Page 26 of Clean Sweep
“Not just with the whole awkward lunch that you were wrangled into, but for cleaning the house. You organized it too, which . . . wow. Means so much.”
“My pleasure.”
His clear tone held no platitude—he really meant it. Sensing the end of the conversation, I said, “Well, I’ll send Celeste’s jacket with Blake on Monday morning. Thanks again.”
He spoke a quick farewell, then hung up the phone. I clicked it off then let it sink back to my lap, my head tilted back, and closed my eyes against the velvety backdrop of the stars.
Before I sank into a gentle doze, ready to get rid of the day, Landon’s head popped out the back door.
“Bye, Mom! Call ya later.”
I startled back to life with a half snort. “What?”
The door shut before I could get a response out of him. I mouthed his words twice before they sank in.
“Wait!” I cried. “Are you leaving?”
By the time I untangled my legs from the blanket and got my mind working again, the front door closed. Half-swearing under my breath, I managed to get back into the house without tripping.
Blake sat at the table, head bent to his homework. The couch lay empty, nothing but two folded blankets on one end. Had to be Starla’s touch, because golden child or not, Landon had never folded a blanket in his life.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Blake motioned to the front door with a jerk of his head.
“Gone.”
“What?” I screeched and waved a hand in the air. “We haven’t talked about all of this yet.”
“Yep,” Blake said with a littlepopof the p. “He knows that.”
My gaze tapered. “Is he avoiding me?”
“Yep.”
In a mad dash, I made it to the front door in seconds. Landon was ahead of me, though. Headlights pulled away from the sidewalk with a high-pitched squeal before I could make it down the driveway.
In the receding brake lights, I thought I saw a vague wave of a hand saying goodbye.
6
TANNER
The truck purred beneath me the next week as I sat in the parking lot of the Frolicking Moose and waited for Celeste.
It was Wednesday night, just before Thanksgiving, and chalk turkeys decorated the chalkboards on the interior of the store. I snorted at the turkey with a waddle that looked like a croissant.
Naturally, my thoughts streamed back to Leslie Hill.
Our call on Saturday night had been easy. At first, I hadn’t been sure if she’d take it. So many people didn’t answer their phones now, and I doubted she had the company number programmed into her contact list. The gentle surprise I’d heard in her voice when she answered meant she hadn’t known it was me.
Would she have still answered?
Jury was out.
Calling her had been a gamble. Her embarrassment from lunch had been smoothly enough covered during the meal. A grateful, but a little uncertain, goodbye had followed.
Could I blame her? Not for a second. I’d given Celeste a ten minute lecture on the way home from Leslie’s house and made her promise on her life that she’d never do the same thing to me.
