It's almost dark when I get home. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting an orange warmth that makes everything look ruddy and joyful. I don't feel it, though. I half expect my dad to be sitting out on the front porch waiting for me. The light is on his room, so I assume he's in bed reading. I'm glad. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to tell him he was right about Christopher. Just thinking about it hurts. I need a drink. I know there's some bottles of champagne still in the kitchen from a recent party. The supplier will come and get the extras at the end of the week. The Lewis family ordered and already paid for all of them, so taking one isn't a problem. My dad often saves one or two in the fridge with Deborah's blessing. I sneak into the kitchen. The main house is dark and quiet except for the hum of the air conditioners. Deborah and Christopher are still at the office working, so they aren't home. I'm not sure where Jonathan is, but I'd probably guess he's either at h

My heart stalls. Shock, anger, love, hate, surprise, and then combinations of those each try to take control, but none of them seem to know which emotion should be in charge. I stare at him, my mouth open and jaw on the floor. I now see why the desk clerk didn't want to take me to employee housing. I'm tempted to change my mind about firing her and Anna. They did good customer service by stalling, even if it was helping Christopher. Why is he here, though? Is this some kind of sick joke? I consider slugging him, but I don't know what good that would do. He takes a step forward. “I'm sorry, Nora.” I cross my arms. He doesn't get to break my heart and then just apologize and make everything better. I don't care how many flowers he brings. “What are you doing here?” “Apologizing.” He swallows hard and takes another step toward me, his eyes focused intently on me. “And if that doesn't work, I'm willing to beg for your forgiveness.” My feet grow roots to the floor. It's a good thin