Page 38 of One and Only

“You look like you’re gonna puke,” she said quietly, straightening the collar on my shirt. “We run a very casual household here. If someone’s hungry, they eat; if they’re not, we pile onto the couch and wait. My mom and Poppy are playing a card game, and Tim is watchingSportsCenterand pretending like he’s not falling asleep.”

Her hair smelled like something citrusy and sharp and clean. “Poppy is your youngest sister, right? Parker warned me about her.”

Greer laughed. “She’s the only child they had together after they got married. She’s spoiled rotten by every single member of this family, and even though us older siblings complain about it, we’d all stand down a moving train if it meant protecting her.” Greer’s eyes went a little sad. “She’s home a lot these days. Tim’s sickness is hardest on her.”

“Isn’t it hard on all of you?”

Her gaze moved across my face, but eventually, she nodded. “Yeah. I suppose it is. Sometimes I get so caught up in making it easier for everyone else that I forget how much it hurts.”

My nerves blew away with just that little touch of honesty between us.

I didn’t have to picture Olive or her tears or all the battles she faced that I couldn’t take away. With a quick glance into the house, I saw a thin, balding man dozing in a big brown recliner, and it was enough of a reminder that my reason for doing this wasn’t the only one that mattered.

The truth, I thought with a sudden blinding thought. “What if we…” My voice trailed off. “What if we tell them the truth?”

Her face went slack with shock. “What?”

I shook my head. “Not the full truth. What if we tell your parents about Olive?” I asked. The thought grew and grew until it was full and solid and right.

Greer’s eyes went speculative, the gears in her mind shifting right along with my own. “That’s not a horrible idea,” she said slowly. “And Josie?”

I sucked in a quick breath. “We tell Josie about your dad. They both get some truth. If it’s the one thing we do, the only thing we do, we stick to the truth as much as possible. With each other, too. We need honesty wherever we can get it, Greer.”

Her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. Then she nodded slowly. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked her.

Even though the question came out rough, my voice ragged and tired and not at all how I wanted it to be, Greer exhaled a short burst of laughter. “Apple pie,” she said.

“That’s a dessert.”

“So?” Her eyes were shining. “Who says dessert can’t be your favorite food?”

“But…” I scratched the side of my jaw. “Your favorite food is something you’d have for a meal.”

“You’ve clearly never had leftover pie for breakfast, and it shows.” She patted me on the stomach. “I found you just in time, Beckett Coleman.”

“In time for what?” I asked, undeniably intrigued by her, unable to resist the pull of her energy.

“To teach you everything I know.” There was a glimmer in her eye as she said it, and she tugged my hand between hers and pulled me into the house.

* * *

“You’re sure I can’t get you any more, Beckett?” Sheila Wilder asked.

“No, thank you, ma’am.” I settled a hand over my stomach. “If I eat any more, I’ll be hurtin’.”

She smiled. “Ma’am? I don’t hear that very often from men your age.”

I nodded. “I’m a Southern boy at heart. My parents lived in Tennessee until I was ten, then they needed the dry climate of Arizona for my dad’s health. I’ve lost a bit over the years, but it still comes out every now and then.”

Tim stretched his arm out behind Poppy’s chair. “They still live down there?”

“No, sir. My parents passed away a few years ago. They were older when they had me, so they still lived a good long life.”

Greer took a slow sip of her water, eyeing me over the rim of the glass. The whole dinner had gone amazingly. Tim and Sheila were gracious and friendly, Poppy was funny and energetic, much like her brother and sister, and conversation flowed easily through our meal.

But the shift in topic, and the truthful answer behind my quiet branch of my family tree, settled a cloud over the table.

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