Forty-Eight New Forks
The replacement set arrived the following Tuesday.
I removed the plastic wrapping, washed every fork, dried them, and placed them neatly in the drawer.
There were forty-eight.
I counted.
By Friday morning, only seven remained.
I stood frozen in front of the open drawer.
Then I counted again.
Seven.
My confusion was beginning to turn into fear.
“Alex, sweetheart, come here for a moment.”
He entered the kitchen carrying a green plastic dinosaur by its tail.
The instant he saw the open drawer, his expression changed.
It happened quickly, but I noticed.
His eyes flicked toward the forks and then immediately back to me.
“Do you know where the new forks went?” I asked gently.
He shook his head.
“I bought a lot of them, and now almost all of them are missing.”
“I don’t know.”
“You can tell me the truth. I won’t be angry.”
He pressed his lips together and gripped the dinosaur so tightly that his knuckles turned pale.
“I didn’t take them.”
I let him leave, but the knot in my stomach remained.
During Brandon’s lunch break, I called him.
He answered after several rings.
“Hey. Is something wrong?”
“The forks disappeared again.”
“The forks?”
“Yes, Brandon. The forty-eight forks I bought three days ago. There are seven left.”
He gave a short laugh.
“Cece, children do strange things.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“He’s hiding them, and he’s lying to me. Alex has never behaved like this before.”
“He’s probably playing some game.”
“Then why does he look frightened every time I ask?”
Silence.
It lasted less than a second, but it was long enough for me to notice.
When Brandon spoke again, his voice was softer.
“You sound overwhelmed. Have you had lunch? Maybe rest while Alex watches television.”
Anger flashed through me.
“Do not dismiss me as tired.”
“I’m not dismissing you. I’m saying you shouldn’t frighten yourself over silverware.”
I ended the call before the conversation became worse.
That evening, Brandon stayed in Alex’s room longer than usual.
When he finally came out, he looked almost cheerful.
“He’s asleep,” he said.
“What were you talking about?”
He shrugged. “Just father-and-son stuff.”
I studied his face, waiting for something more.
Instead, he kissed my forehead and walked toward the shower.
