to apply for jobs on our phones now, so perhaps that’s what he’s doing. I hope it is.

He shrugs, hamburger fisted in his hand, liquid dripping down his wrist. “I mean, I’ve looked, but nothing sounds good.”

“What kind of work would sound good?” I know Hudson worked at a lumberyard at one point. And I think he’s had a couple of retail jobs. I vaguely recall a brief stint at Home Depot. But other than that, I have no idea what kind of jobs he’s been doing the last few years.

I also have no clue what he wants to do with this life. Baseball was his one passion. After he gave that up, I don’t know if he found another one.

He chews. Swallows. Wipes his face with a napkin. “I don’t know. I’m good with my hands. That’s why I’m hoping that job with Browning’s uncle works out.”

“Oh, yeah. What’s happening with that?”

“Browning’s working on it.”

That doesn’t sound too promising.

“What kind of work is it?” I ask.

“He manages a mine.”

“A mine? They have those out here?”

“Yeah, this one is near Vista Falls.”

That’s only like thirty minutes away, so not bad. “Is it underground?” I shiver at the thought.

“No, Mom.” He grins in an amused way. “It’s not a coal mine. They mine clay, mostly. It’s aboveground. Outside.”

I nod, feeling a little comfort at that.

In the meantime, though, it would be nice if he could help me out around here. As much as I hate the idea of giving him a list of projects, it might actually be helpful. For me and for him. He clearly has no direction. A lot of the time you learn what you’re good at by doing. Practicing. It wasn’t until I took voice and piano lessons that I got the confidence to start performing in earnest.