Her Name Was Annie by Beth Rinyu (the little red hen read aloud txt) 📕

Chapter 11

KARA HAD BEEN back at school for an entire week, and I had managed to survive. That didn’t mean I wasn’t blowing up her phone with texts asking where she was, if she was okay, and to please check in with me each time she’d head out someplace. She was being a good sport and keeping me abreast on her whereabouts for the most part, but I was certain there were times she’d blow me off.

In addition to that, Jack had the agent who was keeping an eye on her while she was home now at her school. She grumbled about it for the first few days, but then I was assuming she came to terms with it after not hearing her discuss it anymore. I was wondering if she and Jack had another heart-to-heart talk that maybe calmed her down.

Jack still couldn’t make any connections, and each time I’d speak to him, I’d hear the frustration in his voice growing over it. It was as if it was all some big mystery, and with each passing day, I was becoming more hopeful that it all ended the day that man decided to take his life in the ocean. I had done an Internet search on the Cavlan family and everything that came up was about his brother and his political career. I was certain they had some family skeletons in the closet due to that fact alone, but those skeletons had nothing to do with me.

I was trying to carry on with my life as normal. I’d go to work every day and found myself bonding a little more with my four-legged houseguest. I’d never admit it to Kara, but I liked going for walks with him and having him there at night when I was trying to fall asleep when all the crazy thoughts started running rampant in my head. I felt safer and not so alone. They say people come into your life for a reason, but I was starting to believe that was true with dogs too.

I had just pulled into the driveway of the brick colonial that was my childhood home. So many happy memories took place in that house. Looking back now, I guess you could say I was spoiled. I was the only child of Sandy and Walter Walsh. My father, now a retired surgeon, worked hard his entire life to give us the best life possible. My mother was a stay-at-home mom who doted on me constantly. They were the best parents in the world. I never lost sight of that, not even as a teenager when you’re supposed to think your parents are the worst. I sat in my car for a few moments, trying to prep myself for the emotional morning ahead. It had been a year since my mother passed away, and my father was finally ready to start tackling the task of going through some of her things. Knowing it wasn’t going to be easy for him, I agreed to help. I pulled my phone from my purse to check out the text that had come through while I was driving.

Michael: Are we still on for drinks tonight?

Scrutinizing my reply while I stared at the message as if it was written in some foreign language, I was filled with doubt. We had made those plans over a week ago, and at the time, I couldn’t think of a reason not to go. Now, I was coming up with a million reasons to decline. First and foremost, he was my coworker, and after a reply of yes, things would always be awkward toward us.

Another being, one of the secretaries at our school, who I really liked, was always trying to get him to take notice of her. She was newly divorced, a single mom, and in need of a little morale boost, much like me all those years ago. I knew how important it was to get that first date AD—After Divorce—out of the way. It was kind of like making pancakes, the first one is always a flop, but with each pour of the batter it gets better. So in a weird way I felt like I was betraying her.

I realized after five minutes of staring blankly at my phone that I was being totally juvenile. Agreeing to drinks didn’t constitute a torrid love affair. It was just two adults enjoying conversation and each other’s company. At least that’s what I told myself when I typed out the word yes and then hit send. I turned off the ringer on my phone and threw it in my purse, not to be disturbed by any more teenage thoughts over text messages while helping my dad.

As I headed up the cobblestone walkway to the front porch, I looked around at the meticulous condition my father still managed to maintain on the outside of his home. Over the past few years, I worried that it was too much for him to handle at his age, but it was something he enjoyed and kept his mind going, so I didn’t get on him too much about it.

“Dad!” I called when I walked through the front door, immediately pulling off my coat. He and my mother always had the heat jacked up to some ungodly temperature in the winter. Normally it wouldn’t bother me, but lately I’d been experiencing a little thing called hot flashes that every woman was cursed with sooner or later.

“I’m up here,” he shouted. I threw my coat on the coat rack in the foyer and ventured up the stairs to one of the spare bedrooms that doubled as my mother’s office, sewing room, exercise room, and everything else in between. Whenever I’d lose track of her in the house, I’d always venture into that room first. Chances were, she’d be in there writing out bills, walking on the treadmill, reading, or tinkering away