After Sallie left—with many hugs and promises to keep in touch—I packed up and loaded the SUV with the twins, the car seats, the cashbox, the coolers.

John was still at the tournament. Maybe when he got back we could talk. Although part of me worried about digging too deeply beneath the surface of our happy life. Because we were happy. Mostly. Right?

I drove down the bumpy gravel road past empty fields toward the farm. The goats crowded the fence of their hay enclosure as they recognized the rumble of my car.

An unfamiliar car was parked in the driveway. The back of my neck prickled, and my fingertips. Which was ridiculous. This was Bunyan. My mother still left her doors unlocked. On the other hand . . . Who knew who might have followed or tracked my father home? It would be dark in an hour. I had my babies in the car.

The back door opened. My sister Jo bolted down the porch steps, letting the screen door crash behind her. “Meg!”

“Jo!” I fumbled out of my seat belt, tumbled from the car, and she ran into my arms.

CHAPTER 17

Jo

Meg insisted on staying with me at the farmhouse until Dad got home.

“What about John?” I asked. “Isn’t he expecting you?”

“I texted him. He said it was fine.” Meg unzipped DJ’s jacket. “He’s busy today anyway.”

“Working?” I asked sympathetically.

“Wrestling tournament. He’s been volunteering with the team.”

Fine by me. Selfishly, I wanted my sister to myself for a while. My sister and the twins. Their welcoming cries of Auntie Jo!, the warm clasp of their little arms, were balm to my bruised heart. Two-year-olds do not judge. I hugged them close, breathing in the scent of their necks, grateful for their earnest self-absorption, their distracting wriggliness.

While I scrounged in the kitchen for dinner, Meg plucked Daisy away from Weasley’s food dish, prying kibble from my niece’s mouth with one finger. “No, sweetie. We don’t eat cat food.”

Daisy set her hands on her hips. “But I hungry, Mommy. I a hungry kitty.”

“Does the hungry kitty want some noodles?” I asked.

“Yessss! Noodles! Noodles, Auntie Jo.”

“Noodles,” DJ said.

“Coming up in two shakes of a kitty’s tail,” I promised. I opened a Tupperware container and sniffed. Tomatoes, peppers . . . Chili? Spaghetti sauce, I decided.

“I can’t believe he fired you,” Meg said.

He. Eric.

“He didn’t fire me,” I said, determined to be fair. He broke my heart. Or I broke his. I dumped the frozen block into a pot and poked it with a spoon. “I quit.”

“I cook, too, Auntie Jo,” Daisy said, rattling spoons in a pot.

“I see that. Great job,” I said.

“I feel guilty, sitting here while you do all the cooking,” Meg said.

“I’m not cooking. I’m heating stuff up.”

“Well, thank you for heating stuff.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Dad’s church ladies.” I stirred the pot and held the spoon to her lips. “Wine?”