Page 43 of A Pretty Fixation

“It’s too bad about the fire,” Dad says to Caleb.“Photos and documents of the children were lost. It makes it a bit harder tofind others, especially after Mrs. Anders’ passing.”

Caleb clears his throat.

“Fire?” I echo. “What fire? Mrs. Anders died?”

Everyone turns grim.

“Oh,” Dad murmurs. “I thought Caleb would havementioned that.”

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Caleb tells me.

Mom retrieves the other pancakes, returning to theisland with the platter.

“How did Mrs. Anders die?” I ask them.

“Heart attack,” Mom says, head at an angle. “Thena troubled kid set fire to the curtain in his room. They’ve since renovated thehouse, and I think Mrs. Anders’ daughter and son-in-law live there now.” Shelooks at Caleb.

“It’s no longer a foster home,” he says in a sadtone.

I frown. “That’s all so horrible.”

“Hm.” Dad gives me a loving pat on the back.

I consider for a moment. “Is there any other wayto get ahold of the kids from our time there?”

They both let out regretful sighs.

“My dad says it’s hard,” Caleb explains. “Thosedocuments are sealed. No one’s going to share personal files with us. Mrs.Anders kept photos of all the kids she helped over the years, but the firedestroyed them.”

Mom sits at the end of the island closer to Caleb.“Well, it’s nice that fate brought you two back together.” She wiggles her thinbrows at me while drinking.

I harrumph and motion to the platter. “We shouldeat. Hot pancakes are better.”

They chuckle.

After a few bites, Caleb says to Dad, “You playedsoccer, Mr. Davis? I saw a photo in the entry.”

Dad straightens with pride. “I did in high school.Center forward.”

“That’s great,” Caleb laughs out. “I’m currentlyon the college team. A forward as well.”

“Look at that.” Dad nudges his shoulder. “Let’s goout back when you finish. See if this old man still has it.”

I thought my parents would be wary of Caleb. Butit seems they’ve melted to him. No matter how I try to deny it, that relaxesme.

Guilt charges me the moment I enter econ class andsee Aaron.

Setting our completed assignment on theprofessor’s desk, I climb the aisle to my seat.

“Morning,” I say softly, sitting beside him.

“Hey.” He doesn’t make eye contact.

“I’m kind of surprised you didn’t change seats,” Iattempt to joke.

He scoffs. “Well, we are partners. It’s easier towork together in class when we’re sitting next to each other.”

I frown. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”

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