Deep Down (Lockhart Brothers #1) by Brenda Rothert

of alcohol that the teacher refused to let the kids go with her. There was a big scene. They had to call her husband to come get her and the kids. You must have met her, she’s married to Kyle, the oldest boy.”
    I remembered meeting Reed’s brother and his wife at the barn dance.
    “That makes me sad for the kids,” I said.
    “They have two sweet little guys. I’m sure you know them. Kyle brings them in on occasion for pancakes on Sundays.”
    “Mama, come see pizza,” Noah said. The oven light was on and he was sitting in front of the oven door, watching the pizza cook.
    Gene looked down at him with an affectionate smile. Noah didn’t have a grandpa, but he had the next best thing in Gene. I sat down next to Noah and we watched as the cheese melted and the crusts browned.
    When it was done, we all sat down to dinner. I ate several slices of pizza myself, barely even speaking between bites.
    “Nice to see you finally eating,” Margie said.
    “We were so busy today.”
    “Busiest diner in all of Missouri, I think,” Margie said, with a touch of pride in her voice. I’d grown to realize the difference between Missouri natives and transplants was in the way they pronounced the state name. Margie pronounced it ‘Mizzura.’ She was definitely a native.
    Bedtime for Noah was eight thirty, and once we got the kitchen cleaned up after dinner I settled him into bed. I curled up beside him to help him fall asleep in the double bed we shared in Gene and Margie’s guest room. I rubbed circles on his back, feeling my own eyelids drifting closed and, before I knew it, I was fast asleep.
    I hadn’t had bad dreams for a while but tonight they came back. The nightmare had several variations, and tonight I had the worst one. My father was on top of me, grunting and groaning. Then he disappeared and I looked up from the bed to see my mother looking at me, her mouth set in a thin line of disappointment.
    “What have you done, Ivy?” she said. “Noah deserves better.”
    I didn’t wake up with a scream, like I sometimes did from these nightmares, but with a huge gasp. I took a deep breath, my heart pounding wildly. When I instinctively reached for Noah, his warmth comforted me. I tucked the covers over his shoulders and smoothed the hair away from his forehead.
    My body finally relaxed and I curled back up beside my sleeping son. I didn’t think about the past during the day, so why did it come haunt me at night? I thought I’d buried it forever. It took me a while to fall back asleep, but when I did, I slept peacefully until morning. Noah woke me the next morning by holding a forkful of syrup-covered pancake in front of my mouth.
    “Eat some pancakes, Mama,” he said.
    “Hmm?” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Oh. Morning, buddy.”
    “Pancakes,” he said.
    I opened my mouth and let him feed me the bite. He smiled and ran back to Gene and Margie’s kitchen.
    Noah and I had breakfast with Gene and Margie and then we passed the rest of the weekend with our usual activities—going to the library, doing laundry and cleaning the apartment. Even though the weather was pretty cool, we also visited the park several times so Noah could play on the swings. I loved weekends because I wasn’t as exhausted as I often felt on weeknights.
    But Monday morning it was back to the grind. I dropped Noah off at daycare, sending him off with several kisses and hugs, and went in for my usual seven to three shift at work.
    I worked on autopilot for the first hour, keeping a mental tally of the tips in my pocket. Money was always tight. I bought most of our clothes at garage sales, but the one thing I always splurged on and bought new was shoes, and Noah and I both needed a new pair.
    Glancing at my new customer at a small table, I groaned inwardly. Tom Marsh. Or, as the police officer preferred to be called, “Sergeant Marsh.” He was a nice enough guy, but he was handsy, and he was getting bolder with time. I preferred to