Chapter Twenty-four: Behind Closed Doors
They had been seated and given menus before Jack started with the questions again.
"Does Dad know about you and Sark?"
Sydney arched one eyebrow, wondering how much a nine-year-old knew about what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors. Knowing Jack, probably far more than she would have preferred. "What do you know about me and Sark, Jack?"
Jack shrugged as a waitress approached their table and asked for their drink orders. Sydney ordered coffee for herself and juice for the children.
"I wanted a Coke," Jack told his mother sullenly, once the waitress had gone.
"You can have one later, in the car."
"The stolen car?"
"Jack," Sydney sighed, rubbing her temples tiredly.
Glaring at her, Jack flipped open his menu. "I'm not ordering off of the children's menu."
"Fine," Sydney muttered.
"And I'm just going to get French fries. French fries and a piece of pumpkin pie."
"Fine, Jack."
"Can I have French fries and pie, too?" Emily asked, face brightening.
"I don't care," Sydney sighed. She waited for the waitress to return to serve their drinks and take their orders before she spoke again. "What do you know about me and Sark, Jack?"
Jack played with his fork, twirling it around in his fingers like a baton. "I know that he spends the night," he muttered. "I know that you kissed him and acted like you used to with Dad."
"Did I?" Sydney asked unhappily. Like you used to with Dad. Nothing she'd done with Sark had been like anything she'd done with Michael, but she supposed a nine-year-old couldn't tell the difference.
"Yeah, you did," Jack confirmed. "Does Dad know?"
Sydney looked away, biting her lower lip. "Yes, he does."
Jack frowned. "Is he mad?"
Sydney looked down at the scratched white surface of the table in front of her. "Yeah," she said, remembering the bitterness in Michael's voice. Was he good? Was he good enough to make you forget me? "Yeah, he's mad."
Jack stared at her for a long moment before speaking again. "How come he wanted you to come with us, then?"
Sydney bit her lower lip, trying to stop the tears from springing to her eyes. "He loves me, Jack," she said softly. "You don't stop loving someone just because they do something to make you mad."
Jack only stared at her. Luckily, the waitress materialized again with plates of French fries and pumpkin pie. Sydney had decided she wasn't hungry.
The children ate in silence for a moment before Jack shoved his plate toward his mother. "Have some," he urged, his mouth full.
"No thanks," Sydney said, offering him a tiny smile.
"You should eat something," he encouraged.
Sydney couldn't stop the tears from coming to her eyes even as her smile grew wider. He was so like his father. He was still angry at her, had been angry at her for the last year, but he still loved her so much.
Half-heartedly, she plucked a French fry from his plate and popped it in her mouth. And she shared a smile with her son over the plate of grease.