A Mother Would Know (23)

Fear licking down my spine, I chose my words carefully. But all the lies in the world couldn’t wash away the guilt, couldn’t take away the knowledge that I was to blame.

Hudson re-enters the room wearing the same T-shirt, but has switched out the flannel pants for a pair of jeans. His hair’s neater than before: he’s just brushed and gelled it. “Ready?”

“Yep. Can you drive?” I ask. It’s getting dark, and my vision isn’t what it once was, especially at night.

“Sure,” he says.

The chatter across the street floats toward us. When I glance up, I’m relieved to see all three of them retreating into their own homes. I guess the gossip session has ended.

“Wanna take your car? Mine’s a mess.”

“Maybe you should clean it,” I chide.

“Yeah. Maybe,” he says with a hint of sarcasm.

I yank my keys out of my purse, and then drop them into his waiting palm. “Okay. We’ll take mine.”

“Where to?” he asks as he reverses the car out of the driveway.

“Let’s go to Paesanos,” I say.

“Paesanos it is.” Hudson flicks on the blinker.

I settle back into my seat, clutching my purse in my lap, and already dreaming up what I’ll order. I often order the spaghetti carbonara, but I think I’m leaning toward the tortellini tonight.

A wisp of bold yellow catches my eye. We are coming up on Molly’s house. I straighten up, pointing to the crime tape. “Do you remember that girl Theo introduced us to? That’s her house.”

He slows the car to check it out, eyebrows rising. “The one with the crime tape?”

I nod, waiting for him to give me any indication that he might have seen her after Friday night. Had Theo tried to hook them up the way he promised?

But he doesn’t offer up any information, simply asks, “What happened?”

“She died,” I whisper, although I’m not sure why. The crime tape blurs as we pass by.

“Are you serious?”

I nod again.

“How?”

“No idea,” I say. “Her friend found her body this morning.”

“Oh, my god. That’s wild.”

Silence falls over the car, as if neither of us knows what to say now.

Death has a way of doing that. Shocking you into silence.

I’m grateful when we pull up to the restaurant.

At Paesanos, they seat us at a little pub table near the front window. It’s warm again tonight, so I’m grateful for the AC spilling from the vent above us. The place is packed, every table filled. The sound of laughter, chatter and dishes clinking floods the room. Warm light glows.

“I’ve come here with friends before, but I don’t think I’ve ever been here with you,” Hudson muses aloud, staring down at the glossy menu in his hand.

“Yeah, your dad wasn’t a big fan,” I explain, closing my menu and placing it on the table. I already know I’m ordering the tortellini. “But Suzanne and I used to come here all the time.”

“Suzanne.” Hudson smiles, and I’m certain he’s remembering a funny story with her. She has that effect on people. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing really well. Same old Suzanne.”

Our drinks arrive, and then the waitress comes to take our order.

“Is she still running that bar?” Hudson asks after the waitress leaves. He lifts the frosty mug of beer to his lips, foam sticking to his beard when he draws it back.

“Yep. No doubt she’ll be running that place until the day she dies,” I say, and then cringe, thinking of Molly. What was she doing when she died? I run my fingertips along the stem of my wineglass.

“Man, I haven’t been there in years. Does it look the same?”

I take a sip, lower the glass, then shrug. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been there in years either.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You used to hang out there all the time.”

“Exactly. Back when I was in the band,” I say. “Now it reminds me of a life I no longer have.”

After Darren’s diagnosis, I was home taking care of him and rarely went out at night. He’d retired from the state, and his pension had kicked in. That, along with the royalties I still received from the songs I’ve written, kept me going financially, so I didn’t have to go out for work anymore.

In the months following his death, I would sometimes go to the club to see Suzanne. But being there made me sad. Too many memories. Besides, Suzanne and I get together regularly for lunch or breakfast, and we talk on the phone all the time. I don’t need to see her at the bar.

There was a time when I went out almost every night, but lately, I’ve become a homebody.

“We should go,” Hudson says abruptly.

Curious, I peer up at him. “What?”

“Yeah, you and me.” He points back and forth between us. “We should go.”

“Really? You’d want to go to the bar with your mom?”

“For sure.”

The waitress returns with our food. After thanking her, I pluck up my fork and spear it through my steaming pasta. Hudson picks up a piece of his pizza, bites into it.

After swallowing, he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Let’s go tonight.”