The Wedding Tree by Robin Wells Read Free Book Online Page A

door.”
    I laughed, then realized laughter was an inappropriate parental response to the situation. I forced my mouth into a more somber line. “It’s wrong to sneak into people’s homes that way, sweetie.”
    Sophie gazed up earnestly. “Mizz McCauley doesn’t mind.”
    â€œYou’ve crawled into her house before?” Jillian asked, her voice alarmed.
    â€œYeah. Mizz McCauley said I can come in for a cookie anytime I want.”
    Jillian frowned. “Sophie, it’s very rude to go into someone’s home uninvited.”
    I was a lot less concerned with manners than with the fact that my just-turned-four-year-old had been unsupervised—repeatedly, apparently—long enough to visit a neighbor. “What’s Gramma doing while you’re roaming the neighborhood?”
    â€œI dunno. I only go over when
you’re
home.”
    My daughter was making these unauthorized visits on my watch? Oh, terrific. I knew I wasn’t in the running for Father of the Year, but this was veering into intervention-from-the-authorities territory. “Sophie, you know you’re not supposed to leave the backyard without someone with you.”
    â€œI don’t go through the gate or out the front door. I just go through a hole in the fence.”
    â€œThat’s leaving all the same.”
    My voice must have sounded firmer than I’d realized, because her bottom lip trembled. She looked up at me in a way that made me feel like a monster.
    Oh hell. I was hopeless at disciplining the girls, because I hated to make them unhappy. Christine used to tease me about how they had me wrapped around their little fingers. As usual, she’d been right.
    God, she’d been right about so many things. The thought made the Christine-shaped hole in my heart ache. Up until a few months ago, grief would strike like an unexpected karate chop, sudden and fierce. Now it was just a flat, dull emptiness that expanded and contracted. I sort of missed that ragged edge of grief, so sharp it was almost tangible. It had felt like a physical link to my late wife.
    â€œAm I in trouble?” Sophie’s voice wavered.
    I crouched down beside her and pulled her into my arms. “No, sweetie. But now that you know it’s wrong, don’t do it again.”
    â€œOkay.” She hugged me back, then pulled away and flashed me a smile, her sunny mood instantly restored. “Can I go play with Zoey?”
    â€œSure.” I blew out a sigh as she scampered off to the den.
    Jillian put a hand on my arm. “I’ll help you keep a closer eye on her.”
    Her palm felt heavy and hot. I shoved my hands in my pockets as an excuse to move away. “I was home. It’s my responsibility.” Although technically, Jillian was partially to blame for this lapse, because she’d cornered me to tell me how she’d taken the girls to the park, preventing me from actively watching them.
    â€œI’m happy to help. I love Sophie and Zoey as if they were my own.”
    Yeah, but they’re not.
The uncharitable thought gave me another twinge of guilt.
    Jillian gave me a smile that seemed a little too intense and lasted a little too long. “Well, all’s well that ends well. I’d better get dinner started.”
    â€œYou don’t need to do that.” The truth was, I was ready for her to leave.
    But she was already moving toward the kitchen. “I promised the girls I’d make spaghetti and meat sauce. Mom bought all the ingredients this afternoon.”
    I swallowed as I followed her. When I first moved to Wedding Tree, Jillian occasionally cooked dinner for the girls when I was held up at work, but lately, she was doing it even when I was home. I wanted to break the pattern, but tonight didn’t seem like the time to do it, what with promises made and ingredients bought and all. “What can I do to help?” I asked.
    â€œYou can chop the