We didn’t have a large, tight-knit family.
We had to make do.
So maybe that’s why I wonder as I look around the table, watching how Grady smiles when he reaches across to ruffle the girls’ hair, and then jerks his hand back.
“Dad! No lice, remember? We’ve been shampooed like ten times,” Sawyer reminds him, sticking her tongue out.
“That so, peanut? Guess your old man’s getting forgetful in his old age—or just awfully nervous with cooties.” He sticks his tongue out, eyes crossed, and they laugh.
Behind my giggle, too many questions are swirling.
If I’d been smarter way back then, when I was a kid, would I have hoped my father would remarry so I could’ve had a sister?
Maybe I wouldn’t have grown up so lonely, so driven, too busy for boys or...well, anyone besides big cats.
It’s just adorable how different the girls are. Sawyer and Avery are opposites in many ways, yet deeply connected and concerned for each other.
Sure, they bicker sometimes, like all siblings do. But at the end of the day, they’re sisters until the bitter end, and the love shared in this three-heart family fills whatever gaping hole was left by Grady’s wife.
The rest of the night goes by in a cozy blur.
Avery wins the first game, Sawyer the second, and Grady the third—meaning we’re on for a fourth round.
Of course, I can’t get a win to save my butt.
The other three are flat-out cheating by the end in sympathy, skipping the score, just so I can save face. I’m honored, but no.
“Enough, guys! Luck’s just not on my side tonight. I can barely get a pair, and when I do, it’s not a pair I need. Let’s just call it a draw, okay?” I beam my friendliest smile around the room.
The girls try to convince me to play one more game, but Grady takes control.
“It’s past time for bed, girls,” he says. “You can have a rematch another night.”
“Fiiine!” they slur out together.
Without another complaint, they agree, and after they each give me a quick hug, they head upstairs. He puts the game in the library-office down the hall and then plods upstairs to tell them good night.
I’d left my phone in the kitchen earlier and I check it for messages, holding my breath.
Of course, I haven’t forgotten what Grady’s holding back, and I’m trying to brace myself for bad news.
I just hope it’s bad and not devastating.
But I think he’d have told me if it was the latter, if it was urgent, rather than spending the whole evening enjoying ourselves. My eyes flit over my screen.
Carroll: Is this Willow Macklin? Hi. I’m from North Auckland University and I’d just like to...
Yeah. No. I’ve been to New Zealand and there is no North Auckland U.
Roger’s Pitstop: Congratulations! You’ve got yourself a brand-new thousand dollar gift card to your choice of—
God. Do the gimmicks ever stop? I honestly can’t tell if this is honest spam or another low-effort trap by the Fosses to nail my location.
I see several more fishy texts promising fake giveaways or begging for donations for every cause imaginable. A message from my dentist in California, reminding me my six-month cleaning is due next month, and another text asking me if I’d like to register to vote.
I leave them all unopened.
I’m almost ready to scream and chuck my phone across the room when I see the name Walton on the screen.
Hi, Miss Macklin. Checking in to let you know the blood work looks good. I apologize for the delay. Perfectly average, healthy results for a grown male. No abnormalities. White cell count adequate. I’d attach the full test results, but it appears your carrier’s kicking them back. Call me immediately if he shows signs of discomfort.
Finally, some good news.
As much as I’d love to see the full blood panel, I remember what Grady and Faulk warned me about and won’t take attachments.
There are no issues yet with his paw healing up—other than the sad fact that he’s homeless.
Sigh.
I have no earthly clue how this is going to work out.
By now, the rescue has probably called in help from every other cat sanctuary across the country they can either bamboozle or blackmail. Telling them to be on the lookout for a crazy chick who rocks out like a dorkasaurus at the wheel and one big stolen tiger in a clunker of an unmarked service truck.
I just hope they haven’t also called my father, casting their lures.
Grady enters the kitchen, snatching me from my thoughts.
Biting my lip, I set my phone on the counter, taking a moment to draw in a deep breath. I hold it to calm down the hurried beat of my heart before turning to face him.
“Grady...”
“Looks like you’re ready,” he says, raking a hand through his thick dark hair. “Give me one minute.”
“Ready for what?”