Say That Again by Gemini Sasson Page B

ride home was quiet. A thin layer of snow had fallen over a coating of ice, making the roads treacherous. Hunter gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, going slowly. Salt trucks were a rarity this far south in Kentucky, so he kept to the highways as much as he could, where the constant friction of vehicle tires had at least crushed the sheet of ice into a thick slush.
    Every once in a while, he glimpsed his youngest daughter in the rearview mirror. Hannah stared out the car window, expressionless. Even when they pulled into their driveway. Their house was on a five-acre plot carved out of his parents’ farmstead. The land had once belonged to a sheep farmer named Cecil Penewit. Hunter had never met him, but Aunt Bernie, who was not really his aunt, had gotten engaged to Cecil the same night Cecil suffered a heart attack and died at the Adair County Fair. Bernadette had graciously taken over managing his affairs, even in the wake of his funeral. The farm was slated to be sold to a land development company at auction, but Hunter’s mother had stepped in and made a preemptive offer and the deal was done before it ever went on the block. At the time, Lise had just returned to the area after several years in Covington. She needed a place to raise her children, Hunter and Cammie, and someone to help with them. Bernie, recovering from hip surgery, moved in with them. Lise married Brad Dunphy, the sheriff of Adair County, and later they had a child together, Emily.
    After Hunter returned from vet school and took over Doc Samuels’ practice, Lise and Brad had gifted him a parcel of acreage, where he built his home. Soon after, he and Jenn started their family. It was an idyllic life, even with Hannah’s unique issues. One that Hunter would not trade for the world.
    If anything, he realized as the car tires crunched over the limestone gravel of his lane, Hannah’s near catastrophe had only served to spotlight everything in life that was precious. When your child’s life hung in the balance, matters like material possessions and career or financial ambitions paled in comparison. And quibbles, like who forgot to replace the toilet paper, weren’t worth bringing up.
    What was more, they had all come through it stronger as a family. Before the accident, Hunter had been immersed in his practice, feeling obligated to answer every after-hours voicemail and taking on new clients by expanding his workday. Jenn had buried herself in reading books and blogs on educating special needs children. Late at night, she’d catch up on internet forums, where parents of such children shared their daily challenges and occasional woes, and celebrated each other’s triumphs. Hunter was proud of Jenn for what she’d taken on, but he often felt like she had sacrificed too much of herself and gone as far as smothering Hannah with all the latest methods. It was almost as though she felt that if she didn’t do absolutely everything possible that Hannah would somehow fall further behind. Hunter, however, kept his thoughts on the matter to himself, even though Jenn’s obsession had compromised their marriage. Having thrown himself into his work, he knew he wasn’t much better.
    Then there was Maura, in the middle of it all. Thank goodness she was a resilient, outgoing child with so many social connections. She may not have liked all the attention heaped upon her little sister at times, but she loved her just the same. Since the accident, she’d become even more watchful of Hannah, as if she somehow felt responsible for her safety now.
    When they stopped, Maura pulled open the rear car door. “Hey there, squirt.” Reaching inside, she unbuckled Hannah’s seatbelt. “I took care of all your stuffed animals while you were gone, except the ones you had at the hospital. I offered to play with them, but they said nope, they’d wait until you got home. They were sooo excited to hear you were coming back today.”
    Hunter and Jenn unloaded