“I will. Thanks.”
Miss Hannah watched me, a frown creasing her dark face. “You never did like working with a lab partner. It’s a big step for you, coming here to ask for help. I’m just sorry I—”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s not your problem.” It was mine. “I’ll talk to Dad,”I said. I wondered what kind of salary he drew from his nonprofit. Enough to pay Hannah the money Momma owed her?
“Honey, your daddy doesn’t do a damn lick around the farm. I’m talking about John. Your husband.”
“John’s so busy,” I said. Making excuses for him. Although just this afternoon, he’d picked up the kids from preschool so I could be at the hospital. “I can’t ask him to do any more.”
“Well, you know what’s best,” Hannah said, in that doubtful tone teachers sometimes used. Like I was twelve years old and about to set the lab on fire. (Which I never did, by the way. That was Jo.) “If there’s an emergency or you need a break, you call me. I’ll be in town for another two weeks.”
A rush of guilt and gratitude choked me. “Thanks.” I hesitated. “I wonder... That is, Sallie Moffat is having a Christmas party on Saturday. I figured we’d stay home. I mean, I’ve never left the twins with anyone but Momma. But...”
“You want me to watch them for you?”
“Yes. Please. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Hannah smiled. “Kept an eye on you and your sisters often enough. And it will be good practice for when I visit James.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Hannah!” I hugged her awkwardly, leaving bits of hay on her purple fleece sweater. Flushing, I brushed at her shoulders. “Sorry.”
“It’s all good, honey. Take some cookies with you.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t...”
“For John and those babies.”
So I left with cookies and Hannah’s promise to come over Saturday at seven.
I checked my messages in the car. Nothing from my mother. There was a string of texts from John, starting with,Hey, hon. We’re home.and endingWhere r u?I stopped at the Piggly Wiggly to pick up a rotisserie chicken, my mind already calculating ahead. I wondered how muchCarl would pay me to do the books for his farm. Enough to hire a sitter? Enough to hire help with the farm?
Maybe I should talk to John after the twins were in bed tonight.
But when I pulled into our neat little subdivision, there was another car sitting in our driveway. A red new-model Ferrari with dealer’s plates. What was Trey doing here?
“Hello?” Dropping the grocery bag on the island, I walked through the empty kitchen to the family room.
Beer bottles and sippy cups covered the coffee table. Trey lay on the carpet, DJ bouncing on his chest. Daisy crawled on all fours, eating fish crackers out of a bowl on the floor. Without her hands.
John looked up from his phone, relieved. “There you are.”
“Mommy!” DJ tumbled off Trey and ran to me.
“Hey. Hi, baby.” I hefted DJ, bent to smooch the top of Daisy’s head.
“I a key cat, Mommy!”
“Such a nice kitty cat.” I tugged on my shirt, embarrassed. I looked a mess. My house was a mess.
Trey rolled gracefully to his feet and kissed my cheek. “John invited me for dinner. But if this is a bad time...”
Tell him he should bring you home for dinner sometime,I’d said at Thanksgiving. “No, of course not.” I smiled. “This is great. It’s great to see you.”
“I called you,” John said. “I left a message.”
Not his fault. “This is great,” I repeated.
“We can order a pizza or something,” John said.
