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“It’s Ian. He’s worried about Sunny.”
“Sunny?” The alarm in Dad’s tone rings clear. Mom must put her hand over the phone because everything gets muffled.
“Your dad’s on it. You know, he worries about her like she’s his own. He’s calling Frank now.” I run my fingers through my hair. The setting sun casts a golden halo over the city, and I’m hit with the feeling I might have overreacted. Calling my mom, that’s… “You know, you’re just like your dad. Always worried about her.”
“We grew up with her,” I say, hoping to ward off any suspicion.
“That’s true. And,” she lets out a loud sigh, “you know, I think your dad still feels responsible for her mom.”
What? “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, wait. Hold on a moment.” Mom disappears. There are muffled voices, so I can only assume Dad is updating Mom. Depending on where Frank is on the ranch, he could be really close to Sunny or far away. It’s a sprawling ranch.
Sunny’s mom died when she was a baby. Childbirth, but I don’t think I ever heard more specifics than that. But now that I think about it, given what Sunny’s trying to do, that could be important medical history. But why on Earth would Dad feel responsible for her mom’s death?
“Honey, she’s fine. Frank got hold of her.”
“Mom, what did you mean by–” My phone beeps, and I check the incoming call. It’s Sunny. “Mom, I’m gonna take this. I’ll call you back later.” I switch over and practically growl into the phone, “There you are.”
“Sorry. So sorry! I got back and started doing laundry. I left my phone in the car. I just wasn’t thinking.”
“You need to add me to Find Your Friends. If I could trace you, I’d know you made it home okay.”
“That’s sweet. But, Ian, your mom? And Frank? Are you out of your mind?”
“Sunny.” I stretch and flex the fingers of my free hand. “Do not.”
“Frank,” she squeals, like that’s all the evidence she needs to put forth.
“Sunny, I told Mom you came into the city to sing. She didn’t think anything of it. I promise. You were supposed to have gotten home seven hours ago. Seven. Hours.”
She exhales, and I can practically see her caving. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to needing to report back to anyone.”
“Yeah, well…” I let the words hang there. I’m flustered, tired, and need to go for a run. “I see the aftermath of the unexpected. When you leave Houston, you need to remember to let me know you’re okay.”
“Okay. Frank’s waiting in the front yard. I promised him a brownie.” Her chilly tone riles me up.Unbelievable. She’s angry. At me.
“Fine.” I end the call, and my grip around the phone tightens. This is one reason I don’t do relationships. I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with bullshit.
I’ve seen plenty of colleagues stressed after missing a dinner reservation, birthdays, anniversaries, or what have you. It happens all the time because we work in a field where our job is saving lives, and that takes priority over life’s minutiae. I’ve had women pissed because I had to bail, or a week passed without us seeing each other. Then I feel guilty, and I call it. Why waste time on something that’s just not going to work out? My schedule isn’t going to change.
But this with Sunny, this isn’t her mad at me for bailing on her or for my being unavailable. I tug on my running shoe and pull the lace so tight I risk bruising. No, this is completely irrational. On her part. She forgot to call me. I got worried. And then she got mad at me.What the hell, Sunny?
ChapterNineteen
Sunny
Last Year in July
“You don’t need to give me this,” Frank says, but he’s already got the package of brownies tucked up on his side.
“It’s just me here. You’re doing these hips a favor.”
The skin just above Frank’s salt-and-pepper beard flushes. He shifts his cowboy hat the way the men tend to do at the end of a long day, back and forth in quick jerks to scratch the itchy skin below the hat’s band.
“Tell Mary I said hello.”
“I will. She asks about you. When Patty called–”
