Page 66 of Holiday Hire

Her eyes glisten, and she puts on a brave face. She speaks quickly, stating, "That's my family's story."

"That's a lot for a young woman to deal with," I offer.

She picks up another can and secures the opener on it. "You don't really get a choice when someone you love is sick or injured."

"No, you don't. And it really sucks." I swallow down the lump in my throat.

She freezes, then turns toward me. "I'm sorry. Your parents told me what happened to your wife. I'm sure that was hard on you."

My heart beats harder. "Let's say it was a super-shitty time."

Her expression turns, but it isn't like everyone else's. It's sympathetic, but I don't see pity, which is what I normally experience when people hear my wife died. Instead, there's an element of understanding in her silence.

After a moment, I add, "I'm really sorry to hear about your mom and sister. But where's your dad in all this?"

She returns to her can, cutting the lid, answering, "My parents divorced when I was eleven. That's why my last camping trip was when I was ten. But after the accident, he just took off. It's like he disappeared into thin air."

It's an unfathomable reality for her. I can't imagine ever leaving my sons, especially after their mother died. Phoebe basically lost her mom and sister, so her dad disappearing is inhumane to me.

Shocked, I blurt out, "So you don't have any idea where he went?"

She schools her features, chirping, "Yep. So that's my story. Anyway, do you like cherry or apple pie?"

I glance down at the cans. "Either."

She tilts her head and peers at me closer, teasing, "Why, Alexander Cartwright, are you telling me that you don't have a favorite between cherry and apple?"

I laugh. "Busted. Cherry."

She beams. "Good choice. It's my favorite too."

"Really?"

She nods. "Yeah, but there's nothing like a homemade one, right?"

"Agreed. But you haven't had pie until you taste Georgia's. Just wait until Thanksgiving. And it's too bad you weren't here this past summer. She made the best pies ever. She even took the kids to pick the cherries."

Phoebe pushes her hair behind her ear and says, "I bet they were good. She's really talented."

"Yeah, she is. You're pretty talented too."

Her lips curve. "I am?"

"Yes. You're great with the kids, and you're super creative. Way more creative than I am."

"Well, you were pretty creative when you picked out your tattoo," she teases.

I groan and put my hand over my face. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

She laughs. "It's okay. Sometimes, we do things we wish we wouldn't have, don't we?"

"Are we talking about your tattoos again?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm okay with what I inked on my body."

"And what would that be, again?"

She wags her finger. "Uh-uh-uh. Not telling you."

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