Page 65 of Wrapped Up in Christmas Love
Four Butterflies burst into laughter.
*
Her stomach inknots that had grown more and more twisted as she drove toward Tennessee, Isabelle eyed the homeless shelter not too far from Fort Campbell. “I can’t believe you convinced me to take off work to do this, especially when it’s probably a complete waste of time.”
From the passenger seat, Zach gave her an empathetic look. “Think of it as an adventure, Blondie.”
“More like a nightmare,” she mumbled, letting out a long sigh.
Zach studied her, something akin to pity on his face. “You sure you’re ready for what we may find out?”
“No, but I’m not sitting in the car while you go in without me. I mean, wouldn’t this man who says he remembers my father be more likely to talk to me than he would to you?”
“True. Let’s just hope that the Cliff this guy remembers was your dad. He says it’s the same guy in the photo I emailed him.”
“It was a long way to drive if it wasn’t.” Isabelle eyed two men sitting outside the building. They leaned against the block exterior, and both had well-worn duffle bags. Had her dad once sat outside this building? Choosing to live in a homeless shelter rather than with his family? “This Mr. Simmons didn’t know where Dad went from here?”
Zach shook his head. “But I got the impression during our phone conversation that he didn’t tell me all he knew. We’re positive your father was here at one time. This guy worked here during that time. It’s logical that he could have met your father.”
Nothing about this trip felt logical. Quite the opposite. Why had finding her father for Sophie’s wedding felt so urgent? Sophie was marrying the man of her dreams. Why did she need their runaway father to walk her down the aisle? Their mother could do the honor. Or Sophie could walk herself to Cole. No dad needed.
“I’ve changed my mind. We don’t need to find my father for Sophie’s wedding.”
“You firing me, Blondie?”
“Consider your lessons thus far as an early Christmas gift. Besides, you’ve finished your table placemats.”
“And that’s all I need to know to make a quilt?”
“It’s not as if you’re really going to make a quilt, Zach. Sure, you’re helping Sarah because you’re staying there, but do you see yourself quilting once you leave Pine Hill?” She shook her head in answer for him. “I don’t think so.”
“You might be surprised.”
She snorted. “The only reason you’re learning to sew is to torture me into giving you lessons.”
He shook his head. “That’s not true. Sarah hooked my interest in becoming involved with Quilts of Valor before I’d met you, Blondie.”
“Fine. I’ll keep up your lessons for however long you’re in town.” She started the car back up. “But we’re stopping this needle in a haystack search. The truth is, I don’t want him found. I’m not sure I ever really did.”
“Turn off the ignition, Isabelle. We’re not leaving without talking to Mr. Simmons.”
“Were you not listening? I no longer want to find my father. Sophie’s wedding will be wonderful without Dad there to walk her down the aisle. Probably more so than if he showed up.”
“I was listening. With my ears and my head.” He reached over and pushed the ignition button to shut off the engine. “I know you’re angry with him. Maybe you have every right to be. But maybe you need to find him to hear his side of the story.”
“Why am I not surprised that you’re taking his side?” She glared at him.
“I’m not taking a side, and if I were”—he lifted her hand from the steering wheel, clasping it within his strong grasp—“I’d always choose yours.”
Isabelle trembled.
“This isn’t about sides,” he continued. “It’s about coming to terms with your father leaving. For you and for Sophie.”
“Sophie’s fine.”
“And you? Are you fine?”
Chin lifting, she pulled her hand free. “Are you implying I’m not?”
