Hannah glanced up from her book. Her pigtails were askew—one tight and one loose—and she looked rumpled and grumpy after their flight. “She’s just always around. I want it to be just me and you sometimes.” Hannah scrunched her nose. “I guess it would be okay if you did things with her after I go to bed so then I don’t have to see her.” Hannah returned her attention to her book.
Ethan flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. “Sweetie, you know Zoe goes to bed before either of us, right? Because she has to get up so early to work in the bakery.”
“Oh well. Then I guess you can’t see her,” Hannah said without lifting her gaze from her novel. She flipped a page.
Ethan decided to change the subject. “Do you think I should buy the gallery?”
“Of course I do.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “That’s why God gave us those coins.”
Ethan bit his lip, considering. His parents had always struggled financially and his dad had been upset with his chosen career path. Even though he’d been living off his art income—and mostly, quite nicely—ever since his graduation from the institute (and how many people could say that?) his dad still thought he should put down his paints and pick up a ‘real job.’ Asking his parents for a loan was out of the question. But there was Uncle Mick. He owned a string of funeral homes that were surprisingly lucrative.
“What are you thinking about?” Hannah asked him.
“Dead people,” he said with a laugh.
“Mom?”
“Always,” he said.
“Me, too,” Hannah said with a sigh. “No one can ever take her place.”
“No one ever will,” Ethan said. He was surer of this than ever.
#
ZOE PULLED THE CHRISTMASdecorations out of their hiding place under the eaves. She only had a few of her favorite things—a Santa doll made by her Great Aunt Sofie, a hand-carved olive-wood nativity set her grandmother had purchased in the Holy Land back in the eighties, a cross-stitched Rudolph pillow she’d found at a craft fair, and, of course, the box of coins. She gathered it all together and lugged it into the living room, but on her way, Mildred darted in front of her and sent her sprawling.
Her knickknacks tumbled across the floor. Thankfully, nothing looked damaged—except for maybe her relationship with Mildred. Nursing her twisted knee, she stooped to gather her things. The coin box lay upended...and empty.
But where were the coins? Sure, some of them could have rolled to hidden corners, but not all of them.
Lying prone on the floor, she peered under the sofa and took note of the dust bunnies gathering there. Standing, she pushed the sofa for a better look. She found a pen, a sock, a movie ticket stub, a crayon, but no coins.
Where were they?
#
WHILE HANNAH AND HERcousin cohorts were involved in a noisy game of charades, Mom cornered Ethan. He’d been expecting this...and dreading it. Mom liked to have heart-to-hearts, even though she understood that his heart had been broken by Allison’s death. But because she followed him on social media, she’d seen pictures of Zoe and had an idea of how much he saw her.
“So, tell me about Zoe,” Mom said without preamble. She sat on his bed. Years ago, his old bedroom had been converted into a sewing room, but she’d kept several of his pieces that he’d created as a kid hanging on the wall beside her racks of spools of thread, her collection of yardsticks, and the overcrowded pegboard.
Knowing the conversation could no longer be avoided, Ethan put down his novel.
Mom hitched an eyebrow and assumed an I’m waiting attitude.
“You’d like her.”
“A more important question is, what does Hannah think of her?”
“You’ve talked to Hannah?”
Mom didn’t deny this.
Ethan blew out a breath. “I don’t know what happened. I thought they were great together, but now Hannah wants nothing to do with her! I don’t know what went wrong.”
“Did you ask her?”
“Who? Hannah or Zoe?”
