Man Of The Family

“What did you do?” she asked, the freckles on her nose standing out.

Griffin struggled for the right tone, not wanting to set off another explosion. As the door to Josh’s room slammed shut, he said quietly, “Your call to Dixie finished?”

“She called me,” Amanda corrected him.

“Whatever,” he said, using one of her favorite terms. “I told Josh we’re not going to the cookout at the Cabots’ house today. He didn’t care for my decision.”

“Oh. Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I suppose I’m the reason we’re not going. What else?”

Griffin didn’t follow her logic. But lately, Amanda seemed to think everything was about her.

“I mean, just because I had Mrs. Donovan’s stupid watch in my room—like that proves I’m guilty—you’d be too embarrassed to be seen with me. Just because she’ll be there, too—”

“Amanda.”

“Okay. I confess,” she said. Saying the word made her freckles darken. “I took her watch.”

His heart began to pound. “Is that the truth?”

“Yes!” She gulped in a breath. “Are you satisfied now?”

His hands fisted at his sides. “Why would I be satisfied?”

“Because you always thought I was guilty.”

He counted to three before he said, “Amanda, you know stealing is a crime. Sunny Donovan cut you some slack because you’re family—her brother’s niece. She hoped we could settle this among ourselves.” His fists loosened, then tightened again. “I’m not satisfied. I’m ashamed of you. I haven’t raised my daughter to take things that don’t belong to her.”

“You didn’t raise me. Mom did.”

He clenched his jaw. “Then what would she think?”

Amanda’s chin went up. “Maybe she’d be proud of me. She stole a lot of money from you,” she said, but her eyes didn’t meet his.

It was all he could do not to sag against the nearest piece of furniture for support. What had happened to his family? He wanted to rail at Rachel for leaving, for acting like a thief, but Amanda’s words had punctured his spirit.

“Yes, she did,” he said at last. Another bit of truth. “But it ends there.”

Amanda gave him the same blank stare he’d gotten from Josh.

“Get your little brother,” he said. “He’ll apologize to me for being rude. Then we’ll take the three-bean salad I made this morning, drive over to the Cabots’ house for the cookout, and you can apologize—in person—to Sunny Donovan.”

* * *

SHE WASN’T LOOKING forward to the cookout, but at least the sun was shining. Sunny was in the kitchen helping her mother with the preparations when she heard another car pull into the driveway. Dropping her paring knife, she hurried into the front hall to peek out the window. And groaned aloud.

The van could only belong to Griffin. All the other guests had arrived and were already in the backyard gathered around the ice chest full of drinks. Sunny glimpsed Amanda in the van’s front seat wearing a scowl, arms crossed over her chest. The car seat in back held a small boy she recognized as Griffin’s son.

Let the party begin.

Moments later, a small bundle of energy exploded through the front door. Her dad was there to pull Josh into a hug, his sneakered feet flying off the ground. Then he set the boy down and ruffled his hair.

“Hey, Josh. Glad you could make it.”

“We weren’t going to come,” he said with a solemn look. “But Daddy changed his mind.” He broke into a smile. “Grandpa Jack, can we do horseshoes now?”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Her father turned to Sunny, who was bent upon reaching the safety of the den. He reintroduced her to Josh, but after a brief handshake with Sunny, Josh ran for the kitchen, then out the back door.

“Wish I had his get-up-and-go,” her father muttered.

“He’s adorable, Dad.”

“Sure is.” Then he, too, was headed out to the yard before Sunny could resume her attempt to flee. And Griffin was in the hallway with Amanda trailing behind.

For a moment Sunny took them in. One sullen-looking girl, one too-handsome-for-his-own-good man, his dark hair glossy, those amazing hazel eyes looking grim. Then reality returned. So much for her hope he wouldn’t come today.

Griffin nodded. “Counselor,” he said but didn’t stop. Carrying a ceramic bowl sealed with plastic wrap, he aimed for the kitchen. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten their latest encounter in this very hallway.

That left Sunny to face Amanda. Or so she thought.

Without even a simple hello, her head down, Griffin’s daughter rushed past her toward Sunny’s mom, who was putting the finishing touches on a green salad at the kitchen island. Amanda flung herself into her arms.

“There’s my girl,” Sunny’s mother said with a wide smile. Like Sunny, or rather vice versa, she was a hugger, and for long moments the two chattered away as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Hearing the girl laugh told Sunny theirs was a good, and probably necessary, relationship right now.

In order to maintain the peace, Sunny reversed course. Surely no one would miss her for a while, and she could collect herself in the den. Her parents’ cookout was no place to tangle with Griffin.

Sunny wasn’t in the best mood anyway. She’d spent half the morning on the phone to New York again, making nice with Judge Ramsay. The contempt citation had to be dealt with, too, and now her credit card had a bigger balance due.

She was checking the transaction online when someone rapped at her door.

“Come in,” Sunny called, thinking her mother needed her in the kitchen. Her dad made a big thing of grilling hamburgers and hot dogs and cooking his famous barbecued ribs, but Mom would provide the rest of the meal for more than twenty people. That meant at least a half dozen side dishes to prepare. And too many mouth-watering desserts.

Instead, Amanda peered around the half-open door.

“May I come in?” She sounded like someone headed to the guillotine. “My father says I have to talk to you.”

Sunny nearly fell off her dad’s desk chair. Well, what do you know? Maybe her message had registered, after all.

“Sure. Have a seat,” she said, indicating the nearby sofa bed that had become her personal torture rack.

Amanda remained standing. “This won’t take long,” she said. Arms crossed, she glanced at Sunny’s wrist, her mouth turned down at the corners. “I did take your watch. I’m sorry.”

Her tone said otherwise. “Are you really?” Sunny asked.

The judge had asked her the same question earlier. And, no, Sunny wasn’t sorry for her rant about Wallace Day’s unfair punishment.

Amanda almost smiled. “Not that sorry,” she admitted.

“Okay.” Sunny stood up and folded her arms in a mirror image of Amanda’s posture. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Why don’t you tell me why you took my watch? It’s not as if you tried to hide it afterward. I saw it on you at school, and so did your friend.”