Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I wasn’t able to converse with Holland again today. I ran to the local supply store, got the needed materials, and was ready to get to work when I made it back to the printshop. I’d hoped maybe Holland might join me over chicken salad wraps I picked up in town at the deli but when I offered one to her, she said she had to run errands. She left me a key to the shop, told me to lock up and didn’t look back as she walked out the door.
There’s no way she’s going to be able to avoid us now. Coming to dinner with all the Blackburns—minus Abby, of course—means she’s set herself in our crosshairs. I imagine the questions will fly so fast she won’t know what hit her.
“She’s here,” my mom exclaims, letting go of the sheer curtain she’d been peeping through. She smooths her hair and rushes out of the room, wanting to have the door open and waiting for Holland when her feet hit the porch steps.
We all meander out after Mom, me taking up the rear. In fact, I don’t even step all the way into the foyer but rather lean back against the doorjamb. With hands tucked in my pockets, I can see over my mom’s head to Holland trotting up the steps.
She’s wearing a pair of faded, loose jeans, barn boots and a white blouse. It’s the perfect attire to have a casual dinner with a horse family. She braided her long blond hair so that the tail hangs over her shoulder and it makes her look like she’s eighteen again.
“There she is,” my mom coos as she reaches the door and wraps Holland in a hug. I scrutinize Holland’s reaction, because she’s been very standoffish with me.
But with my mom, her arms wrap tight and they stand that way for what seems like an eternity.
“Welcome home, love.” My mom pulls back, puts her hands to Holland’s cheeks and lets her eyes roam over her face. “Oh, we’ve missed you.”
Ethan steps forward and introduces Marcie and Sylvie. Unless Holland heard it through the town grapevine this afternoon, she still doesn’t know the details about what’s happened over the last few months between our family and the Mardraggons.
She smiles sweetly at Marcie, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her expression is masked into one of polite curiosity as she bends at the waist and shakes Sylvie’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. And is this your dog?”
The scruffy brown dog submits to scratches as Sylvie nods. “His name is Renault.”
Holland blinks in surprise as she hears Sylvie for the first time. “You’re French?”
“Oui. But American too because my dad is American.” She looks up to Ethan and smiles with a newfound love that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s amazing to me how easily this family fell in love with this little girl, despite the rough start.
Holland straightens and her eyes flick to Kat and Gabe, and because I can still read her, I see the inquisitiveness mixed with confusion about this new Blackburn family she’s come home to. Kat grins at her mischievously, and I know my sister well. I think she’s relishing that Holland is a little on tilted ground from all the changes, and that’s perhaps a bit of petty payback for leaving us all without so much as a goodbye.
I can’t say that I disagree with Kat for those feelings, but an innate protectiveness for Holland has been raging through me since her return. I felt it for her when she was a little girl and it’s only grown stronger over time. The way things ended between us apparently hasn’t diminished that one bit, maybe just sent it into hibernation, and now the bear is waking up.
“Well,” my mom says, clapping her hands once, “let’s head into the kitchen and sit down to supper. It’s where we always did our best talking.”
We all follow her in where the table is set for a feast. I feel the tension rolling off Holland as she looks hesitant to take a seat but ultimately positions herself to the right of Kat with my dad adjacent to her at the far end. Miranda, our housekeeper, has outdone herself with the spread: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts, cornbread and a big salad. A pitcher of lemonade sits in the center, next to a basket of freshly sliced sourdough.
“Everyone, dig in,” Miranda says after setting the last bowl down and we start passing dishes.
As we eat, the conversation flows easily. My mom chatters about everyone’s personal lives, with special attention to Abby and her new husband Kellan, since they’re not here. Ethan talks about the farm, which has expanded its breeding operations since Holland left. This leads to a round of bombarding questions to Holland about her job and life in Zurich. She handles it all with grace, her answers concisely factual with no hint as to her feelings. She’s holding herself in reserve and I can tell she’s waiting for the inevitable push by one of us, demanding to know why she left and cut off all contact.