Page 3 of Whispers Left Behind
“Hey,” Lily exclaimed defensively before pursing her lips. She even crossed her arms like her father did when he was displeased with her. “How do you know about my flashlight?”
“Don’t worry,” Kinsley whispered with a wink of conspiracy. She even leaned over just enough to pretend Dylan couldn’t hear them. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Lily was an avid reader. She loved all kinds of genres, and her parents encouraged her with weekly trips to the library. The entire family was aware that Lily stayed up reading well past her bedtime. She had a tendency to fall asleep with her flashlight in one hand and a book in the other. Never once had she questioned how her book ended up on the bedside table and her flashlight tucked safely back underneath her bed.
“Thanks, Aunt Kin,” Lily whispered in return with a scrunch of her nose and a wide grin. She slowly lowered her arms and peered at her Uncle Dylan. He was going along with Kinsley’s subterfuge and feigning a little too much interest in his task of drying a fork. “Grandpa needs another garbage bag, Uncle Dylan. The big kind.”
“Coming right up.” Dylan tossed the fork into the silverware drawer before nudging Kinsley to the side. He opened the lower cabinet underneath the sink and pulled out a white garbage bag that was supposed to smell like lemons. Holding it up high enough, Lily giggled in her attempt to grab it. She was victorious on the third jump. “Make sure to save me a pumpkin. I intend to beat your dad in this year’s competition.”
The Aspen family’s annual pumpkin carving event always took place the first week of October. It had technically been Noah’s turn to wash the dishes this evening, but Kinsley had intentionally offered to take her older brother’s place so she could delay the inevitable.
She wasn’t in the mood to make small talk with their father.
Given the size of their family, it hadn’t taken much prodding on her part to remain inside the house and clean off the dinner table. With nine family members in attendance this evening, storing food and washing the dishes had been quite the chore.
“Dad saved you the pumpkin with the missing stem.” Lily giggled again when Dylan set his hands on his hips with feigned annoyance. “He said that it matched your brain.”
“You tell your dad that—”
“We’ll bring out the hot apple cider in a few minutes,” Kinsley stated loudly with a laugh, interrupting whatever message Dylan would have sent their older brother. “Get a head start on carving your pumpkin so you can help me with mine.”
Thursday nights were reserved for family dinners.
Even after the loss of Kinsley’s last grandparent, the tradition had remained unchanged. The only difference now was the location where such meals took place. George and Margaret Aspen had taken on the responsibility of hosting, and their five children wouldn’t dare miss a single gathering.
Lily dashed out of the kitchen, disappearing through the open glass-sliding exit that led to the backyard. In her excitement, she hadn’t closed the heavy door all the way. Laughter and low murmurs of conversation drifted in through the tiny crack.
It was obvious that Lily’s energy was undiminished by the weight of any unsettling secret, and Kinsley couldn’t help but wonder why her niece would have asked such a question in the first place.
Had she overheard something of significance?
Kinsley dismissed such a wary thought right away. She trusted her older brother more than anyone else in her life. Her niece was merely being inquisitive.
Lily was the spitting image of her father in almost every way. The only exception was her chestnut-colored curls, which she had inherited from her mother. Noah resembled most of the Aspen men with his tall stature, reserved manner, blond hair, and blue eyes. His wife, Emily, was the complete opposite, with a petite frame, an outspoken view of life, hazel eyes, and vibrant waves of hair.
“Spill,” Dylan directed, pulling Kinsley’s attention away from the backyard. He reached for the plate in her hand. She released the last dish before concentrating on rinsing out the sponge. Doing so gave her time to think. “What big secret do you have?”
“Aren’t you the pot calling the kettle black?” Kinsley was older than Dylan by three years. He would never get one up on her. She placed the sponge in its holder before reaching for the sprayer on the faucet. “I haven’t met the new waitress at the Plow. Is she nice? Word around town is that you didn’t waste time getting to know the color of her bedsheets.”
The Local Plow was a bar at the edge of town. It was a popular spot among the ranchers and farmers who preferred its down-to-earth vibe over the more polished establishments in town. It was also easily accessible via a dirt road that wound its way through farmland, but the watering hole was tucked away in the country, far enough to keep out the tourists. It also happened to be Dylan’s favorite place of entertainment on the weekends.
“As a matter of fact, it was the other way around. Cecilia wanted to know the color ofmysheets.” Dylan flashed Kinsley a wayward smile as he stored the plate in its designated spot. He closed the overhead cabinet before tossing the dishtowel over his shoulder. He then leaned against the counter as if he had all the time in the world. “Seriously. You’re doing the dishes, Kin. You’drather clean up dog shit. Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”
Kinsley released her hold on the nozzle, letting it slam into place with a snap. It was her opinion that her siblings could let things go a little too easily, but she wasn’t about to be dragged into another debate about family and forgiveness.
“Don’t start with me, Dylan.” Kinsley snatched the dishtowel from his shoulder and began to dry the edge of the counter. “It was Noah’s turn to do the dishes, but he shouldn’t have to miss out on carving a pumpkin with his daughter. I was only being nice.”
Kinsley was the middle child, but that didn’t stop her from viewing Dylan as the same. Noah and Olivia were fraternal twins, born when their father had been in law school. Kinsley had been born right after her father’s graduation, followed up by Dylan a year later, and Owen eleven months after that.
Dylan possessed an easy charm that the others didn’t, as well as a zest for life that had taken him away from Fallbrook for quite a while. He wasn’t meant to be chained to a desk, and he certainly hadn’t had the patience for college. He had lucked out landing a job with a local rancher after returning to town a few years ago. He might be adventurous and free-spirited, but he was also a homebody.
Not that he would ever admit to such a thing.
“Would you hand me the mugs, please?” Kinsley folded the dishtowel and hung it over the oven handle to move things along. “The apple cider should be ready. Mom mentioned she turned on the crockpot a couple hours before dinner.”
“Dad was the one who made Nana’s apple cider recipe today,” Dylan clarified as he made no move toward the cupboard. He was displaying his stubborn side, and she didn’t have time for it. “He knows how much you love it. He’s trying his best, Kin.”
Kinsley was grateful her parents had a large kitchen. It afforded her the ability to concentrate on plucking the cinnamon sticks from a mason jar while keeping her back to Dylan. He was pushing the issue even after she had made it perfectly clear she didn’t want to have this conversation.
