My breath catches. I thought I’d have more time before he found me. When I find my breath again, it’s too late. I’m already free falling, and there’s no ground to stop me.
“Any idea who she’s talking about?” Cal’s voice sounds far away even though he’s right next to me.
I nod and lace my fingers together to keep from clenching my fists. “My ex-husband.”
Chapter 8
Cal
Iclock the look on Frankie’s face when she hears her ex-husband’s name. Her smile vanishes into a hard line. Her eyes turn just as stony. She goes as rigid as a horse who doesn’t want to be saddled.
“Should we be worried?” I ask.
She lifts her gaze to mine. I resist the urge to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, like I would a horse, to let her know she’s safe. But Frankie’s not a horse. Horses are easier to read.
At last, she shakes her head. “Bran’s not violent. Just persuasive.” She clutches her water glass, then suddenly stands. “Your family’s not in danger, but he’ll find me. I should go…”
Frankie pops up from her chair like she might run, but Mom reacts before I can.
“Let’s take a minute before we make any decisions.” She takes Frankie’s hand and leads her to the big sectional in the family room, as far away from the front door as she can, then sits right next to her.
When I sit diagonal from Frankie, I’m still trying to workout why she thought I was worried about my family being in danger. Yeah, the idea came up, but I was asking if the two of us should be worried. Me and Frankie. I guess I kind of think of us as a team when it comes to keeping her away from people she doesn’t want to be around.
But now I’m worried that she might not be straight with me. Maybe I should be more worried than I was.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “What do you mean he’s persuasive?”
Frankie jiggles her legs up and down, taking her time to find an answer. “He knows how to say the right things to get what he wants.” She stops jiggling long enough to huff. “Knows how to say the wrong things, too. Whatever it takes to write the story he wants.”
My confusion must be written on my face because Frankie answers my question before I can ask. “He’s a journalist. He’s always chasing a story and doesn’t stop until he gets it.”
I nod, although I still have a lot of questions. Like if he wrote something about Frankie that led to their divorce.
“That’s why his name sounded familiar.” Mom sits taller. “He wrote all the stories about the resort mess three years ago.”
Frankie rubs the hem of her T-shirt between her fingers as she nods.
“Flo’s mentioned that led to a lot of trouble for you.”
My eyes pinball from Frankie to Mom and back before Frankie nods again. Somewhere I’ve lost the thread of this conversation. Apparently, Mom didn’t take her own advice to me about getting Fran’s story from her. She knows a lot more aboutFrankiethan I do.
I shouldn’t be surprised. She and Flo are the type of sisters who talk every day. They hold each other’s secrets. And, I guess, other people’s, too.
“Jo-Joe!” Junie’s yell carries over the sound of her feet asshe runs down the hall and into the family room. “I finished! Frankie can see my room now. It’s all clean!” Her cheeks are red with excitement as she grabs Frankie’s hand.
“Did youaskFrankie?” Mom reminds.
Junie blows out her breath. “Please can we play now?”
Frankie’s mouth opens, and she sends Mom an uncertain look, like she’s ready to bolt.
“I think Frankie may need to rest for a while, June Bug. But we’ll keep her as long as she wants us to, so you’ll have time to play later,” Mom says in a way that massages the tightness out of Frankie’s shoulders.
“That’s okay. I could use a distraction.” Her voice wavers, but then she smiles at Junie. “We can play.”
Junie pulls Frankie from the couch, her legs as wobbly as newborn colt’s.
“Ask your Daddy if it’s okay, Junie. Frankie’s his guest,” Mom says then lifts an eyebrow at me.
