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“Candice? As in Candice Wells Burke? Zemry’s sister?” Sara-Beth asks.
I smile.
My grandmother passed away when I was eight years old. She had a heart defect and collapsed at home one afternoon while my grandfather was at work. My recollections of her are faded and distant, but my grandfather carried a photo from their wedding day in his Bible, and every Sunday, he’d pull it out and share a vivid memory from their love story.
“That’s the one,” I confirm.
“My goodness. I knew you had inherited some property here in Balsam Ridge, but I didn’t realize it was from Candice,” Sara-Beth bellows.
“We knew your grandmother well. She and Zemry went to school with the two of us. How in the world …”
I can read the confusion on Leona’s face before she’s able to finish asking the question.
How did Candice have a granddaughter my age?
“Their youngest daughter, Amy Jo, is my mother.Wasmy mother. She passed away earlier this year. She had me when she was fourteen years old—that’s how in the world,” I explain.
Leona’s eyes fill with tears, and she hurries around the desk to hug me. I take a step back, but it doesn’t deter her.
“I’m so sorry, dear. Amy Jo was so young.”
“Forty-three,” I confirm.
“I had no idea she had passed,” Leona says as she tightens her hold on me.
I’m normally uncomfortable with displays of affection, but there is something inside of me that welcomes the comfort of her warm embrace.
“Thank you,” I choke out.
After a few beats, she releases me, and I swipe at the tear that escaped and made a path down my cheek.
“What about your dad? Is he still around?” she asks.
I cringe at the mention of my father. “No. He died a couple of years ago.”
Her hand flies to her chest. “Oh goodness. I’m so sorry,” she says.
“I’m not. He was a horrible person who chose drugs over his family,” I blurt out just as the office door swings open.
Taeli walks in, carrying a brown paper sack and a cardboard tray, holding four Styrofoam cups. “Lunch is here,” she announces.
Erin stands from her desk and comes to rummage in the bag.
I take the opportunity to turn and head out of the uncomfortable conversation.
“You wanna split my chicken sandwich with me, Maxi?” Erin asks before I can make a getaway.
I turn back to her. “No. You eat your lunch. I’ve got a list of things to pick up at the hardware store before I go home to change for my shift at the brewery,” I answer.
“You sure? It’s from the new place in the valley. Hazel’s Hot Honey Chicken and Waffles. It’s a chicken breast between two crispy maple-flavored waffles and smothered in Miss Hazel’s secret hot honey sauce.”
She unwraps the sandwich and holds it up for me to inspect.
“That does sound amazing,” I tell her.
“Right? You have to have a bite.”
She sets the food down and runs off down the hall. I contemplate making a run for it, but she returns a second later with a knife in hand. She cuts the sandwich in two, and then she places one piece on a napkin and slides it in my direction.
