“Well, that sucks.”
She laughed. “A little. Like it’s all on me. But, really, he just wants me to be happy. He gave up teaching so I could stay home with the kids. He doesn’t want to take that choice away from me. I think maybe because his mom didn’t have a choice, you know? She had to work.”
“Whatever you want,”Eric had said. Because he didn’t want to take advantage of an employee. Because he trusted me to say no. Like I could be myself, and it would be okay. Me telling him what I wanted freed him to say what he wanted.
Until he wanted me to go.
Headlights swung up the drive. I raised my head, squinting against the glare. “Dad’s home.”
But he wasn’t.
A white Mercedes pulled up to the barn, and a well-upholstered woman in a purple car coat climbed out, a plastic cake saver in one hand, her little dog cradled in the other.
“Aunt Phee,” Meg said. “What a surprise.”
“I could say the same.” Our aunt’s gaze swept the glowing lights and the bottle of wine before narrowing on me. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Christmas,” I said.
“Not for another week. But I suppose there’s nothing to keep you in New York now that you’ve lost your job.” My job at the paper, she meant. But her words stabbed anyway. She was right. I was twenty-eight years old, underemployed, unattached, and back where I started. “Unless you’re finally dating someone,” she added, twisting the knife.
“Nope. Just having meaningless sex with my boss.”
Aunt Phee snorted with laughter, surprising us both. “Well, you’re honest, at least.”
“I was honest with you,”Eric said.“I opened myself to you, yeah? And you never said a word about this... this...”
“Jo came home to help Mom,” Meg said.
“I hope your mother appreciates it. This whole hospital nonsense has been very difficult for your father.” The Yorkie yapped as Phee climbed the stairs. Weasley jumped down with a disgruntled thump and slunk under the porch swing. Too bad there wasn’t room under there for both of us. “Where is Ashton? He should be home by now.”
“He’s having dinner with Momma,” Meg said. “At the rehab center.”
Aunt Phee’s coral lips pursed. “But I brought dessert.”
I rolled my eyes. Who put on lipstick and drove across town at nine o’clock at night to deliver dessert to a grown-ass nephew?
Oh.
Somebody lonely, that’s who. Aunt Phee had been widowed as long as I could remember. No living parents. No kids. All she had was a bad-tempered little dog. And our father.
“Is that your hummingbird cake?” I asked. “It looks awesome.” Not that I could see much through the plastic shield.
Aunt Phee clutched the cake saver tighter. “It’s for your father.”
Right. Another offering on the altar of the Reverend Ashton March.
“Do you want to come in?” Meg asked politely. “I can make coffee.”
“It’s too late. Drinking coffee after three o’clock in the afternoon interferes with your sleep.” She gave a pointed look at the bottle of wine. “So does drinking alcohol.”
Meg and I exchanged glances.
“Itislate,” Meg agreed. I scratched the Yorkie behind the ears. “Jo’s had a long day. Maybe we should all say good night.”
“You certainly should,” Aunt Phee said. “Before that husband of yours gets tired of waiting for you.”
“John understands I had to work today,” Meg said, sticking up for herself in her quiet way.
