Page 7 of Her Unending Horizon

My sister was sneaky.

“Wanna see what I drew?” Bella asked.

“Absolutely.” I walked over to the board and looked at her drawings. Bella had more of an engineering style. Everything was precise and architectural. She struggled with the people, but that could be taught. The composition was amazing. You knew exactly what she was trying to convey.

“This is very good, Honey.” I squeezed her close.

“It is?” She looked up at me with those dark-brown Avery eyes.

“It really is. I can’t wait to see what you do next.”

Trenda cleared her throat. She had the diaper bag over her shoulder, and Drake’s carrier in her hand.

“Give me the bag, Mama.”

“You just worry about your shoes and backpack. I’ve got the rest of this covered,” Trenda assured her. She handed Bella her car keys. “Why don’t you go unlock the car door.” Bella was off like a light.

At the door, she hugged me tightly. “Come home soon. Gatlinburg is too far from Jasper Creek.”

“Soon. I think soon.”

“Zarek needs you.”

I sniffed. “No he doesn’t.”

“Bella was right. He does.” Trenda gave me one more squeeze, then she was gone and I was left with an apartment that was too quiet. I sat down, huddled into the same corner of my couch where I had held Drake. Thinking. Feeling. And smiling, just a bit.

My phone rang.

Zarek.

I stared at his name, heart doing something slow and complicated inside my chest.

Then I answered.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he replied.

I closed my eyes.

Chapter Two

I sat down hard in my recliner, the worn leather creaking beneath my weight, like it always did. Like it had for years. Like it was one of the few things in this house that hadn’t changed.

My phone was still warm in my hand.

What the hell, Chloe actually answered?

That fact alone stunned me. I stared at the far wall, at the faint scorch mark above the baseboard from the time a candle had tipped over years ago. We’d laughed about it then. Said it gave the place character.

I hadn’t expected her to pick up. I’d told myself I was just calling to leave a voicemail. Something simple. Something innocuous.

How’s the weather? Do you still hate the taste of broccoli? When the hell are you coming home?

Now she was on the other end of the line, breathing softly, waiting.

I didn’t know what to say. I sure as hell wasn’t going to push. I didn’t want her to hang up on me. Not now. Not when she’d finally answered the call.