Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I take a seat next to Frank, and Mom sits at the end to my immediate right. She smiles at me, then looks around at her family collected together. It’s been almost two years since I’ve been home, when Nelson, Hope, and I last came for Christmas. She’s just as happy now as she was then to have her brood all under one roof.
Nelson, of course, seemed to hate every minute of it. He’d kept his face in his phone most of the time.
Spreading her arms, she holds a hand out to me and the other to Hope, who sits directly across from me. The circle is complete when I take Frank’s hand, he takes Toby’s, and Toby finishes it off by taking Hope’s.
My mom bows her head and prays, “Dear Lord… thank you for the bounty you put before us and for keeping me from burning the gravy.”
When Toby snorts, I open one eye and smirk across the table at him.
A glance at my mom shows an amused smile on her face as she continues. “But mostly, thank you for bringing Hannah and Hope home, so I have all my youngins with me. You’ve made this woman mighty happy, and I’ll put extra money in the church basket on Sunday. Amen.”
“Amen,” we all chorus and break apart, all of us reaching for the nearest bowl in front of us. I scoop out some green bean casserole while Frank takes three slices of the freshly carved turkey. Toby puts a glob of gooey mac and cheese on Hope’s plate, then a bigger one on his own.
Just as I’m reaching for the turkey, there’s a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Toby says as he pushes out of his chair, licking a piece of cheese off his thumb.
“Hope,” I say as I stab a piece of turkey for her. “Hold your plate out for me.”
She does, and I deposit the meat as I ask, “Want some green bean casserole?”
My daughter wrinkles her nose with a grimace. She hates almost all vegetables.
“Corn?” I ask.
She hesitates and nods. I give her a small spoonful because I know she won’t eat all of it.
Just as I’m getting ready to put some corn on my plate, Toby walks into the dining room with someone following him.
He steps to the side and there’s Asher Knight, staring right at me.
“What are you doing here?” I gasp, and the table goes silent. All eyes turn to Asher.
Not answering me directly, he moves to my mother, sticking his hand out. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’m Asher Knight, and I’m a friend of Hannah’s. You must be her mother, Carol.”
“Pleased to meet you,” my mom says politely, but there’s no mistaking the coolness in her tone. While I would never in a million years let her know how our relationship started, I didn’t spare her any details on how we broke up. “Would you like to join us?”
“Um… no, but thank you,” Asher says politely, and then moves around the table with his eyes on Frank. He sticks his hand out and Frank takes it, looking utterly confused as they shake. “You must be Frank. Hannah’s told me a lot about you.”
“Good to meet you,” my brother replies before turning questioning eyes to me.
I shrug as I stare at Asher. His gaze comes to mine, and I’m shocked when he says, “I need to talk to Hope for a minute. You can be there, too, of course.”
My head snaps Hope’s way. She’s studying Asher with narrowed eyes. He gives her his attention and says with a smile, “Hey, kiddo. Can we talk?”
Hope looks to me. I don’t know what type of game he’s playing, but I intend to figure it out. I stand up from my chair. “Let’s go outside, because this is getting awkward.”
“Or would you rather me and Toby escort him out for you?” Frank says ominously, now having figured out there’s something bad between us.
“I got it,” I tell my brother with a pat to his shoulder. I’m surprised he doesn’t crack his knuckles while he glares at Asher.
Asher, on the other hand, looks confidently back at my brother. He’s not intimidated in the least.
I walk around the table, going the opposite way around so I don’t have to brush past Asher. I’m afraid what might happen if we make contact. I can already feel the thickness of the air around us.
When I hold my hand out to Hope, she takes it and follows me out of the dining room, into the foyer, and out the front door. It’s a relatively mild day for a late November in the south, but still brisk enough we need to wear long sleeves. I’m wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. Hope’s got on a fuzzy pink sweater and pink corduroys. If asked, she’d say in an exaggerated southern voice ala Steel Magnolias, “Pink is my signature color.”