Free The Moon and More by Sarah Dessen Page B

holding. “Oh, right … yes. Towels. I do.”
    I just looked at her. It was not exactly a bad trait, but my mother was the worst liar ever. “Where?”
    She swallowed, then pushed a few papers around on her desk, searching for a Post-it or piece of paper I was almost positive did not exist. “Let me see … I think it was over in Sandbar Cove. …”
    Behind me, I heard Margo, who was in the next office, snort. One look at her face—biting back a smile as she studied her computer screen—and I knew my hunch was correct. I turned back to my mom. “He told you about the phone message, didn’t he?”
    “What?”
    “Mom. Come on.”
    Finally, she stopped pretending to look, instead sitting back in her chair. By now Margo had moved to the doorway as well, all the better to hear every word. “He
might
have mentioned that your father had something important to tell you.”
    If hearing this made me nervous, I can only imagine what it did to my mom. In fact, if I’d opened up her top desk drawer right then, I knew I’d find all the saltier, crunchier offerings of the office vending machine, partially consumed. She was a stress eater from way back. Lucky for her, worry also boosted her metabolism, so it usually balanced out.
    “He’s on his way here,” I told her. “With Benji.”
    She just looked at me. Margo said, “That’s the kid, right?”
    “What about Leah?” my mom asked.
    I shook my head. “Didn’t mention her. All he said was that his aunt died and they’re putting her house on the market.”
    “Miss Ruth passed away?” my mom said, looking genuinely sad.
    “Do they have a realtor?” That was Margo. Because of course this was the most pressing question.
    “She’d been sick awhile,” I told my mom. “Apparently.”
    “Who’s Miss Ruth?”
    I turned, and there was Amber, holding a paper sack from Amigos, the Mexican place up the road. “What are you doing here?”
    “I got an SOS call,” she replied, pushing past me to walk over to my mom’s desk, where she deposited the bag, whichalready had grease staining the bottom. “Someone needed a taco, stat.”
    “You deliver now?” I asked.
    “If someone else is paying. I’m broke and hungry,” she replied, plopping down in the chair opposite my mom. “Who’s Miss Ruth?”
    “Emaline’s father’s aunt,” Margo informed her.
    You could literally see Amber figuring out this relationship, her brain wheels spinning. Then she said, “The one he used to stay with, in North Reddemane?”
    My mom, unwrapping a taco, nodded. “Such a nice lady. She made the best chicken salad. It was to die for.”
    “How long’s he staying?” Margo asked me.
    “He didn’t say.”
    Silence. Which was rare when we were all together, if not unheard of. “Maybe,” Amber said, “he’s planning to apologize for being such a jerk about the college thing, win you over, and be your favorite parent again.”
    My sister did not have that many talents. One she
had
cultivated, however, was the ability to zero in on the single thing someone absolutely does not want to hear and then say it aloud. I looked at my mom, who, sure enough, was already stuffing the back end of her taco into her mouth.
    “Not happening,” I said. “And besides, this isn’t about me. His aunt died and he’s taking his kid on a road trip.”
    “Do they need a place to rent?” Margo again. Who else?
    “I’m sure they’re staying at Miss Ruth’s,” my mom told her, chewing.
    “She’s dead,” Amber pointed out.
    “But her house isn’t,” Margo replied.
    “Maybe,” Amber said, “we should offer them
our
guest room.”
    “Stop it,” I told her, and she snorted. To my mom I said, “Do you have a delivery for me to do or not?”
    A pause. Then she shook her head, slowly, still chewing. I sighed, turned on my heel, and headed for the door. “I’m sorry,” she called after me, once she’d swallowed. “I just really wondered what he wanted.”
    “If he needs a good