He straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”
Pushing him aside, GeorgeAnne opened the cabinet. “IdaLee has the diner under control. She said not to rush. To get there when you can.”
Amber’s mouth fell open.
GeorgeAnne removed several coffee mugs from the cabinet. “Her nephew-in-law is the manager.”
Amber slow-blinked. Twice. “Miss IdaLee is waitressing in my place at the Jar this morning?”
Ethan hooted. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
GeorgeAnne shot him a reproving glance, but her lips twitched. “You could, except ErmaJean texted she wants to talk with you ASAP. I’ll take Amber to work.” His grandmother’s lifelong friend lumbered over to the coffee maker sitting on the chipped linoleum countertop. “After she has a chance to shower and change clothes.”
Amber frowned. “I should just go. Now.”
“I believe we’ve both received our marching orders.” Ethan smirked. “Best not cross Miss GeorgeAnne and the girls.”
GeorgeAnne shooed Amber out of the kitchen. “I’ll get the twins to school this morning, too.”
“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve...” Amber worried her lip with her teeth. “I promise nothing like this will ever happen again, Miss GeorgeAnne. I’m so sorry—”
“Stop with the apologizing,” Ethan growled.
Her eyes welled. Angry with herself, she swiped at the tears with her hand.
Ethan’s face fell. “I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s okay.” She was going to lose it in front of him if she didn’t put distance between them right this minute. “It’s just the both of you—your kindness...”
Before she fractured completely, she fled down the hall to her bedroom. Shutting the door on the man who’d once been her fondest adolescent dream. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the door. Steeling herself to what could never be.
Perhaps the saddest words of all.
After Amber disappeared down the hall, Ethan rounded on GeorgeAnne. “Why does kindness make Amber cry?”
“Because she isn’t used to it.” The older woman’s face shadowed. “She’s forgotten what it’s like.”
“I can’t believe her father would let her live here. Why didn’t Grandma Hicks want to call Dwight?”
“Dwight is a proud man. Too proud to admit he made a mistake.” GeorgeAnne opened a cabinet over the coffee maker. “They’ve been estranged ever since Amber ran off to marry that no-good rafting guide.”
“What about her friends?”
“Callie has helped—we all have—as much as Amber will let us.” GeorgeAnne pointed to a coffee can higher than her reach.
Ethan pulled the can off the shelf and handed it to his grandmother’s dear friend. “Dwight’s not the only one too proud to admit when he’s wrong.”
GeorgeAnne scooped coffee grounds into the filter basket. “Amber knows she made a terrible mistake when she married Tony.”
Despite the exterior of the trailer, Amber’s kitchen was spotless. He could’ve eaten off those shiny floors of hers. The interior was immaculate if threadbare. There were no photos of the jerk who deserted Amber and left her to raise his kids alone.
“Neither Dwight nor Amber will budge an inch.” GeorgeAnne filled the glass carafe with water from the kitchen faucet. “Nor ask the other for forgiveness.”
Ethan grunted. “Leaving both of them miserable.”
“That’s not the worst of it.” GeorgeAnne’s mouth pursed. “What this is doing to the twins is—”
At the other end of the trailer, a door banged.
GeorgeAnne’s face shifted into a semblance of what for other people constituted a smile. “Speaking of...”
And not unlike a herd of elephants, the two small girls, their blond hair in pigtails, stampeded across the living room.
“Sounds like there ought to be at least a dozen of them, doesn’t there?” GeorgeAnne gave him a wry look. “Sunrise to bedtime, those girls are full of energy.”
Barefoot, they bounded toward the kitchen in their Disney princess pajamas. Catching sight of him, the twins skidded to a stop.
Lucy—the bolder of the two—sidled closer. “Hey, Efan.”
Stella, the aloof one, glowered at him. GeorgeAnne bustled around the tiny kitchen, dishing out cereal. The milk jug wobbled in Stella’s grasp. In the nick of time, he grabbed hold and steadied the jug. Tilting it slightly, he helped her pour the milk over her cereal.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not raising her eyes from the bowl.
Across the table, Lucy smiled at him, dimples in her cheeks. And despite his resolve to remain unaffected, he found himself pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Tell me about school.”
Lucy waved her spoon. “We have art today. Stehwaa’s favowite. I wike when we do maf.” Crunch. Crunch. Swallow. Gulp. “And...”
He grinned. “Slow down, Lucy Lou.”
Mini-Amber giggled. “My name’s not Woocy Woo, Efan.”
“Of course it is.” He angled toward the quiet twin. “And you’re Stella Bella.”
Lucy dissolved into giggles. “She’s not Stehwaa Behwaa.”
Shooting him an unamused look, Stella continued to chew.
Amber hurried into the kitchen. “Losing your touch with the ladies, Ethan?” GeorgeAnne handed her a coffee mug, and she took a sip.
Smiling, he shrugged. “It’s a tough crowd. But seriously?” He looked at Amber. “I don’t know how you have the energy to do everything you do.”
Amber ambled around the table, bestowing a kiss on the forehead of each girl. “It’s not hard when you have two little morning glories to help you greet each day.”
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Rising from the table, he fished it out and frowned at the text. “My grandmother. I guess I should head out.”
“Bye, Efan.” Lucy fluttered her fingers. “Make it a good one.”
He laughed. “You, too, kid.” He ruffled her hair.
Amber bit back a smile. “That’s what I tell the girls every morning.”
“Goodbye, Stella Bella.” Strangely reluctant to leave, for the briefest of seconds he laid his hand on her small, delicate shoulder. “Have a good day at school.” And he considered it a triumph when she didn’t instantly shrug him off.
It occurred to him he might not see the girls or Amber ever again. Not if he could convince his grandmother to leave town when she was released from the hospital. Suddenly, it seemed as if the oxygen in the trailer had vanished.
Amber got up from the table. “Let me walk you out.”
“I guess this is goodbye, then,” he rasped.
Stumbling to the porch, he grabbed the railing for support. That was a mistake that nearly pitched him over the side to the ground below.