Page 418 of Ruthless Court
Almost.
I type.
Me: I can’t come Thanksgiving.
His answer comes quickly.
Dad: Why?
I look toward the study room.
Kane sits at a table across from me with headphones around his neck, pretending to read while watching me over the top of his laptop.
Vale is asleep on a couch.
Noah and Eli are arguing quietly over a quiz question.
Tomorrow we leave for a road tournament.
No real Thanksgiving break.
Not for them.
And, apparently, not for me.
Me: Work.
Three dots.
Dad: On Thanksgiving?
Me: Travel tutoring. The hours are good.
Not a lie.
Just missing several important details.
Dad: I thought you worked with the kids.
Me: I do both.
Dad: Christmas then.
I pause.
Me: Christmas.
The word looks like a promise.
Dad sends a thumbs-up.
Then:
Dad: Mom says she’s making two pies.
I smile.
Me: Tell her three.
