Page 23 of Unhurried Hearts

“We haven’t talked about it. Maybe.”

Beneath the red and orange plaid tablecloth, I squeeze her thigh.

“Mmm!” Mom’s eyes sparkle as she chews her bite of food before finishing her thought, “Maybe you could find some good rocks on a hike.”

“Mom…why would Anna want to find rocks?” I shake my head at her.

“Yeah, rocks are heavy,” Dad pipes in.

I drop my fork on my plate.

“Thanks for that, Dad.”

I look over to Anna and, honestly, I’m surprised she’s still here with my parents suddenly acting like total weirdos.

“For her painting, of course.”

My brow is furrowed. “Her painting?”

I feel dumb. My mom knows more about my…about Anna than I do.

Anna takes a sip of her wine and places her hand on my arm. I involuntarily flex my bicep.

“I’ll show you them later. Just a hobby.”

“I have some of them in the garden, Chris.”

I truly have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Right, right.”

I don’t want to admit that I don’t already know about her, um, rocks. After this, I want to know everything.

My parents start a side conversation about a car show and I’m about to open my mouth to tell Anna how much I like having her here when the front door slams open. Dad and I stand so fast our chairs wobble. Anna’s eyes are as big as her supper plate as she twists in her seat. Mom drops her butter knife and says a word I’d rather not have heard from her mouth.

“Isn’t anybody going to help me with this pack?”

There’s a thud on the hardwood of something heavy falling and then a curly blonde head ascends the steps.

Mom squeaks, hands covering her mouth.

“Carolina?” I ask.

She beams at us, glancing at each stunned person around the table.

“Well, look who it is!” Dad says, like it’s not weird at all that his daughter just showed up for the first time in three years.

This is, without a doubt, the weirdest family dinner ever.

Chapter eleven

Anna

Chris’s sister is an unending source of stories told with sweeping hand motions and vivid descriptions. I want to listen to her all night but I’m stifling yawns every ten seconds. How on earth did this woman fly around the world and somehow reserve the energy to entertain us? The warmth of the gas fireplace and the press of Chris’s thigh against mine as I lean against him on a loveseat lulls my eyelids closed. Empty wine glasses, the bottoms stained red, litter the heavy oak coffee table. It’s one of those cozy spaces that you wouldn’t be afraid to bring your popcorn into. I catch Chris’s eye and he nods, seeing how tiredI am.

He slaps his thighs and hauls himself off the plush couch. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Crossing the room, his sister hugs him and he lifts her slightly off the ground. “Welcome home, Caro.”

---