Gone by Annabel Wolfe Page B

his homework exactly as it had been his whole life, the faint hint of cinnamon always in the air because his mother loved to bake. This morning it had evidently been a coffee cake drizzled with her famous icing, a recipe she refused to share with anyone. She’d made him eat two pieces almost the minute she registered he was a little thinner than when she saw him last, and he didn’t have the heart to refuse.
    Both of his parents looked the same, but somehow older. Not physically, but as if they had aged in some inexplicable way, and he felt responsible. He suspected it had a lot to do with grief, and maybe now, shock.
    His father picked up his cup of coffee with a hand that trembled slightly. “I’ve got a pool table now in the basement. Want to play a game? You were always pestering me to get one and I finally did.”
    “Sure.” He gathered it was an offer for the two of them to talk without his mother present, and the way she was hovering, though it was exactly what Jack expected, that sounded good.
    “Madeline, why don’t you go to bed,” his father said gently as he rose. “He’ll still be here in the morning, and you look tired.”
    She didn’t look tired, she looked exhausted, and Jack suspected most of it was emotional. She’d been crying off and on ever since he walked in the front door. “I’m going to put fresh sheets on his bed first.”
    “Thanks.” He got up and went over to kiss her cheek.
    She sniffled. “Like I’d ever let anyone in my house sleep on sheets that weren’t freshly washed.”
    He touched her damp cheek. “Not for that, Mom.”
    She hugged him tightly. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
    He waited a minute and then gently disengaged himself. “I am here and just as happy as you are. Get some sleep, okay? I’ve been dreaming of your pancakes. Do you suppose that’s on the menu for breakfast?”
    “Of course.”
    With a misty smile, she headed for the linen closet and Jack followed his father down the stairs to the basement. When he was in high school they’d remodeled the space, and he had good memories of helping his dad hang drywall and paint. At an auction they’d stumbled across an old scratched and stained bar for sale from a defunct restaurant. Restored painstakingly, it was really a showpiece, glossy and dark, and Jack had many a party down there—some of which his parents knew nothing about—while he was in college. But the space was huge, and yes, he had suggested more than once that his father invest in a pool table.
    “That’s a beauty,” he said admiringly. “Slate. Wow. How the hell did you get it down here?”
    “Eric called a couple of your buddies. They took care of it for me. Took it all apart and put it back together once it was down here. Pick up a cue.”
    “That was good of him.” Jack casually selected one from the rack mounted on the wall.
    His father racked up the balls. His voice was quiet. “He took the news about as hard as we did, Jack.”
    That he believed. First of all, he knew how hard it would have been for him if their positions had been reversed. Secondly, he’d seen his friend’s face when he’d realized he was there, alive and well, in Nicole’s kitchen. There had been incredulous joy and not a glimmer of resentment as far as Jack could tell, and if the position they were in was incredibly complicated, at least it wasn’t hostile.
    His father went on, obviously searching for the words. “Nicole was heartbroken. I worried about her and so did your mother.”
    “And so did Eric, evidently,” Jack said dryly. “I already know what you are trying to tell me, so relax. I wasn’t supposed to see anyone until given permission but I think you will understand I disregarded orders and went straight from the plane to her house last night. Well, technically, it was this morning, but very early this morning.”
    His father stood there and said nothing, just holding his pool cue, his expression concerned. “I understand