If Blake can coerce me into telling him the truth about my dad, then I don’t believe I’m crossing any boundaries by pressing the matter further. “Face her about what?”
“About the comments she made over lunch.” Blake frowns and props his elbow up against the window, angrily weaving his fingers into his hair. “You’d think a woman in her position wouldn’t be so damn childish.”
“Childish?” I arch a brow. Sure, LeAnne’s questions were invasive and her responses patronizing, but I assumed that was just her true personality shining through.
“Making those comments about your family,” Blake mumbles. He sounds irritated all over again, but I can’t get a good look of his face. He’s still staring out of the window, staring off across the empty fields. “It’s pathetic. All because. . .”
“What did I do?” I cut in.
“It’s not about you.” Blake snaps his head around to look at me. “It’s about your dad.”
“My dad?” I blink, because his words make zero sense to me. “But she doesn’t know him.”
Blake looks at me as though I’m naive for not understanding what the hell he’s talking about. All he says is, “Fairview is a small town, Mila.”
I still don’t get it, but there’s no time to ask Blake for a dumbed-down version of the point he’s trying to make. The buzzing of the gate rings out across the empty road and a figure comes bounding out from the inside.
“Where have you been?” Sheri yells into my face as she yanks the truck door open. “Your grandpa and I have been worried sick, Mila! You never showed up after church! I called Patsy to check if you were over at their ranch, only to be told you never even asked them for a ride!”
Before I can respond, Blake clears his throat and leans over the center console. “Miss Harding, my apologies. But I invited Mila back to my place for lunch. It’s my fault. It was spur of the moment and we lost track of time.” He gives a conciliatory smile.
Sheri doesn’t reciprocate. In fact, this is the first I’ve ever seen her so angry. There are deep lines of frustration in her brow. “You couldn’t answer your phone? You couldn’t send a simple text?” she asks me.
“I’m sorry, Sheri. I didn’t take my phone to church. . . You said phones weren’t allowed.” I’ve definitely overstepped the line by disappearing for two hours. The worry in Sheri’s eyes stirs up guilt within me, because, after all, she’s doing me a favor taking me in. And she obviously cares about me. The least I could do is make her aware of my whereabouts like we agreed. “I’m really sorry,” I apologize again.
Sheri heaves an exasperated sigh and steps back from the door, gesturing for me to get out. She waits silently as I step out of the truck, but it’s clear she has more to say. Just not here.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Blake, looking back into the truck at him. I have more to talk about with him too, but it’ll have to wait.
He salutes me goodbye with a small smile and the truck pulls away.
Sheri clamps a hand around my shoulder and steers me toward the gate. I can feel her worry radiating through her fingertips. We head onto the estate together as the sound of Blake’s truck dies in the distance. He’s going home to face LeAnne Avery; I’m about to face Sheri Harding. And I’m thinking that I have no idea what it means to face Sheri.
Her hand still on my shoulder, we walk slowly up the dirt track to the house, the sun blazing overhead. I keep my head down and wait for her to speak, but she stays silent. When we reach the porch, she steps in front of me and folds her arms across her chest, her expression more panic-stricken than stern.
“I really didn’t mean to scare you,” I say quickly. “I got talking with Blake after church and –”
Sheri shakes her head to silence me. “Mila, while you’re here, you’re my responsibility, and weagreedthat you would tell me where you are at all times. When you didn’t return from church and the Bennetts had no clue where you were either, I thought I would have to call Everett, or that dreadful manager of his, and tell them that I had no idea where you were. I thought I would have to tell them I’ve been letting you go off by yourself.”
I lunge forward and wrap my arms around my aunt, holding her close. Sheri’s chest heaves against me and I feel her starting to relax.
“I’m sorry, Sheri,” I say thickly, feeling genuine guilt. Sheri is a few inches taller than me, but nonetheless I soothingly rub her back as though our roles of parental care have been reversed.
Sheri straightens up and runs her hand over her weary face. “Mila, sweetie, let’s take this inside.”
Together we advance up the porch steps where I spot Popeye peering through the window, one hand cupped over his brow to squint through the blinding sunlight. As we near the front door, he hurries to meet us.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, his face lined with concern. He stretches out a hand.
“Yes, Dad, everything is okay,” mumbles Sheri, slipping her hand into Popeye’s and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Mila forgot her phone. She was at the Averys’. For lunch.”
“Oh, he won’t like that.” Popeye tenses. “Lunch with –”
“Who won’t like what?” I question.
Sheri casts a cautious look at her father.
“Who?” I repeat, harder. “Who won’t like it?”
