“A little,” Meg admitted. (“I starving to deaf,” Daisy said in the background.) “I’m doing the books for Carl Stewart now. And I’ve got to work the farmers’ market again tomorrow.”

“Who’s Carl Stewart?”

“He was a couple years behind you in school? He took over his parents’ farm.”

“Oh. That sounds like fun,” I offered.

“So much fun,” my sister said dryly.

I held the phone, reluctant to let her go. “How’s Momma?”

“No, Daisy.”

“Meg?”

“Sorry,” my sister said. “You know Momma. God forbid we make a fuss.”

“A fuss about what?” Silence. “Meg?”

“She doesn’t want you to worry.”

A sickening feeling settled in my stomach. “Meg! You can’t say something like that and then not tell me. I’ll only worry more.”

Meg sighed. “Okay. But you can’t let on I told you. She has to have an operation on her back. On the twenty-third.”

“Oh God. Is she going to be all right?”

“I think so. The doctor says so. Apparently she has a pinched nerve in her spine. The surgery is supposed to relieve the compression. But you can’t tell Beth and Amy.”

“Of course not.” Bethie felt horrible enough already about missing Christmas with the family. Any more stress, any more pressure, any excuse to come home, and she’d crack like an egg. And Amy couldn’t afford the airfare. I frowned. “You said the twenty-third?”

“That’s the only time the OR was available. I guess they have a lot of surgeries scheduled before the end of the year.”

“That’s right before Christmas.”

“I know.” My sister sighed. “Listen, sweetie, I have to go.”

“Meg . . .”

“I’ll call you later.”

She disconnected, leaving me alone in the dark. The door to the storeroom opened. I looked up, a quick flutter of hope in my chest.

“March?”

It was only Ray. Damn it. Probably worried I was going to leave him shorthanded.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve. Tightened my ponytail. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Aaron is here. You’ve got time.” The sous appeared around a corner of the shelving, his white coat dimmed by the shadows. “I brought you stew.”

That was a surprise.

“I’m not hungry,” I said. My stomach felt filled with cement.

“Eat.” He held out a bowl and a fork. “We can’t have you fainting on the line.”

He watched, a little frown between his brows, as I poked at the bowl’s contents, chicken thighs in a stock of parsley, mint, and onions over rice.

“He wants too much to impress,” Eric had said. But for the first time, I could see the sous chef’s fussy manner as part of a genuine desire to please.

“Thanks.” The warm broth soothed my aching throat.

“What are you going to do now?” Ray asked.

After tonight, he meant. The realization roused a near-panic in my chest. I had an education I wasn’t using and a studio I could barely afford. My mother was facing surgery, my sister was distracted, and my boss/boyfriend didn’t want to look at me.