35
Sandra drove the winding two-lane road toward Terry's house. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the farmland that stretched on either side of the asphalt, broken occasionally by stands of pine trees and weathered farmhouses set back from the road. She'd grown to love this drive, appreciating the rural land along the roads, the woods surrounding the properties, and the sparse houses that dotted the lane. She had the sense of leaving her legal worries behind with each mile.
Today, though, the peaceful countryside couldn't quite ease the tension in her shoulders. The Blackwood contracts in her bag represented something bigger than billing discrepancies, and her meeting with Harry had only ramped up her suspicions.
She turned into Terry's driveway, gravel crunching under her tires as she parked beside his SUV. The porch light cast a warm glow over the welcome mat, and she could hear the sounds of dinner preparation filtering through the windows.
"Sandra!" Toby's voice rang out as he pulled the door open, his face lighting up with the kind of genuine excitement that never failed to make her chest warm. "Dad said you were coming for dinner. I helped make the salad."
"Did you now?" Sandra smiled as she stepped inside. The house smelled like garlic and herbs, and she could hear Emma's voice from the kitchen, chatting with Terry about her day at school.
"We're having spaghetti," Toby announced, taking her hand and tugging her toward the kitchen. "Dad let me help with the sauce before I worked on the salad. I only ate like three cherry tomatoes while I was cutting them up."
"Only three?" Sandra raised an eyebrow. "That shows remarkable restraint."
Terry looked up from the stove as they entered, his face relaxing into the soft smile he reserved for her. The sight of him in his everyday clothes of jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up still made her pulse quicken after all these months.
"Hey, beautiful. How'd the rest of your day go?"
"Better now," Sandra said, meaning it. The warmth of Terry's home, the chatter of his kids, and the normalcy of a family dinner all helped push the day's stress to the background.
Emma appeared at Sandra's elbow, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, looking more like a teenager each day. "Can I ask you something later?"
"Honey, you can ask me anything you want, anytime you want," Sandra said, noting something in Emma's expression that suggested this wasn't about homework or friends.
Emma glanced toward the kitchen, where Terry was stirring sauce. "Maybe after dinner?"
"Of course."
"So did you catch any bad guys today?" Sandra asked Terry, leaning over the counter and grinning at him.
"Dad always catches the bad guys," Toby said with the absolute confidence of an eleven-year-old who still believed his father was invincible.
Terry laughed and shook his head. "I try, but some days there are more questions than answers."
"Speaking of questions," Sandra said, her tone growing more serious, "I have some work stuff to run by you later. If you don't mind."
Terry's eyes sharpened slightly, reading the subtext in her voice. "Of course."
Dinner was a comfortable chaos of conversation and laughter. Toby regaled them with stories about his friend's new puppy, complete with dramatic reenactments of the chaos it was causing in their household. Emma discussed her upcoming science paper on renewable energy, asking Sandra thoughtful questions about environmental law.
Sandra found herself completely relaxed for the first time all day, the stress of work fading in the face of normal family life. This was what she'd been missing without even knowing it… the daily rhythm of people who cared about each other.
After dinner, they moved to the backyard, where the evening air was warmer, a sign that summer was on its way. Sandra and Emma sat on the porch steps, watching Terry throw a football with Toby in the fading light.
"You're really good with him," Emma observed, watching Sandra track the football's arc. "Toby, I mean. He's been so much happier since you started coming around."
"He's easy to love," Sandra replied honestly. "You both are."
Emma was quiet for a moment, then glanced over with the kind of expression that suggested she was working up to something important.
"What's on your mind, sweetheart?"
A blush graced Emma's cheeks. "It's kind of silly, but I was wondering if you'd talk to Dad about letting me wear makeup when I turn thirteen."
Sandra blinked, realizing this conversation was going to require more delicacy than she'd anticipated. "Well, thirteen seems like an appropriate age to start that discussion. But your mom should probably be part of that conversation too."
Emma's nose scrunched slightly. "Mom wouldn't really care. She wears makeup, but it's like... professional. Serious. But you wear makeup that looks natural, like you're not trying too hard." She paused, seeming to gather courage. "I thought maybe you could show me how to do it like that."
