Page 418 of Ruthless Court

Almost.

I type.

Me: I can’t come Thanksgiving.

His answer comes quickly.

Dad: Why?

I look toward the study room.

Kane sits at a table across from me with headphones around his neck, pretending to read while watching me over the top of his laptop.

Vale is asleep on a couch.

Noah and Eli are arguing quietly over a quiz question.

Tomorrow we leave for a road tournament.

No real Thanksgiving break.

Not for them.

And, apparently, not for me.

Me: Work.

Three dots.

Dad: On Thanksgiving?

Me: Travel tutoring. The hours are good.

Not a lie.

Just missing several important details.

Dad: I thought you worked with the kids.

Me: I do both.

Dad: Christmas then.

I pause.

Me: Christmas.

The word looks like a promise.

Dad sends a thumbs-up.

Then:

Dad: Mom says she’s making two pies.

I smile.

Me: Tell her three.