My son, Connor, is too adult for his age at thirteen and too young for it at the same time. My daughter, Lanny, is at a difficult sixteen-feels-like-twenty. Sam’s also well aware that he’s one of a very select group of people I trust with my children. I checked.” My kids are my life, and he knows that. Just getting some paperwork ready for the day,” he says. “You’re not going to tell me?” He sounds amused. It’s three thirty in the morning, and I’ve been sitting in this chilly rental car for three hours, not counting a quick dash into the convenience store down the road for a pee and a giant coffee I’m going to regret. “Right now? Exactly nothing,” I say, and yawn. I hear the purr in the back of my throat. A little bubble of warmth explodes inside me as I hit the button and lift the phone to my ear. There are only six people in the world I take calls from on this number. When my personal phone rings, I check the caller ID.
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