Page 52 of Phillip

“We came too late to sit with everybody.” He guided them toward the far end of the room.

“I can picture you eating with a bunch of kids,” she said.

He laughed. “Versus what? Eating alone?”

“How often do you come up here?”

Phillip pushed through a swinging door, and Ashley followed. “Enough that I know corn dog day is one of the best.”

“I dare you to name a day my lunches aren’t the best.”

Ashley spun as Phillip turned, lifting hands overhead, then took the stack of plates in the other woman’s arms. “You know I love anything you make.”

“He says once he sees me,” she tittered.

Phillip set the plates in a cabinet then gave her a kiss on the cheek. “This mama bear is queen of the kitchen and ruler of the roost.”

She waved her hand. “Does this one know how to hand out a compliment?”

Ashley held out her hand. “Ashley Cartwright.”

“Amelia Scott.”

She noted the same last name. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” They shook, then Amelia turned to Phillip. “Isaiah said you were coming but neglected to mention your guest.”

Phillip shrugged. “I can’t control that man any more than you can.”

Amelia laughed. “Who said I’ve ever tried?”

“He’s her husband,” Phillip volunteered.

“Of fifty-three years.” She pretended to count on her fingers. “Lord, that can’t be possible.” Her head shook. “No matter. Make yourself at home. You know where the leftovers are.” Amelia walked away, muttering how fifty-three years of marriage was impossible given that she couldn’t have been more than forty.

Ashley took everything in then added on a sigh, “I wish I went to camp.”

With plates in hand, Phillip stopped. “What?”

She shrugged. “This is everything I imagine camp should be, and I haven’t even seen the kids yet.”

“Back up to the part where you’ve never been to camp.”

His scrutiny made her uncomfortable. “I haven’t.”

“How is that possible?”

“Never worked into Mother’s agenda, I guess.”

Phillip grumbled on his way to the refrigerator. He plated food with a scowl, shoving each into microwaves that lined the counter.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Tell me how she—”

“My mother?”

“Yeah, the grande dame of summer lemonades and fancy Popsicles, never sent you to camp. How did someone like that end up with her role?”

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