was just another excuse to needle me about dating…”
Treble took a seat at the kitchen table, a safe distance from the doctor, and smirked at her sister. “He’s right, you know. She used to play ‘school’ with all her adorable stuffed animals and collectible dolls, and she was very strict. She’s the only person I know who’s ever given detention to a teddy bear.”
The men laughed, but Charity sniffed daintily. “Well, I wanted the best for Mr. Snuggles and he was never going to get anywhere in life if he didn’t do his homework.” She wagged her finger at Keith. “I only want what’s best for you, too.”
“So, what did we decide about waiting for Harrison?” Treble interjected. Funny how much she wanted to help Keith avoid the subject of his love life. Normally, she made a living off of commenting on people’s love lives or asking them to do so.
Charity frowned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind us starting without him, but…this is a special occasion. Bill, if you’ll please freshen up my tea, I can wait a few more minutes to eat.” She extended her empty glass.
As Bill pressed the automatic ice maker, the refrigerator performed noisy variations of a churning grind, the sounds mirroring Treble’s stomach. She knew why Charity was so intent on this dinner, it would be the first time since the weekend Charity was married that the two sisters and Harrison had sat down for a meal together. But the night hadn’t truly started and already the déjà vu had her insides in knots. After her mother’s car accident, Harrison dove into work. In retrospect, she understood that had probably been his coping mechanism, but that didn’t excuse him for being late to meals or letting the girls eat with the housekeeper, Joan, while he had a sandwich in his study. Treble couldn’t truly say whether her initial stunts—shoplifting cosmetics, stealing Harrison’s car—were because she was trying to get his attention or because she was just so angry.
Charity, living up to her name, had always been more understanding, the family peacemaker. She’d been content with the moments of absent affection her father managed to give, the pats on the head in passing even if he wasn’t sitting down and asking about their day the way their mother had. Maybe if he’d looked at Treble the way he did his own daughter, she would have been content, too. What she usually got, though, were reminders not to talk back to her teachers and admonishments to change into shirts that weren’t so revealing.
Not that I’m bitter, Treble thought with a wry smile. Well, she was, but at least she had a sense of humor about it.
Charity sipped her sweet tea. “Oh, I almost forgot! Treble, I had Bill pick up a bottle of wine for you at the store. Could I get one of you strapping men to open it for us?” She glanced to Treble, her expression apologetic. “You usually drink white, don’t you? The selection in Joyous isn’t all that sophisticated, but—”
“I’m sure whatever Bill found will be fine,” Treble said. She would have been okay without a glass, but refusing seemed inhospitable. Bill was more a beer man than wine drinker, and it was a sure bet Charity didn’t plan to have any; Treble couldn’t let it go to waste. Of course, she didn’t intend to drink a whole bottle, either, so hopefully her stepfather and Keith would have some. Bill disappeared into the dining room, hunting through the china cabinet while Charity called out likely locations for the corkscrew they obviously never used.
Treble caught Keith’s gaze. “Join me for a drink?”
He took longer than necessary to answer, and she wondered what he’d been thinking. “Sure.” Turning, he opened a cabinet and reached for the wineglasses on the top shelf. It wasn’t the first time he’d known without asking where something was kept. He seemed at home here.
Home. During the afternoon, Treble had had ample opportunity to study her surroundings, not so much the floor plan and the furniture as the personal touches that made the place uniquely Bill and Charity’s. This was what Treble wanted for herself, this…sanctuary.
Because Bill was out of the room and Keith was wiping the infrequently used wineglasses with a paper towel, Treble was the only one whose hands were free when a quick knock sounded against the kitchen door.
“That must be Dad!” Charity looked giddy. “Treb, will you answer the door?”
“Of course.” Taking a deep breath and reminding herself this night was important to her little sister, Treble twisted the knob.
In the glow of the back porch light, Harrison Breckfield looked down on her. “Hello, Treble.”
“Harrison.” She swung the door wide and stepped out of the way.
“I understand you had some difficulty with the trip?” he asked as he entered the kitchen. His once black hair was now as gray as his eyes, yet that only made him look distinguished. It was something else—indefinable in his face, in his carriage—that made him look as though he’d aged.
“Nothing insurmountable,” she said. Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard from Ronnie the mechanic yet. Was no news good news…or silent foreshadowing that expensive parts needed to be specially ordered?
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