Page 31 of Wishing Hearts

He laughs loudly before finally stepping away. The air feels cooler when he goes, and I don’t like the reprieve nearly as much as I should.

A foot away, he says, “Hey, Harrison.”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, Sam?”

“See you tonight.”

With that, Sam walks off, and I wonder if somewhere in Plum Valley, Texas, my common sense is waiting for me to come pick it back up.

When I get to my parents’ shortly after four-thirty, Winnie rushes me as if she hasn’t seen me in days. It breaks my heart a little. She’s been extra clingy ever since I got back.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” I say, bending down and wrapping my arms around her slim shoulders. Winnie has always been a petite thing, and even with her recent growth spurt, the top of her head only just reaches my chest.

She gives me a squeeze around the middle before stepping back and grabbing her backpack from beside the door. “I’m ready,” she says before rushing outside.

I sigh a little as she goes. She always tries to act so strong—until she can’t. Until she cries at night and tells me not to go.

“Everything okay today?” I ask as my mom comes around the corner from the kitchen.

Winnie takes the bus to my parents’ after school, and I pick her up once I’m done with work. It’s a routine that’s worked well for us for years.

My mom nods, her gaze following Winnie out the open front door. She chuckles a little. “Boundless energy, that one.”

Reminds me of someone else I know.

My heartbeat kicks up as I roll over the implications of that. Sam will be coming over tonight. In less than two hours, he’ll find out exactly how complicated my life really is.

“I should go,” I tell my mom. “Before Winnie decides to try her hand at driving.”

My mom chuckles and gives me a quick hug. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” I reply. “See you tomorrow.”

When I join my daughter inside the truck, she’s already buckled up in the back, tall enough now not to need a booster seat.

“How was school?” I ask, backing out of my parents’ driveway.

Winnie kicks the passenger seat in front of her. “Fine.”

“Just fine?” I ask, lifting a brow. That’s a pretty short answer coming from my ten-year-old.

She sighs before saying, “Janey said my drawing looked like a little kid scribble. It wasn’t a scribble, Daddy. It was our family. So I told Janey her face looked like a Picasso, and Mrs. Turner said that wasn’t appropriate. She put a note in my folder.”

I keep my initial reactions to myself—the sadness followed by amusement and then resignation—and check my daughter in the rearview mirror. She’s looking out the window, her blonde hair—so much like mine…and Danielle’s—falling messily around her face. It never does stay inside her ponytail.

“I’m sorry Janey said something uncomplimentary about your picture, Pumpkin. I’d love to see your drawing of our family.” I wait a beat before adding, “But just because someone isn’t nice to us, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to be not-nice back.”

“Yeah, I know,” Winnie says sullenly. “But it’s so hard to be nice to Janey, Daddy. She’s a very difficult person.”

I huff a laugh, clearing my throat afterward. Maybe I should discourage Winnie’s ball-buster attitude, but the truth is I love it. I’m glad she’s not afraid to speak her mind and defend herself, and I don’t want that to change. Even if it does get her into occasional trouble at school.

When I turn onto our short driveway, I remember the news I still need to share and steel my nerves. “Hey, kiddo. We’re going to have company tonight, okay?”

“Who?” Winnie asks.

“Someone I met when I was away helping the animals.”

She’s quiet for a moment, digesting that as I park the truck inside our garage. “Are they nice?”

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