Her Little Secret. Anna Adams

took down plates and salad dishes from the cabinet. Then she helped Hope open the plastic container. “What else did you want to talk about?” Her briskness suggested he make it fast and beat it.

      “I didn’t come back just to talk about your father.”

      She found serving utensils and scooped salad onto Hope’s dish without looking up. “He’s all that’s left. Face it, Van.”

      “No.” With Hope hanging on every nuance, he couldn’t elaborate.

      Cassie just looked at him. Then she popped the tops off the other cartons and started to add food to her daughter’s plate.

      “Wait.” Van reached for her hand, but she backed up. Message taken. “I need to warm up the pasta.”

      Cassie shrugged. “Okay. I’d better call the hospital, but you can start now with your salad, baby.”

      “Goodie.”

      “Will you talk to Mr. Van while I’m gone?”

      “Su-u-re.” Hope grinned over her mother’s hand pouring dressing on her salad.

      “I’ll use the phone in Dad’s study.”

      Like that, she was gone. He hardly knew how to talk to any children, other than his nephew, who was about eight years older than Hope and didn’t remind him of the worst days of his life.

      “Have you ever flown before?” He grabbed a topic out of thin air.

      She shook her head. Her hair slipped into her salad. He had to brush it over her shoulder.