Ian stood up and tried to pay, but Jenna waved him off. She might be publicly called out as a foulmouthed liar by a bloviating cable news host, but she could pay to feed her own son.Her son. Who hadn’t come home yet. Her pulse sped up as she closed the front door. He’s okay, she told herself. Give him another twenty minutes or so.She and Ian went out to the kitchen, where she brought down plates and asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He accepted her offer of a beer—something bitter and expensive someone from her book club left behind one night—and they sat down to eat.“I haven’t had Stanley’s in years,” Ian said. “Since high school.”“We went there all the time after basketball games,” Jenna said. “After watching you play. It was always a big deal when the guys from the team came in.”“I need to eat this more.” He bit into the pizza with gusto and took a couple of long swallows of the beer. Jenna excused herself and checked her phone. Nothing from Jared.
