Page 66 of Not Another Beach Read
"Not tonight, sweetie. Grandma texted and she's making pot roast and expects us in a half an hour." Allison's eyes darted nervously to her car in the parking lot, visible through the patio fence.
I followed her gaze and noticed a small white paper tucked under her windshield wiper.
"Everything okay?" I asked, standing up.
Allison's smile tightened. "Of course! Just the usual Friday night dinner with the in-laws." She glanced at her car again. "Would you mind watching Noah for two more minutes while I grab something from my car?"
"No problem," I said, recognizing the barely-concealed panic in her eyes.
As Allison hurried to her car, I watched her snatch the note and shove it into her pocket without reading it, her shoulders hunched like she was bracing for a blow. When she returned, her smile was back in place, but her hands trembled slightly as she helped Noah gather his things.
I wanted to say something—to tell her I understood, that she didn't have to pretend. But who was I to give advice? I was just a kid with my own messed up family history.
Instead, I said, "If you ever need someone to watch Noah last-minute, you can call me. Anytime."
Something flickered across Allison's face. Relief, maybe, or recognition. "Thanks, Holly. I appreciate that."
As they walked to the car, Noah turned and waved. "Bye, Holly! Remember our secret!"
Allison's step faltered, but she quickly recovered, helping Noah into his car seat with practiced efficiency.
I waved back, my stomach knotting. I knew I should tell someone what Noah had said about the yelling and his grandmother's comments. But I also knew how it felt to have your family's problems exposed, to have people looking at you with that mixture of pity and judgment.
Still, as I watched their car pull away, I made a decision. If Noah brought up his grandma's odd behavior again, I'd tell Aunt Elyse.
Because family shouldn't hurt. And secrets shouldn't weigh so heavy on shoulders as small as Noah's.
28
ELYSE
That evening, Holly came home from her shift at the bakery carrying a box of day-old pastries, her face flushed with excitement.
"Jenna showed me how to make macarons today!" she announced, setting the box on the kitchen counter. "They're super finicky, but we got a few batches that turned out really well."
"That's fantastic," I said, peeking into the box. "Save any for us?"
"Of course," Holly said, pulling out a smaller box from her backpack. "The pink ones are raspberry, the green are pistachio, and the yellow are lemon."
Drew walked in, fresh from a shower after his golf game. "Did I hear something about macarons?"
Holly beamed. "Made them myself. Well, with Jenna's help."
Drew tousled her hair. "Look at you, becoming a master baker. Soon you'll be giving Jenna a run for her money."
"Hardly," Holly laughed. "But she did say I have potential."
As Holly arranged the macarons on a plate, she glanced ather phone, and her expression changed—just for a moment, but long enough for me to notice.
"Everything okay?" I asked casually.
Holly nodded a little too quickly. "Yeah, fine. Just a text from Grandma. She wants to FaceTime later."
But as she turned away to grab napkins, I caught a glimpse of her screen. It wasn't my mother's name I saw at the top.
It was my sister's.
My stomach dropped. Rachel was reaching out to Holly directly? After months of silence?
