Willow Brook Road(80)

That’s where he found Carrie at the far edge of the property, her feet dangling into Willow Brook, tears on her cheeks. She swiped at them impatiently when she realized she had company.

Bobby instantly took note of the tears and sat down close to her. “Are you sad?”

“A little,” she admitted as he snuggled closer.

“I’m sorry.”

“Having you here makes me feel a whole lot better,” she told him, draping an arm over his shoulders.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, studying her intently. “We don’t have to stick around if you’d rather be alone. I was just worried that something had happened at your grandfather’s.”

“Nothing I can’t figure out,” she said, though she didn’t sound convincing.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, despite his lack of experience in solving the sort of problems that brought on tears. He could handle computer crashes or internet provider glitches right at the newspaper’s deadline without batting an eye, but this sensitivity business was new territory.

“If I do, it will only convince you that you’ve gotten tangled up in a very messy family dynamic that it would take Solomon to sort out. Since you’re just settling into Chesapeake Shores, it might be better to let you keep your illusions about my family a little longer.”

He gave her a long look. “I haven’t signed the final papers on the house. I’m not stuck here yet.”

She tried for a smile, but it wobbled and failed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? If I start blabbing and blubbering, you could take off faster than one of those rockets they fire from Wallops Island to get supplies to the International Space Station.”

“I’d like to think I’m a little tougher than that.” He sat on her other side and stretched out his legs, then reached over and brushed away the dampness that lingered on her cheek. “Seriously—you’ve stood by me in some tough spots the past few weeks. I’d like to return the favor if I can.”

“Maybe a cookie and some milk would help,” Bobby suggested hopefully. “That always makes me feel better.”

Over the top of his head, Sam caught Carrie’s gaze and held it. “Or we can take off.”

She tried another smile and this one held. “I think cookies and milk sound like the best idea ever,” she said, getting to her feet and leading the way inside.

She flipped on the kitchen lights to reveal a small space, but one that would have been a gourmet chef’s dream with its granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and a door that opened into a walk-in pantry stocked with every conceivable snack, healthy and otherwise. Bobby stood in the doorway, clearly mesmerized.

“It’s better than the grocery store,” he said, awe in his voice.

Carrie laughed. “I like to be prepared when the kids come over,” she told Sam, her expression chagrined. “I told you I like being the go-to aunt.”

“Well, I can see I’m going to have difficulty getting Bobby back to our house ever again,” Sam said. “In fact, I might want you to adopt me, too.”

The color washed out of her cheeks at his words and she quickly turned away. Sam walked around to face her. “What did I say?”

“Nothing. Honestly,” she claimed, though she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “If you could get three glasses from the cabinet above the sink, I’ll get the milk and the cookie jar.”

Behind them, Bobby was doing an inventory of the pantry. “There are those fruity things I love, and chips, and Oreo cookies, and peanut-butter crackers and pretzels and apples and bananas and lots and lots of cereal and—”

“Enough,” Sam said, chuckling. “I’m sure Carrie is well aware of what’s in there. Stop being nosy.”

“But the door was open,” Bobby protested.

Once the milk was poured and the cookies placed on a plate, Carrie focused her attention on Bobby. “Did you have fun today?”

He nodded, his mouth already full of crumbling chocolate-chip cookie.

She finally turned to Sam. “And you?”

“It was a revelation.”

“It seemed as if you’d lost that glazed-over, overwhelmed expression by the end of dinner,” she observed.

“Pretty much. It was fascinating watching the ebb and flow as people moved from one conversation and one group to another.”

“Sort of like witnessing a social experiment in person,” she suggested.

“Not at all. It’s evident that O’Briens love and respect each other. I found that pretty impressive.”

“Oh, believe me, we have our share of squabbles,” she said, an odd note in her voice. “In some ways they’re worse when they happen, because the expectation is that we’ll all get along all the time.”