Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

“I’m not your son.” Dylan returned her stare, the amount of anger and pain flashing in the depths of his blue eyes more than any child of ten should bear.

Throat tightening, Mitch shook his head. “Let him go to his room if he wants, Emmy. He doesn’t have to stay on my account.”

“Who said it’s just on your account?” Emmy frowned at him. “There are three other people besides you at this table, and when we break bread, we do it together. Whether you like it or not, this is still my house. My house, my table, my rules, Mitch.”

“Yes. I’m well aware of your rules,” Mitch said quietly. “But he’s been through a hard enough time as it is. Surely you can make an exception just this once?”

“There are no exceptions in this family.” She balled her fists beside her plate. “When one of us hurts, we all hurt. Together. We stick together no matter what. We don’t leave each other behind. That’s how it should work. Not that I expect you to understand, seeing as how you don’t abide by that rule—especially considering the stunt you pulled today.”

Mitch glanced at Sadie, then Kristen, and their red cheeks and uncomfortable posture made him cringe. “Emmy, for God’s sake,” he whispered, “let’s not do this now.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you use His name in vain in my house. And you’re right. We won’t do this now.” She jerked a hand toward the empty seat beside Kristen. “Dylan, sit down. I’m here, Mitch is here, and Carrie’s here. We’re eating supper together. As a family should.”

Mitch closed his eyes, the stricken look on Dylan’s face staying with him anyway. “Sadie.” He leveled a look at Emmy. “Her name is Sadie.”

“What?” Emmy’s hands jerked around her place setting. They smoothed her napkin, straightened her silverware, slid her glass two inches to the left.

“Sadie is the one who’s here.” He struggled to keep his voice level. “Carrie is not.”

Emmy stilled. A deep flush blotched her neck, then rose to her face, her mouth opening and closing silently.

The air grew thick around the table, the only sounds the steady drum of rain on the roof and the torrents of water splashing down the large window pane above the sink.

Sadie slid out of her chair, then walked to Emmy’s side, her bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. “It’s okay, Nana.” Tears in her eyes, she lifted to her toes and kissed Emmy’s cheek. Then she crossed the room, took Dylan’s hand, and blinked up at him. “Isn’t it okay?”

Dylan looked down at her, nodded jerkily and let Sadie lead him to the chair beside Kristen. He sat, and Emmy’s clenched fists unfurled.

“I’m sorry, Dylan,” Emmy said, her voice thick.

He slumped farther down in his chair and didn’t respond.

Emmy picked up the pitcher of tea and moved it toward Dylan’s glass. Her hand shook, splashing tea onto the white tablecloth, and a renewed surge of guilt hit Mitch.

“Here,” he said. “Let me.”

He eased the pitcher away from Emmy with a steady touch and returned her hesitant smile with one of his own. A truce reached. At least for the moment.

Mitch stretched across the table and filled each glass in turn. When he reached Kristen’s, she lifted it closer.

“Thank you,” she said.

He looked up briefly from his task and met her eyes. Some of the warmth from their initial meeting had returned to her expression. It moved over him and lightened the stifling weight pressing on his chest. “You’re welcome.”

Emmy said the blessing, and then the meal commenced in silence, save for forks clinking against plates, cups thumping periodically to the table, and an occasional cough from Sadie. Every so often, Dylan and Sadie would stare curiously at Kristen, but other than a slight stiffening of her shoulders, Kristen didn’t seem to react. Instead, she ate slowly, a noticeable tremor in her hand as she gripped the fork subsiding toward the end of the meal.

Afterward, they dumped the scraps from their plates in the trash and set the dishes in the sink.

“Can I be excused now?” Dylan asked.

Emmy nodded, and he left, not sparing anyone a second glance.

Mitch sighed. “It was a long drive down from the Atlanta airport. Think I’ll call it a night. Are the kids still using the bedrooms on the first floor?”

“Them and me,” Emmy said. “Since my knee started acting up, I can’t make it up and down that staircase as easy as I used to.” She grabbed a dishcloth from a drawer, then looked at Kristen. “We tend to turn in early here, since we start the day at sunrise. We can talk shop in the morning. Why don’t you go grab your pajamas, Sadie? Soon as I wash up these dishes, I’ll run your bath.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sadie took off, too.

“Oh, I’ll take care of the dishes,” Kristen said. “It’s the least I can do after such a delicious meal. I enjoyed it, Emmy. Thank you.”