Chapter 2 - The Missing Minutes
“Don’t let him touch anything.”
I hadn’t meant to say it so loudly.
The manager, Paul Mercer, stopped with his thumb above his screen.
Ethan turned.
“What?”
“He’s been watching her,” I said. “Not the baby. Her.”
Paul gave a strained laugh.
“Lena, you’re in shock.”
That was my name. Lena Brooks. Twenty-eight years old. Dinner server. Rent overdue. Left shoe held together with glue.
Usually, when Paul used that voice, I apologized.
Not that night.
“Then you won’t mind staying right there.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“This is ridiculous.”
A woman from table twelve stepped forward.
“I called 911. They’re sending police and an ambulance.”
“Thank you,” Ethan said.
He reached for Oliver, then stopped.
“May I?”
That nearly broke me.
The child was his, and he was asking.
I eased Oliver into his arms. Ethan held him close, one broad hand supporting the back of his head.
“Hey, buddy. Daddy’s here.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Oliver grabbed his tie.
Vanessa took a step forward.
“See? He knows he’s safe.”
Ethan backed away from her.
“Don’t.”
The word landed harder than a shout.
By the time the paramedics arrived, my right wrist had swollen above the cuff of my shirt. Blood ran down my shin from a shallow cut.
One paramedic checked Oliver while the other knelt beside me.
“Can you move your fingers?”
“Yes.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Only when I breathe, blink, or exist.”
She smiled gently.
“Good. You still have a sense of humor.”
Across the room, a police officer asked Vanessa to explain what happened.
“I lost my balance,” she said. “That girl startled me.”
The officer looked at the distance between her chair and the place where I had fallen.
Then he looked at the broken glasses.
“Were you standing?”
“Obviously.”
“Where?”
Vanessa pointed.
Not where she had been.
I opened my mouth, but another officer raised a hand.
“I’ll get your statement separately.”
Ethan asked Paul for the security footage.
Paul swallowed.
“There may be an issue.”
“What issue?”
“We had a brief system interruption.”
“When?”
Paul looked at his phone again.
“About ten minutes ago.”
The restaurant went so quiet I could hear the paramedic tearing open a packet of gauze.
Ethan stared at him.
“My son almost died ten minutes ago.”
“I understand how this looks.”
“No,” Ethan said. “I don’t think you do.”
Behind Paul, beside the service station, a young busboy stood with a dish tub against his hip.
Miguel was nineteen and afraid of almost everything.
He caught my eye.
May you like
Then he looked at Paul’s phone.
And slowly, very carefully, he shook his head.
