Chloe's Secret by Shelley K. Wall Page A

think you’ve said enough, don’t you? You’ve trashed Abby, me, and my grandmother. That’s a homerun in the scorebook. You can go now.”
    “Wait.” I followed him but as soon as I got there, he pushed into the stairs. My heart sank and for the life of me, I had no idea why it had seemed important to tell the story. I had grappled for honesty, but instead I’d been—mean. He took the stairs two at a time, the sound of his shoes thudding heavily away, leaving me standing in front of the elevator.
    Ding. It opened. The door thudded shut on the stairwell and I couldn’t move. Not to the elevator or the stair, it would be humiliating to face him in her room.
    So I walked to my car and left.
    Three days later, my brother called while I was at work. “What are you bringing to Mom’s?”
    “Huh?” No hello, nothing—just straight into a question.
    “For Thanksgiving, what are you bringing?”
    Oh, yeah. Thursday. This Thursday. I stared at the computer screen that waited for me to finish my boss’ next request. “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it.”
    “Well, bring that pie you always make then. I love it. See you there.” He started to hang up, then added, “I’m bringing a girl and don’t give her a hard time.”
    Click.
    Yay! I had tomorrow and Wednesday off. I’d forgotten I had asked for them months earlier, before all the budget cuts and drama. Before my boss said I needed to work harder and after I’d already put in fifty plus hours a week for ages with no time off.
    I loved my job, I reminded myself. I had no idea why but I did. Until my boss came in at three and asked me to finish the project I had worked on by the next morning.
    “Don’t forget I’m on vacation the next two days.” I silently thanked my brother for his call.
    A look of frustration came and went across the man’s face. “Oh, sure, well—can you get it to me this evening then?”
    I smiled. Yes, I loved my job. My boss was another story. “Sure, no problem.”
    I left the office at a quarter past seven. It was dark and cool—well not cool, it was downright cold . As I left, I checked Mona’s carriage for a glimpse of Colton and was relieved to see someone else. The carriage was lit up like a Christmas tree, beautifully festive, and the old man was waving cheerfully at everyone who passed—including me. A hint of recognition crossed his face; it was the man Colton had dined with.
    “Please don’t tell me you’re just now leaving work on a night like this?” The man had Colton’s eyes, and now that I’d become a source of great humor, I also recognized the smile. His features were darker, more edgy, with streaks of gray in hair cut so short it was almost non-existent.
    “You’re Colton’s father, aren’t you?” I asked.
    “You know my son?” He was startled.
    “He taught me to ride a motorcycle.” I didn’t tell anything else. There wasn’t much to say.
    “Really? I didn’t know he had time for anything but work. Of course, I can’t say I blame him. I’d teach you how to drive Bullwhip here if I was a few years younger.” He grinned.
    “I bet you would.” The old man was a harmless flirt, unlike his son, who didn’t have a teasing bone in him. “Nice talking to you. Stay warm.”
    “Say, we’re not too busy tonight, why don’t you ride along for a bit? It’ll keep the horse warm and I can drop you at your car when we come back.”
    “My car’s in the parking garage.” I pointed down the street at the eerily dark concrete structure.
    “I’ll drop you there then and wait for you to come out. It’s late.” He pulled out a thermos and held it up. “I have hot cocoa.”
    Well, it was cold, and close to the holidays, and I didn’t have anything else going on—thanks to my boss and my dateless life. And considering the temperature of my fingers, hot cocoa was like offering gold at the moment.
    “Alright then.” I climbed in and looked at the steaming liquid he poured into a cup