Chapter 3 - Crayon Truth

Sera's POV

The lasagna was getting cold. I watched the steam disappear from Oliver's untouched plate while he bounced in his chair, clutching something behind his back. Thursday dinners used to be sacred. Just the three of us. But tonight, like every Thursday for the past two months, we were four.

"Oliver, sweetheart, you need to eat something before it gets cold." I reached across to cut his portion into smaller pieces.

"But Mommy, I want to show everyone my picture first!" His eyes sparkled with that special kind of excitement that only eight year olds could manage. "Miss Peterson said it was the best one in class!"

"After dinner, buddy." Jonathan didn't look up from his phone. "You know the rules."

Vivienne placed her hand on Jonathan's arm. Just a touch. Light. Like a butterfly landing. "Oh, but he's so excited. Maybe just a quick peek?"

Of course. Of course she'd say that.

Jonathan's face transformed. The stern father melted away, replaced by someone I barely recognized. "Well, if Vivienne thinks it's okay..."

"Can I, Mommy? Please?" Oliver's brown eyes found mine. Those eyes that looked exactly like mine, that used to look only for me.

"Sure, baby. Show us what you made."

He pulled out a piece of construction paper, orange like a sunset. Or a fire. The crayon drawing was messy in that beautiful way children's art always is. Bold strokes. Pure emotion. No hesitation.

Three figures holding hands in what looked like Golden Gate Park. I recognized the bridge in the background, wonky but unmistakable.

"See?" Oliver pointed with his finger, leaving a small smudge on the paper. "That's Daddy in the middle because he's the tallest. And that's me on this side. And that's..."

He paused. Looked at Vivienne. Smiled.

"That's Miss Vivienne on the other side! We went to the park last Sunday when you were working, Mommy. And we fed the ducks and played frisbee and had ice cream and everything!"

Last Sunday. When I was authenticating the Rothschild collection. When I'd rushed home to find empty rooms and a note about them going out.

"It's beautiful, Oliver." Vivienne's voice dripped honey. Sweet. Sticky. Suffocating. "You even got my red coat right."

Red coat. Red dress at the play. Red lipstick that left marks on my coffee mug when she used it without asking.

"Where am I, baby?" The words came out smaller than I intended. "Did you draw me too?"

Oliver scrunched his face. That thinking face he made when he was trying to be gentle. When he was about to say something he knew might hurt but didn't understand why.

"You weren't there, Mommy. You're always at work." He said it simply. Like stating the sky was blue. "But look! The three of us look more like a family than with my mommy!"

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Impossible.

I felt Vivienne's smile before I saw it. Small. Satisfied. Like a cat who'd finally caught the canary she'd been stalking for months.

"Oliver," Jonathan's voice held a warning. "That's not very nice."

"But it's true!" Oliver insisted, the way children do when they think honesty is always the best policy. "Miss Vale at school said so. She said we looked like a perfect family when you picked me up together."

Miss Vale. The teacher who used to tell me about Oliver's day. Who used to save his artwork specially for me.

"When..." My throat was full of sand. "When did Miss Vale say that?"

"Last week! When Daddy and Miss Vivienne came to the parent conference."

Parent conference. There had been a parent conference?

"You mean the music presentation?" I tried to keep my voice steady. Normal. Like my world wasn't tilting off its axis.

"No, the real conference. About my reading and stuff." Oliver took a big bite of lasagna, oblivious to the earthquake he'd caused. "Miss Vivienne helped me with my reading group after. She's really good at voices."

Voices. She was good at voices.

I looked at my husband. Really looked at him for the first time in months. He was studying his plate like it held the secrets of the universe.

"There was a parent conference?" Each word felt like glass in my mouth.

"It was last minute." He still wouldn't meet my eyes. "You were at that authentication in Sacramento. I didn't want to bother you."

"So you took Vivienne?"

"I was happy to help." Vivienne cut her lasagna into perfect, even squares. "Oliver's education is so important. Someone needed to be there."

Someone. Like I was no one. Like I hadn't spent three years volunteering in that classroom. Like I hadn't been the one teaching Oliver to read since he was four, curled up in his dinosaur sheets, sounding out words until my voice went hoarse.

"Mommy, why is your face doing that?" Oliver's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

"What face, baby?"

"The sad face. Like when you found my goldfish floating."

From the mouths of babes.

"I'm not sad, sweetheart. Just... thinking."

"About what?"

About how I'd become a ghost in my own life. About how Thursday dinners had been invaded. About how my son's teacher was discussing his progress with another woman. About how three figures in crayon had just rewritten our entire story.

"Adult stuff. Boring work things."

"Is that why you missed my play?" The question came out of nowhere. Oliver's voice was small. "Because of boring work things?"

"I didn't miss your play, baby. I was there."

"But you weren't in your seat. Daddy said you couldn't make it in time."

I looked at Jonathan. He was cutting his lasagna into smaller and smaller pieces. Vivienne was watching me over her water glass.

"I was in the back. I saw everything. You were wonderful."

"Oh." Oliver brightened slightly. "Did you see when I flew?"

"Every second."

"Miss Vivienne helped me with my cape. She fixed it when it came unpinned."

Miss Vivienne. Always Miss Vivienne. Fixing things. Helping. Being there when I wasn't. Being there even when I was.

"That was very nice of her." The words tasted like ash.

"She's the best!" Oliver beamed at Vivienne. "She said she'll come to my next conference too. The one about the science fair. You don't have to worry about missing it for work, Mommy."

My phone buzzed on the counter. Work. Probably the Whitmore authentication report I needed to finish. The one that paid for Oliver's school. His clothes. This house. This dinner.

"When is the science fair conference?" I kept my voice light. Casual. Like I wasn't drowning in my own kitchen.

"I don't know. But don't worry! Miss Vivienne wrote it in her special calendar. The one with all my important stuff in it."

A special calendar. With all my son's important stuff in it.

I stood up. The chair scraped against the floor, too loud in the sudden silence.

"I need to make a call. About work."

"But you didn't finish dinner," Oliver protested.

"I'm not very hungry, baby. You enjoy your lasagna."

I made it to the hallway before I heard Vivienne's voice, soft and concerned. "Should I save her plate? I know how busy she is. She probably forgot to eat lunch again."

She knew. She knew I forgot to eat lunch. She knew my son's conference schedule. She knew which seat I sat in at school plays.

She knew everything about my life.

Because she was living it.

My hands shook as I grabbed my phone. But I wasn't calling about work. I was calling Oliver's school.

I had a sudden, desperate need to know who else was listed on my son's emergency contact forms.